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Author Intro: My name is Casual, and I'm, first and foremost, a storyteller. I write about erotic, sensual, sexual, and emotional connections between gay men. Although grounded in reality, my stories are still fantasies, not meant to promote or glorify any sexual practices. I can go from romantic, sweet, uplifting to rough and edgy. If you wish to be taken on wild, exhilarating, magical, and sensual adventures, my imagination is the place for you.
Chapter 2 - "Forward Pass"
Damien woke to the faint glow of dawn spilling through the slatted blinds of his dorm room. His mind was restless, with memories of his encounter with Bruce Levinson the day before. He tried to shake the remnants of a dream, vivid and electric, where Bruce's intense gaze had pierced through him, the heat between them palpable and undeniable. Even now, he could feel the magnetic pull of Bruce's presence, the way his piercing eyes had lingered a fraction too long, that barely concealed smirk when Damien spoke.
But Damien also knew better than to read too much into it. Bruce was married, not just to anyone but to a woman who seemed to radiate cold elegance and possessiveness. This was Eden's Edge, not some fantasy playground where lines could blur without consequences. Damien prided himself on his professionalism and ability to navigate high-profile guests' complexities with charm and grace. And had worked too hard to let anyone, let alone a celebrity with an inflated sense of self, unsettle him.
Bruce's confidence and effortless dominance stirred something in Damien that he was loath to admit. But then there was the reality of the situation. Bruce Levinson was a straight man, at least publicly, and married. Damien valued what he had built at Eden's Edge too much to jeopardize it over a fleeting, intoxicating inducement.
As he lay there, trying to navigate the tightrope of emotions, the door to the dorm burst open, and Ryan bounded in with the energy of a Labrador puppy. Without warning, he launched himself onto Damien's bed, the impact jolting the blonde out of his thoughts.
"Morning, sunshine!" Ryan grinned, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he straddled Damien playfully, pinning him down. Ryan's muscular frame and tousled hair starkly differed from Damien's refined, delicate appearance, but their camaraderie defied usual boundaries. "Levinson requested your services for the rest of his stay at The Cove?" he asked, to which Damien nodded. "What did you do, bat your pretty eyes at him?" the stud razzed. Ryan's teasing was lighthearted, but it struck a nerve. Damien tried to push him off, but Ryan held firm, his weight a solid reminder of his physicality.
"I didn't do anything," Damien snapped, more sharply than he intended. "I'm just doing my job. It's not like I have a choice in the matter," the blonde muttered, his words sounding blatantly rehearsed. Ryan's smile faltered slightly, sensing Damien's irritation.
"Chill, man. I'm just messing with you. But I mean, it's a big deal. Levinson's a fucking legend! I'm just saying you must've really impressed him," Ryan rambled.
Damien sat up, finally dislodging Ryan, who rolled onto the bed beside him. He rubbed his temples, trying to stave off the headache beginning to throb behind his eyes.
"Yeah, well, it's not all it's cracked up to be," Damien muttered. "Just because he's some hotshot doesn't mean he can dictate my life. I'm not his personal assistant," the blonde said, his voice aggravated. Ryan raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
"Come on, Damien, it's just a job. Plus, the guy's straight. It's not like he's hitting on you or anything," Ryan argued as Damien's eyes suddenly locked on him. "He probably likes how you run things," the stud tried to argue, aggravating Damien further.
There was a subtle edge in Bruce's demeanor that Damien couldn't shake, like how Bruce seemed to assess him not as a staff member but as something else entirely. Damien knew the look of desire when he saw it but also the look of entitlement. And Bruce wore both like a second skin.
Damien swung his legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through his tousled golden hair in frustration.
"He acts like he owns everything. My time and energy aren't part of the package deal. I've worked my ass off to be taken seriously here, and I'm not about to let myself become some rich guy's bitch," Damien stated. Ryan sat up, his expression softening.
"Dude, I get it. But you've got this. If anyone can handle Levinson, it's you. Just... try not to let him get under your skin," the stud suggested.
Damien nodded, though the tension still coiled in his chest. He knew Ryan was right. He had faced far more difficult situations than this and had never let anyone walk over him. But something about Bruce's presence, his raw masculinity and effortless command, made Damien's carefully constructed walls feel suddenly flimsy.
Professional or not, he would maintain his distance and keep things strictly business.
The blonde jumped in the shower and stood under its warm drizzle, the water cascading down his skin, but his mind was miles away. No matter how much he tried to dismiss it, thoughts of Bruce Levinson lingered, stubborn and intrusive, like a song stuck on repeat. Damien squeezed his eyes shut, leaning against the cool tiles. Still, it only made the images sharper: Bruce's imposing figure towering above him with his broad, muscular shoulders framing a powerful chest that descended into a perfectly sculpted V, every line and contour chiseled by the hand of a sculptor. His every breath accentuated the ridges of his abs and the defined taper of his waist. His immense thighs, rippling with muscle, each a testament to the strength and power housed within. And then there was the undeniable presence of his massive soft cock dangling in between the hunk's legs, exuding an effortless dominance that was impossible to ignore.
It wasn't just size.
Bruce carried himself confidently, aware of every eye that followed him, owning the space around him like it was his birthright.
Damien ran his hands through his wet hair, letting the water stream down his back as he thought of Bruce's dark brown locks, tied in a neat bun that looked both sophisticated and primal. A few loose strands fell across his forehead, teasing the edges of his chiseled face deliberately, sensually, almost tauntingly. Bruce's green eyes were intense, watching as if nothing had escaped his notice. And that smirk.
Damien huffed, trying to shake off the thoughts as he rinsed the last of the soap from his skin. This wasn't like him, he thought. He was always in control, always focused. But something about Bruce's raw magnetism made the blonde feel off-kilter, and he didn't like it. He stepped out of the shower, drying himself briskly as if he could scrub the unwanted thoughts away. He was a pro, and he had a job to do. Whatever confusing signals Bruce might be sending weren't his problem. He wouldn't allow himself to be distracted.
Dressed in his immaculate resort uniform, a crisp white shirt, and tailored khaki shorts, Damien headed down to the staff kitchen for breakfast. The space was wide and airy, filled with long tables and the lyrical whirr of conversation. It was a rare moment of leisure for the staff, a chance to refuel before the day's duties began. Damien grabbed a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, settling into his usual spot near the window where he could glimpse the sun rising over the resort grounds.
Ryan and Camilo soon joined him. With his thick hair still damp from his shower, Camilo scrolled through his phone, occasionally showing Ryan some viral video. Ryan, ever the sports fanatic, was still buzzing from the news of Bruce Levinson's stay, unable to keep his enthusiasm contained.
"Man, I still can't believe Levinson's here," Ryan said, practically bouncing in his seat. "And he asked for you, Damien!" the stud added. Damien forced a smile, though his insides twisted at the reminder.
"It's not like he rolled out the red carpet for me," he replied, trying to keep his tone light. Ryan nudged him playfully.
"Still, you gotta admit, it's pretty cool. I'd kill to hang out with a guy like that, even just for a day," Ryan stirred.
Damien shrugged, picking at his food. He didn't want to admit how much Bruce's attention unnerved him or, worse, how much it thrilled him. But before he could say anything else, a familiar voice cut through the room's chatter, sending a prickle of nuisance down Damien's spine.
"Damien," Mr. Schofield called, striding over with his usual self-important swagger. His presence was like a cold draft in the warm, welcoming space, making Damien stiffen automatically. "Just the young man I was looking for. I trust you're ready for your big day at The Cove?" he questioned, his tone particularly abrasive. Damien set down his fork, his expression carefully neutral.
"I'm always ready, Mr. Schofield. Got everything planned out for Mr. Levinson's stay," the blonde replied. Schofield nodded, his gaze lingering on Damien with a look far too familiar for comfort.
"Good, good. Because Levinson expects nothing short of perfection. I've told him you're the best we've got, so don't make me regret it. He wants you personally overseeing everything, and I don't need to tell you what kind of opportunity this is. For the resort and you," Schofield commented. Damien suppressed a sigh, keeping his composure. He knew his job inside and out and didn't need Schofield breathing down his neck to do it well.
"I appreciate the vote of confidence, Mr. Schofield. I've got it covered," Damien responded, his sarcasm seeping through. Schofield's smile was thin, more a baring of teeth than a gesture of warmth.
"See that you do. Levinson's the kind of client that can make or break us. And remember, if he's happy, we're all happy. So, don't let anything get in the way of that," Schofield poked.
Damien bit back a retort, swallowing the flash of anger that threatened to break through his calm exterior. Schofield's insinuation wasn't lost on him, and it took Damien's restraint not to tell the disgusting slug exactly where he could shove his advice. Instead, Damien nodded curtly, keeping his expression inscrutable. As Schofield walked away, Damien exhaled slowly, letting the tension ease from his shoulders before he felt Ryan's hand on his back.
"Ignore him, Blondie. You're a rock star. Levinson's lucky to have you," Ryan said, winking at the blonde. Camilo chimed in, his voice warm with reassurance.
"We all are," the ebony stud added.
Damien nodded, grateful for their support, before pulling himself off the table and signaling his friends towards the exit. There, a golf cart waited for them. Camilo ran for the bar as Ryan and Damien waved him goodbye. Moments later, the golf cart was humming as Ryan steered it along the winding paths of Eden's Edge, the plush green lawns and meticulously manicured gardens of the resort unfurling around them like a lush, tropical fantasy. Damien sat in the passenger's seat, the warm breeze ruffling his golden hair as they drove, eyes tracing the familiar yet ever-enchanting vistas that made up his world.
Eden's Edge was a masterpiece of luxury and nature, a harmonious blend of human ingenuity and Barbuda's raw, untamed beauty. The resort sprawled across the coast, each building elegantly designed to complement the surroundings rather than overshadow them. Ivory walls with terracotta roofs peeked through groves of palm trees, flowing seamlessly into the landscape as if it had sprung from the earth itself. Damien often considered Eden's Edge more than just a resort. It was a living, breathing entity. More than just a workplace for Damien, it represented a sanctuary and a testament to everything he loved about his life. Every corner of the resort held memories, from the quiet mornings spent watching the sunrise to the bustling afternoons filled with the clatter of glasses and the sound of guests splashing in the pool. Damien had poured himself into this place, his energy, passion, and unwavering commitment to excellence. It was a fleeting piece of paradise that he helped assemble and uphold.
As they reached the dock, Damien's gaze lingered on the private boats moored there, sleek and glistening in the sun. In the distance, The Cove, now Levinson's exclusive villa, stood like a jewel on its little island, accessible only by the resort's private boat. It epitomized seclusion and luxury, where even the most discerning guests could escape the world. Ryan parked the golf cart and turned to Damien, his face lit with an infectious grin.
"Man, I never get tired of this view," he said, stretching his eyes wide. Damien nodded, a small, content smile spreading across his lips.
"Me neither," he said quietly, the wind brushing his face.
But Damien's mood instantly soured as his eyes locked on the dock. Standing there with her arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently, was Karen, Eden's most seasoned staffer and a perennial thorn in Damien's side. Her tightly wound bun and stiff, beige uniform made her look like she belonged more to a boarding school than a luxury resort. She was notorious for her nagging and thinly veiled contempt for anyone who dared to shine brighter than she did, which, in Damien's case, was not just a challenge but a sport.
"Oh great," Damien muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes dramatically. "The gatekeeper of hell is here," he muttered. Ryan stifled a laugh beside him, trying to keep a straight face as he parked the cart.
"Looks like she's got that 'I'm ready to ruin someone's day' look," Ryan whispered. Damien hopped out of the cart with all the enthusiasm of a man about to enter a hornet's nest. He barely had time to stretch before Karen pounced, her sharp eyes narrowing on him like a hawk zeroing in on prey.
"Damien, finally," she snapped her voice like nails on a chalkboard. "I was beginning to think you'd taken the scenic route. We have influential guests, you know. Not that I expect you to understand the concept of punctuality, given your age," she immediately fired. Damien plastered on his most radiant smile, which had charmed countless guests and defused more than a few tense situations.
"Karen," he said sweetly, leaning casually against the cart. "I didn't realize you were moonlighting as the official timekeeper around here. Should I start checking in with you for the time of day, or will you shout it from your broomstick?" the blonde mocked. Ryan choked back a laugh, and Karen's eyes flashed with annoyance.
"This isn't a joke, Damien. Mr. Levinson is expecting top-tier service, and the last thing we need is you making a mess of things," she replied condescendingly.
"Thank you for your concern, Karen. I'd be lost without your daily doses of unsolicited advice..." Damien quipped. Ryan couldn't hold back anymore, bursting into laughter that he quickly tried to disguise as a cough. Karen's face turned a shade of crimson that clashed spectacularly with her beige uniform.
"I'm just ensuring standards are upheld, something you could learn a thing or two about, Mr. Rapid Rise," she snapped, her voice rising. Damien arched an eyebrow, smile unfaltering.
"Oh, I know all about standards, Karen. After all, they're what got me here so quickly. Is your seat in the back okay, or should I fetch you a booster?" he jibed. Karen's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, her comeback stuck between outrage and flustered silence.
"This is about the guests! Your charm might work on tourists, but some of us are here to do real work," she sputtered.
"Absolutely," Damien nodded with faux seriousness. "And you're a shining beacon of hard work, Karen. Just yesterday, I saw you meticulously alphabetizing the sugar packets in the staff lounge. Truly, the backbone of this place. Where would we be without you? Wait, what exactly are you doing again?" Damien continued, his sarcastic fire now raging. Behind him, Ryan was doubled over, trying to catch his breath, while Karen's face twisted into an expression of utter indignation. She glanced at Ryan, who quickly looked away, desperately trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably.
"You think this is funny?" she barked at Ryan, who promptly bit his lip though amusement still danced in his eyes. Damien clapped a hand on Ryan's shoulder as Karen's scowl deepened, but the blonde didn't allow her to retort. He straightened up, adjusted his shirt, and gave her a polite but pointed nod.
"Anyway, if you excuse me, I have an 'influential guest' to attend to. I'm sure you've got... something critical to get back to. Maybe the linen closet needs reorganizing?" the blonde said. As Damien and Ryan made their way toward the dock, Karen huffed and spun on her heel, muttering under her breath as she stormed off in the opposite direction. Ryan finally let loose, laughing so hard he nearly stumbled off the cart.
"Dude, you just mopped the floor with her," Ryan wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. "That was savage!" Damien shrugged, still smiling as he glanced back at Karen's retreating figure.
"Some people can't handle the sunshine..." Damien replied. He turned his gaze back to the dock, his expression shifting to calm determination as he strode confidently down the pier.
As the speedboat surged forward, the engine's roar harmonized with the rhythmic slap of waves against the hull. Damien leaned back, the wind whipping through his hair, warming his bronzed skin. He watched as Eden's Edge faded into the distance, the elegant sprawl of the resort shrinking to a mere speck amid the endless blue. But his eyes were fixed ahead, where The Cove loomed on the horizon like a siren calling him closer, its presence both commanding and serene.
The lagoon sparkled like a field of sapphires beneath, the waters shifting from deep indigo to vibrant turquoise as the boat cut through the gentle swells. Damien loved this journey, the way the world seemed to peel away, leaving behind the orderly luxury of the resort and plunging him into The Cove's raw, unbridled beauty. This was a world entirely apart, a private oasis that felt almost like a secret whispered between the sea and the sky.
As their boat drew closer, Damien found himself captivated by the untamed beauty of The Cove. To Damien, The Cove was an intriguing bundle of contradictions. Both a fortress and sanctuary. It was extravagantly lush yet remained wildly unfettered. However, it wasn't just the luxury that had him hooked. The raw feeling of freedom hung in the air around it. On that island, there was no time for petty fakeness or cumbersome monotonous routines controlled by societal norms. With a boundless ocean on one side and expansive skies overhead, it felt like sitting at the heartbeat of Mother Earth itself. It felt like a place where his soul could breathe easy, a safe haven where thoughts melted into each other like ripples morphing into waves.
Every time he set foot on it, an irresistible something tugged at Damien's heart. A silent yearning whispered tales steeped in adventure and impulsivity, dreams as boundless as the awe-inspiring blue expanse ahead. Against all odds, amidst complete strangers favoring similar tastes in escape from society's shackles, Damien always found himself reluctantly falling deeper into the allure radiated by this extraordinary isle.
The boat slowed as it approached the private dock, its sleek lines slicing through the water quickly. Damien stood effortlessly balancing as they coasted to a stop, his eyes never leaving the glass facade of the penthouse. He hopped onto the dock with practiced grace, the wooden planks warm beneath his feet. As he made his way toward the path leading up to the penthouse, Damien's gaze swept over the cliffs once more, the rugged rock faces kissed by the sun and draped in delicate vines. The distant seabirds echoed against the cliffs, their howls mingling with the crash of waves and palm fronds crinkling. The path wound through a small thicket of palms and ferns, opening up to a sweeping staircase that ascended to the penthouse entrance.
He made his way up the sleek wood steps that wound gracefully to the guest house, each step echoing softly in the stillness of the morning. Damien reached the door and pressed the bell. A moment later, the door swung open, revealing Bruce's wife, her slim, blonde body the stereotype of a trophy wife. She was dressed in a flowy, barely-there sundress that fluttered around her long legs, her hair perfectly coiffed even in the island's persistent breeze.
She was on the phone, mid-conversation, her voice high and breathy as she discussed something utterly mundane: her nails, her plans to shop, and maybe the latest gossip from her circle of equally unremarkable acquaintances. Her words spilled like a shallow stream, carrying no depth or substance, just a constant, droning noise. Damien waited, feeling a twinge of annoyance as she continued chatting away, not even sparing him a proper acknowledgment. She glanced at him, her eyes raking over him from head to toe in a quick, dismissive once-over before she turned away, leaving the door open as if he were the help, not the senior manager personally requested by her husband.
Damien watched her flounce away, her attention fixed on whatever trivialities occupied her mind. This was a woman for whom appearances were everything, Damien immediately thought, a facade with no depth, someone accustomed to people fawning over her because of her looks and her husband's status. To her, Damien was just another piece of the luxury puzzle, there to serve, not to be seen or heard. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and quickly reminded himself that he was here to do a job, to keep his professionalism intact, no matter how grating the company might be.
He stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him, the soft click of the latch echoing in the vast, open space. Mrs. Levinson pointed vaguely towards the patio pool as she veered left, barely breaking her stride. She disappeared into the state-of-the-art kitchen, perching on one of the designer stools by the sleek black counter. Damien's gaze followed her briefly, noting the meticulously arranged kitchen. It was beautiful in a sterile, almost clinical way. Much like Mrs. Levinson herself, Damien mused, all form and no feeling.
The blonde shook off his thoughts and returned to his task. He made his way through the open living area, the soft pad of his footsteps barely audible on the marble, and stepped out onto the expansive porch. The patio was an oasis of calm, with an infinity pool that seemed to spill seamlessly into the ocean beyond, merging water with water, blurring the line between manufactured opulence and natural wonder. For a moment, Damien allowed himself to admire the view, the way the sunlight danced on the water, creating a dazzling array of blues that stretched out to the horizon.
Then, in slow motion, Bruce emerged from the pool, his head breaking the surface like a god rising from the sea. Water cascaded down his broad shoulders, droplets catching the light and sparkling like diamonds against his sun-kissed skin. Damien's breath caught in his throat as he watched, captivated by the sight before him. It was as if time slowed, every detail etched into his mind maddeningly sensually. His muscular shoulders rolled as he pushed his hair back, causing the water to ripple away from his powerful form. The lines of his body, chiseled and perfect, seemed to sculpt the space around him.
Damien couldn't tear his eyes away as Bruce's chest heaved with a deep breath. His pecs lifted before his gaze traveled downward, tracing the V of his torso that disappeared beneath the water's shimmering surface. The blonde's heart pounded in his chest, a steady drumbeat as Bruce glanced up, catching sight of him. A slow, easy smile spread across his lips, and he raised a hand in greeting.
"There he is," he called, his voice rich and warm, carrying across the patio like a cello's deep, resonant notes. "About fucking time," the hunk added. Damien nodded, his smile surfacing with practiced ease, though his mind still reeled from the moment's intensity.
"Good morning, Mr. Levinson," he replied, his voice steady despite the flutter in his chest.
"Bruce," the hunk corrected.
"Right. Sorry," Damien apologized. He crossed the patio, each step measured and controlled, his professional demeanor firmly in place even as his thoughts swirled with the memory of Bruce stepping naked from inside the bathroom the night before. Majestic, untamed, a force of nature that Damien found himself both drawn to and wary of.
As Bruce climbed out of the pool, Damien forced himself to focus, to remember why he was there. He was the one in control, the one who kept things running smoothly, no matter how distracting the scenery might be. But even as he extended his hand to Bruce, ready to dive into the details of the day's itinerary, Damien couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was at play.
Damien and Bruce stood facing each other, a palpable tension simmering in the humid air around them. For Damien, it was rare to find someone whose presence could match his own, whose sheer confidence and magnetism could rival the potent mix of charm and authority he wielded so effortlessly at the resort. Yet, here was Bruce, towering and unapologetic, with an energy that was both challenging and captivating. The hunk leaned casually against the patio railing, his gaze locked on Damien with an intensity that immediately made Damien's dick hard, its soft skin rubbing against his undies.
"So... you've got this whole place under your thumb, huh?" Bruce questioned, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the movement flexing the muscles in the sexiest way. "Must be nice, calling all the shots," the hunk added with a smirk. Damien matched his smirk, tilting his head slightly as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his tailored shorts.
"It has its perks," he replied smoothly, his voice steady even as his pulse quickened. "But it's not all sunshine and cocktails. There's a lot of work behind the scenes," Damien countered. Bruce chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, sending a shiver down Damien's spine.
"I bet," Bruce stated, his words no more than a whisper as his emerald eyes navigated Damien's body. "You strike me as the kind of guy who likes to keep things...in control," he added. There was a gleam in his eyes, a spark of something that Damien couldn't quite put his finger on but that made his skin tingle, his mind race, and his dick stiff.
Damien prided himself on his composure and ability to remain unflappable no matter the situation. Yet, around Bruce, he found that control slipping, his usual razor-sharp focus blurring at the edges. It was maddening, Bruce's voice: low, smooth, with just the faintest hint of a challenge seemed to cut through his thoughts, making it difficult to think clearly. Damien had always been the one who set the pace and held the reins. But with Bruce, it felt like a tug-of-war, both of them vying for the upper hand.
"What about you?" Damien asked, his tone light but his eyes slightly narrowing as he sought to regain his footing. "Must be exhausting, all that running and tackling. Or maybe you like the chaos?" the blonde provoked. Bruce's grin widened, his teeth flashing in the sunlight.
"You'd be surprised what a little chaos can bring out in a person," he said, his gaze never wavering from Damien's. There was a weight to his words, a deliberate emphasis that made Damien's heart thump harder against his ribs. He didn't like how easily Bruce seemed to be getting under his skin, how natural their banter felt as if they were picking up an unfinished conversation.
Damien opened his mouth to respond, a retort dancing on the tip of his tongue, when Bruce's wife reappeared, her presence cutting sharply through the charged atmosphere like a sudden cold front. She hovered in the doorway, her phone still clutched in one manicured hand, her other hand resting on her hip as she regarded them with a look of annoyance and boredom.
"Bruce," she said, her voice unmistakably dismissive. "We need to talk about dinner tonight? I need to get out of here... there's literally nothing to do," she said, glancing at Damien. Her expression shifted to a thin, forced smile that didn't reach her eyes. Damien's jaw tightened, but he kept his face neutral, his smile polite.
"That's the whole point, babe," Bruce replied.
"I was just going to suggest a tour of the island," Damien offered, his tone diplomatic but with a hint of challenge directed at Bruce. "There's a lot to explore. I can show you some stunning hidden spots," the blonde suggested. Bruce's wife barely glanced at him before rolling her eyes, her disinterest plain.
"Yeah, no thanks. I'm not really into all that...nature stuff," she stated, waving a dismissive hand as she turned back toward the kitchen. "Besides, I have a call to make. You boys have fun," she added.
Damien clenched his teeth, frustration bubbling under his cool exterior. It wasn't just her dismissiveness. She seemed to reduce everything to a trivial inconvenience, missing the allure and the magic of the island that Damien held so dear. But before he could respond, Bruce stepped forward, his attention still fixed squarely on Damien, as if his wife's interruption hadn't registered.
"If you'd rather stay here, that's fine, babe," Bruce said, his voice casual but his eyes gleaming with a quiet determination. "I can manage on my own. Or better yet," he said, turning to Damien, his grin bearing. "You can show me those hidden spots yourself," he whispered, winking cheekily.
Damien hesitated, his mind racing through the implications, the lines blurring faster than he could keep track of. Bruce's wife was still in earshot, but her presence was an afterthought, a background noise to their charged, unspoken exchange.
"Of course," Damien said, his voice smooth, even as his thoughts tumbled chaotically behind the calm facade. He met Bruce's gaze, his own smile tinged with something that felt dangerously close to anticipation. "Let's... go see what we can find," he muttered.
Bruce's wife huffed softly but said nothing, her posture radiating a passive-aggressive annoyance that didn't seem to faze Bruce. He was already moving, his strides long and confident as he followed Damien toward the patio's edge.
A few minutes later, Damien stood near the entrance, his back pressed against the cool glass wall, staring at the serene, endless ocean. He tried to focus on the gentle rhythm of the waves, but his attention was continually drawn back to the muffled voices from inside. Bruce and his wife were arguing. He couldn't make out the words, but the sharpness in her tone and Bruce's low, terse responses told him all he needed to know. He had seen these types of arguments before. Empty, circular disputes exacerbated by the gilded cages in which people like the Levinsons lived.
Minutes ticked by before the door opened, and Bruce emerged, his expression a tightly controlled mask of indifference, though Damien noticed the tension in his jaw and the slight stiffness in his posture. The hunk player had changed into a loose, baggy tank top and swim shorts, his casual attire only emphasizing the raw power of his physique. The tank top clung to his broad chest and hung loosely around his narrow waist, and his muscular, solid, and defined legs moved with an effortless grace as he stepped forward. Damien couldn't help but let his gaze linger for a fraction of a second longer on Bruce's crotch and how his dick swung inside the baggy swim shorts, his eyes taking in the way the hunk's body radiated strength and confidence, a perfect blend of athletic prowess and natural allure.
Bruce caught Damien's eye, and for a moment, the facade of tension dissolved. There was a flicker of something in the hunk's gaze, perhaps curiosity or maybe a spark of recognition that Damien wasn't just another nameless staffer catering to his whims. It was subtle, barely there, but Damien's keen intuition instantly caught it. The way Bruce's eyes lingered, the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth wasn't flirtatious, but it wasn't purely casual either.
"Shall we?" Damien suggested, gesturing toward the private dock where the sleek, white speedboat was waiting, bobbing gently against the peer. "We can take it around the island. There's a waterfall on the other side I want to show you," the blonde proposed. Bruce nodded, a shadow of a smile playing at his lips.
"Sounds good," the hunk replied, walking down the stairs.
They strolled side by side down the polished wood of the peer. The boat gleamed in the sunlight as Damien climbed in, agile and sure-footed. He then extended a hand to Bruce, who accepted with a firm grip. Damien couldn't ignore the jolt that shot through him at the contact, the warmth of Bruce's hand lingering longer than necessary before they settled into their seats. How rough the hunk's hand felt. Yet, so soft, Damien thought.
The blonde took charge at the helm, a familiar comfort easing the tension from his shoulders as he started the engine and guided the boat away from the dock. He was in his element now, the ship's drone beneath him and the salt-tinged breeze against his skin as they cut through the turquoise waters. Bruce sat beside him, one arm draped lazily over the side of the boat, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery but with a quiet alertness that suggested he was still very much aware of Damien's presence beside him.
As they swept around the island's first bend, a panorama of wild, green opulence unfurled itself. An armor of trees exploded skywards like jade giants, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind. Lanky palm trees danced languidly, their fronds flirting with the sun-kissed sands of beaches dotting the coastlines like a patchy beard on some young man's face. The tight knot in Damien's chest loosened as he peered into the water, an enchanting cocktail of turquoise and cobalt, so crystalline that he could notice tiny fish performing impromptu flash mobs beneath the surface, flashing like diamond drops flung haphazardly by nature. As overhead seagulls screeched out sea shanties, the sound melted beautifully into the gentle slap-slap serenade of waves against their boat. A symphony played by Mother Nature herself and that Damien knew all too well.
He glanced over at Bruce, who was watching the island with an expression that seemed to shift between gratitude and introspection. There was a quiet intensity in his eyes, as if he were absorbing every detail, every nuance of the scene unfolding around them. For a brief moment, Bruce's guarded demeanor slipped, replaced by a look of genuine wonder that Damien couldn't help but find disarmingly sincere. And incredibly sexy. It was rare to see someone so thoroughly captivated by nature's raw, unfiltered beauty, especially someone whose life was so far removed from it.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Damien said, his voice raised slightly over the soft roar of the boat's engine. Bruce nodded, his gaze still fixed on the lush greenery. Damien smiled, a genuine warmth creeping into his expression. "It's why I love this place. There's just something...pure about it. Untouched," he said before pausing, catching Bruce's eye, and for a moment, the connection between them flared, a silent understanding that needed no words. "We don't usually show this side of the island," the blonde added.
Bruce looked at the boy then, his eyes searching as if trying to decipher something hidden just beneath the surface. Damien felt his pulse quicken, the subtle but unmistakable pull of Bruce's presence drawing him in even as his mind urged caution. It was as though they were speaking in a language of glances and half-smiles, the kind of conversation that left much unsaid but felt deeply.
They cruised lazily around the island, their boat caressing the water as it passed one enchanting sheltered inlet after another and drifted by secret beaches tucked away from sight, each taking your breath away more than the last. Imposing cliffs seemed to jut out directly from the sea, sporting a thick quilt of verdant green foliage splashed intermittently with sparks of vibrant flowers clinging tenaciously to every crack and crevice in the rockface. With practiced ease, Damien guided them nearer to where the waves caressed the island's periphery, drawing attention to quirky features: a cluster of rocks chilling out like a lounging lion, an unheard-of beach cradling sugar-powdered sand that remained unsullied by human touch.
Throughout it all, Bruce listened attentively, nodding periodically. His gaze was fixed on Damien, captivated by his narration and by him. The fervor Damien painted their surroundings with was contagious. It lit up his eyes and ignited Bruce's curiosity even further.
Finally, they reached the waterfall. It was like nothing Bruce had ever seen before. A sky-high surge of diamond-like water poured down the cliffside with unapologetic force into the pool beneath. The sun's rays danced teasingly on the spray, weaving a sparkling rainbow that stretched across the water in a beautiful mimicry of a portal to another dimension. Damien eased off the throttle, letting the boat coast and giving the hunk time to drink it all in. Bruce rose from his seat, gripping the boat's edge as he took in the spectacle.
And then it happened. A look of awe washed over him, an emotion so raw and real it softened all his hard edges.
"It's... incredible," Bruce murmured, his voice carrying a note of reverence that Damien hadn't heard before.
The blonde nodded, his gaze fixed on the cascading water, but he couldn't resist stealing glances at Bruce, watching as the usually confident and composed athlete seemed to let his guard down, if only for a moment. It was as if the island had touched Bruce in a way that Damien had only hoped for.
As they stood side by side in the quiet majesty of the Cove, Damien felt that magnetic pull tighten, connecting them across the boat's narrow space. Whatever this was, this unspoken, simmering connection, it grew. Bruce's cautious glances and lingering gazes weren't lost on Damien, and though Bruce carefully moved as if testing the boundaries, the interest was there, unmistakable and thrilling in its quiet persistence.
Usually, he would avoid such stunts, but today, with Bruce watching him, something inside Damien urged him to break the rules. He glanced over at the hunk, whose eyes were fixed on the waterfall, mesmerized by its raw power. A flicker of a smile danced on Damien's lips as he made a split-second decision and steered the boat straight toward the curtain of water.
The engine's buzz was swallowed by the thundering roar of the waterfall as they passed underneath it, the cascade splitting around the boat like a veil being lifted. They entered the hidden cave, a secluded sanctuary carved into the rock by centuries of relentless water. Inside, the world was transformed. Glistening with a slick sheen of moisture, the cave walls danced in the subtle glow of sunlight. The light fragmented into prismatic colors that painted playful graffiti across uneven stones. Overhead, stalactites looked like nature's icicles suspended in time, drip-dripping into a clear pool below as if melting under summer's fire. The air was an invigorating chilly embrace wrapped in the raw perfume of drenched rock and lullabied by the soft symphony of falling droplets bouncing off the stone. Their echo a secretive whispering gallery just for them. Whispers of water meeting stone that tasted vaguely like that daring lick on a 9-volt battery.
Bruce's eyes widened, his stoic mask giving way to genuine wonder.
"Holy shit," Bruce whispered, his voice barely audible over the gentle, constant rush of the water. His smile broke wide, a gleaming, boyish grin that transformed his entire face, softening the usual hard lines of his expression. His eyes sparkled with a childlike delight, a rare and candid glimpse of the man beneath the public persona. Without hesitation, he grabbed the hem of his tank top and pulled it over his head, revealing the full expanse of his muscular chest, broad shoulders tapering down to a tight, defined core. The cool light of the cave accentuated every contour of his body, the play of shadows highlighting his chiseled form and drawing Damien's gaze directly to it. Bruce glanced at the blonde, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Come on," he said, his voice infectiously excited. With a jerk of his head, he motioned towards the water. "We gotta get in there," he suggested, his voice echoing inside the cave. Damien hesitated, the weight of protocol pressing on his mind even as he felt a pull towards the water, towards Bruce's uninhibited joy.
"I can't," he said, his tone firm but gentle. "I'm on duty, and... well, I'm not supposed to engage in activities like this with guests," Damien explained, battling every fiber of his being, compelling him to strip naked and jump inside the water.
Bruce paused, his expression softening. For a moment, Damien thought he saw a hint of disappointment flicker across the hunk's face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Bruce nodded, his smile never fading.
"Fair enough," he said, his voice laced with a tone of understanding and a touch of respect. "You gotta keep it professional, right?" he said, flashing Damien an approving grin. "I respect that," he finally added.
Without another word, Bruce turned and dove into the water, slicing through the surface with a graceful, practiced ease. He resurfaced moments later, laughing as he pushed his wet hair back from his face, droplets cascading off his skin like tiny diamonds. He swam around the pool with the unrestrained exuberance of a child, his laughter echoing off the grotto walls, mingling with the gentle music of dripping water. He ducked under the surface, reappearing in different spots, his joyous shouts filling the space as he explored every corner of the hidden grotto.
Damien watched from the boat, his lips melting into a private smile. Damien found himself captivated by the sight, unable to look away from the athlete's raw, unfiltered delight. Bruce's movements were powerful yet fluid, his muscles flexing and contracting under the rippling water, and with each stroke, Damien's cock hardened, his undies now swimming in a pool of his own precum. Despite his usual strict adherence to the resort's protocols, the blonde couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction, a thrill even, at having been the one to reveal this hidden gem to Bruce. There was a unique pleasure in seeing the guarded, stoic NFL star transformed into someone so free, so full of life. The hunk's laughter filled the air as he floated on his back, gazing up at the cave ceiling, where thin light streams pierced through the waterfall, casting dancing patterns across the rocky dome, his massive crotch now hugged by his soaked shorts.
Damien's smile widened, hidden in the shadow of his carefully composed expression, as he noticed that not even the cold water managed to coil the hunk's gargantuan cock. Bruce turned in the water, his eyes locking onto Damien's, still brimming with the same infectious energy.
"Seriously, we've got to come back here sometime when you're off duty," he said, his voice echoing across the water. Damien chuckled softly, shaking his head.
Hours later, the sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden sheen over the glistening water as the boat drifted lazily on the open sea. Time seemed to stand still as Damien and Bruce floated through a world of their own making, far removed from the demands of Eden's Edge and the judgmental gaze of Bruce's wife. As the hours slipped by, the intense Caribbean sun began to sear Damien's skin, and he noticed Bruce fidgeting, rubbing at his shoulders with a grimace.
"Damn, I'm burning up out here," Bruce said, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement mixed with discomfort. He squinted at the sky, running a hand over his flushed chest. "Should've brought sunscreen," he muttered. Still half-lost in the warmth of their banter and the ocean breeze, Damien nodded toward the cooler where he'd stashed a bottle of sunscreen.
"I've got some. Want me to...?" he questioned, his voice lagging slightly. The hunk glanced at Damien, a playful glint in his emerald eye that sent a tingle down Damien's spine.
"That'd be great. My back's hard to reach, you know?" Bruce teased.
As Bruce turned and settled himself on the boat's edge, muscles rippling under his taut skin, Damien retrieved the sunscreen with a mix of reluctance and anticipation. He squeezed a generous amount into his palm, his breath slightly hitching as he hesitated before finally placing his hands on Bruce's broad back. The contact sent a jolt through him, his fingers brushing over the defined ridges of the hunk's shoulder blades and down the length of his spine. Damien's touch was careful, almost reverent, as he smoothed the lotion. Bruce's eyes closed momentarily, his expression of pure, unabashed contentment.
"That feels so fucking good," he murmured, his voice low and almost lazy, like a big cat enjoying a long-awaited bask in the sun. Damien chuckled nervously, his fingers slowly working the lotion into Bruce's skin. He could feel the hunk's muscles relax under his touch, the tension between them morphing.
"I know..." Damien quipped, attempting to keep his voice steady though his pulse thrummed like a drumbeat in his ears. Bruce let out a soft, amused grunt, turning his head slightly to glance over his shoulder at Damien.
"I bet you're good at a lot of things," he groaned. His voice held a teasing edge, but there was something more. An intensity that Damien knew very well. Damien felt a flush creep up his neck, the playful banter taking on a new, flirtatious undertone. He continued rubbing the lotion, his hands sweeping across Bruce's powerful shoulders and down to the taper of his waist. The intimacy of the act wasn't lost on either of them. Damien's cock twitched uncontrollably inside his pants, and he couldn't even process the thought of Bruce's dick, concealed from view, doing the same. Suddenly, the hunk shifted slightly. "You like football, Damien?" the hunk blurted, breaking the silence.
The question seemed almost absurdly mundane given the moment, and Damien couldn't help but laugh softly, his hands pausing on Bruce's back.
"No, not really," he confessed, his tone light but firm. "I don't get it. All that running around, the helmets, the tackling. It's all a little... barbaric, isn't it?" Damien commented. Bruce raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Barbaric? That's how you see it?" he uttered, shifting to face Damien fully, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half-challenge, half-tease. "Football's more than just running around, you know. It's strategy, precision, and strength. It's...art," the hunk contended. Damien scoffed playfully, squeezing out another dollop of sunscreen into his palm.
"Art? Come on, man. It's just a bunch of guys smashing into each other and throwing balls around," he countered, chuckling at his innuendo before sliding his hands down Bruce's thick arms, the touch lingering perhaps longer than necessary, but Bruce didn't seem to mind. In fact, he leaned into it, his smirk growing wider.
"You're oversimplifying it," Bruce opposed, his tone half-serious, half-flirting. "It's like chess, but on a field. Every play is a move and every player's a piece. There's so much going on that most people don't see. It's... it's like poetry in motion when it's done right," the hunk passionately described. Damien rolled his eyes dramatically, though he couldn't suppress the smile tugging at his lips.
"Now you're really laying it on thick," he teased, kneading his fingers into the tight cords of Bruce's neck before his eyes glanced down at the hunk's cock. It was hard. And it was massive. As his gaze traveled up, Damien smiled. "Maybe if the poems involved a lot of grunting and tackling, sure," he quipped. Bruce laughed, the sound resonant and infectious.
"You've clearly never seen the right kind of game," he said, gaze locking onto Damien's. "It's not just about the hitting. It's about pushing yourself to the limit, discipline, teamwork, and sometimes...yes, it's about smashing into a guy because you need to win," he admitted. Damien leaned in closer, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. Inadvertently, his breath spewed toward Bruce's nostrils. The blonde could see them flaring slightly.
"So, it's all about winning for you?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "What happens when you lose?" Damien whispered. Bruce's grin widened, but his eyes darkened, his expression more serious.
"You take the hit, get back up, and keep going. Losing is part of the game. It's just another move in the playbook," the hunk inforced, his words riddled with meaning and lived experience. Damien pretended to mull this over, his fingers tracing absent circles over Bruce's skin.
"Interesting," he said, his voice feigning indifference, though he was undeniably captivated by the passion in Bruce's words. "Guess I'll have to see it to believe it," he said, his voice soft but edged with an unmistakable flirtation as he leaned further in, teasing the hunk. "Though I'm still not sold on the whole 'art' thing. I've never seen anyone tackle someone in the Louvre," he razzed. Bruce laughed, loud and genuine, the sound echoing over the quiet sea.
"You cocky little fucker," he conceded, his gaze lingering on Damien, a calm intensity simmering beneath the surface. "Maybe I can change your mind someday," he added, to which Damien nodded, his fingers finally stilling on Bruce's back as he pulled away, though his touch seemed to linger in the space between them.
"Maybe," he said, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.
Damien could feel the distance between them collapse, the space narrowing with each quiet breath. He could see every detail in Bruce's eyes: the flicker of mischief, the hint of uncertainty, the undeniable heat.
In an unprecedented move, Damien leaned forward, closing that final inch, his lips pulsing with anticipation as his hand slid slowly into Bruce's massive crotch. But just as he was about to make contact, the hunk's hand clutched the boy's wrist, and he pulled back abruptly, a shadow passing over his features. The warmth that had been so evident in his gaze moments before cooled, replaced by a guarded, almost aloof expression. It was as though a door had slammed shut, leaving Damien standing on the threshold with his heart racing and his expectations unfulfilled.
"It's probably time we head back," Bruce said, his voice distant, as though their shared closeness had never existed.
Damien froze, the sting of withdrawal hitting him like a slap. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, struggling to mask the hurt that flared up inside him. The anger bubbled up swiftly: at being led on and at himself for daring to believe that, for a moment, Bruce might actually want him. Keeping his composure, Damien forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes, nodding curtly.
"Of course. Back to work," he said, his voice clipped and professional, the tightness in his chest nearly choking him. He turned away, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. This wasn't the first time he'd been played, but somehow, it felt worse. Certainly a reminder of why he became increasingly guarded in the first place.
As they returned to the boat, the silence between them was deafening. Damien focused on the task, every movement sharp and precise as he prepared to leave the Cove. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, refusing to let Bruce see them. They boarded the boat, and Damien's hands gripped the controls tightly, his knuckles turning white as he navigated the vessel back toward the island.
Bruce sat quietly, his gaze turned out toward the horizon, and Damien felt every second of that trip stretch like an eternity.
The tension was excruciating. So much so that Damien didn't even bother with pleasantries when they finally docked at the Cove. He nodded briskly at Bruce, his expression unreadable.
"Enjoy the rest of your day," he said, his tone formal, almost cold, before he turned and strode back toward the boat without waiting for a response. He could feel Bruce's eyes on him, but he didn't dare look back. He didn't trust himself to keep it together if he did.
Damien steered the speedboat back to Eden's Edge, ignoring the questioning gazes thrown his way as he moored on the sun-bleached resort's dock. With a casual grace that belied his inner turmoil, he jumped out and hurried across the sandy turf. The salty breeze tugged at his damp hair as he rushed desperately to his room. Once inside, it was like opening gates to a storm as Damien let loose the tempest within him. His foot connected with the dresser in a satisfying thump, and a familiar bottle of peppermint cologne flew off and shattered. Those annoying tidbits of paperwork resting smugly on his old wooden desk? Swiped away in one go. The unsuspecting chair was heaved aside next, its loud clatter resonating through every corner before dying down timidly around such explosive rage. He could feel strain prickling at stages up and down his throat, each ragged inhale like soundless screams clawing their way out. He lifted his shaky fingers to rid himself of redundant saline blurriness, attempting to stain his vision.
He'd already seen enough water for today, Damien thought.
As he did, a sudden knock at the door jolted the blonde out of his spiraling thoughts. He froze, heart pounding, and quickly ducked into the bathroom just as Ryan entered the room.
"Dude, what the fuck happened here?" Ryan called out, his voice laced with confusion and concern. Damien pressed his back against the bathroom door, his breath hitching as he fought to control his emotions. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms, the sharp pain grounding him. He couldn't let Ryan see him like this. "Damien?" Ryan's voice was closer now, right outside the bathroom door, but Damien couldn't bring himself to respond.
Beneath all the rubble from the crumbling walls he had erected around his life, as he faced himself in the mirror, the boy noticed a strange glint tucked deep inside his eyes--something he had never acknowledged before, something new--dangerous, callous, almost sadistic.
For a control freak like Damien, it was a rare, unsettling feeling to be thrown off balance, to feel the ground shift beneath his feet.
And yet, at that moment, staring at his own reflection, Damien couldn't help but wonder if, just this once, losing control might not be so bad after all.
(To be continued...)