DISCLAIMER: This is the second installment of a work of fiction based on a popular daytime drama. The original characters of the actual programs are the property of CPT Holdings. As such, the images portrayed suggest nothing about the sexual orientation of the actors portraying the characters. Characters not under the domain of CPT Holdings are products of the author's imagination. If this suits your fancy and you are of legal age, sit back and turn on the television of your imagination. The author retains copyright of this material. The material cannot be posted without the author's permission.
© 2001 by W. Foster
BOLD AND BEAUTIFUL MEN: CHAPTER II
"I'll be there," Ridge Forrester replied huskily to the familiar voice on the other end of the line. He hung up and went back to work on his latest design, feeling that stirring in his loins just from hearing that voice. Tonight was to be something special, and an amorous smile graced Ridge's chiseled, pretty-boy features as he thought of one of his special designs from the Men's Line, hanging in a garment bag on the rack in his office for just this night.
His reputation as an arrogant hothead in the industry preceded him; the men he had punched out over insults and slights were legion. Who would have thought that very quality would be the catalyst that brought him to where he was today? How could he have been so blind?
It had only been a few
months ago, when his brother Thorne had returned from Genoa City
after a successful business deal with Victor Newman. He couldn't
help but notice how different his brother appeared to be. He wasn't
as caught up in the family drama as he used to be. He seemed to be
highly confident, stress-free, totally relaxed.....and curiously
satisfied about something. What in the world happened over there?
Thorne didn't seem to be fazed at all by the fact that he and Taylor
had schemed to break up his relationship with Brooke; to Ridge's
shock, Thorne forgave them. He would disappear at different times
after he got back to work, only to return with that same, satisfied
look. When the family asked him about his trip, his praise of Victor
Newman glowed brighter than a desert sun at high noon.
Not long after that, Taylor took the kids and went to visit her father. Ridge stayed behind, struggling to work out the problems he had with his designs. They weren't major problems, but it was always something a little off kilter, not quite hitting the mark. It could be a neckline one day, the way a certain material draped the next, and so on. It had gotten to the point where the designer decided that the time alone was what was necessary to help him work this situation out.
Sometimes, to help clear his head, Ridge would don one of his scanty Speedos and plunge his 6'1" swimmer's body into the pool at his luxurious home in Bel Air. He would swim several laps before getting out to relax in his favorite lounge chair nearby. His short dark hair usually dried quickly, so he seldom did more than pat his face and his body before he reclined to soak up what rays could penetrate the smog on those warm days in southern California; George Hamilton would have been impressed with his results.
Today, however, Ridge found himself sitting in the sand at his beach house in Malibu. Normally, few people were around in the mid-afternoon, but the area was deserted, and he preferred it that way. The latest trade papers were singing the praises of Spectra Fashions' latest line, and the smug grins of Sally Spectra and Clarke Garrison were enough to make him puke. He couldn't believe that with their history of being a cheap knockoff house, Spectra's designs were now in every top fashion magazine. And that jackass Clarke Garrison was rubbing their noses in it with every interview. Sure, he may be a good designer, but he wasn't the greatest thing since sliced bread. As for big-haired Sally, there was no doubt that she would be over in Bel Air at his parents' estate in the wink of an eye, relishing the opportunity to lord it over his family. When the family had seen the reviews, he was surprised that Adam Alexander's picture wasn't included with the Spectra articles. Come to think of it, Ridge thought, maybe it was better that it wasn't. I'd only want to punch that slimeball's face in.
The relative calm of the Pacific this afternoon made for few surfers, but the frustrated designer didn't care as he flung some stray pebbles into the water. He had only been spinning his wheels at the office, with the flaws in his designs swarming around him like gnats. Brooke hadn't made things any easier either, looking at him as though she wanted to push him into a vat of sulfuric acid every time they crossed paths. Robbed of another Forrester man to prey upon, panties in a wad, Brooke's wrath had been felt throughout the company, which guaranteed that Mother would step in to give the corporate floozy another taste of her acid tongue. Those articles, however, were just too much. The more he thought about them, the more pebbles he hurled into the ocean. On an impulse he got up, pulling off his Speedos and flinging them into the sand before he broke into a run.
Ridge plunged into the water, swimming
vigorously, hoping that he could swim his frustrations away. The
thought of Adam, however, made it a tough task.. If he hadn't come
back---and with a fortune at his disposal--- Forrester Creations
wouldn't be having its present hassles. Spectra Fashions had
teetered on the edge of bankruptcy so often it was a joke to the
family; that was merely what they deserved for trying to play out of
their league. Adam, however, had changed all that. The man was
plain old trouble. Ridge had felt antagonism toward the Spectra
financier from the moment he laid eyes on him, and the tension hadn't
changed---instead, it seemed to get worse. Ridge swam harder and
harder, feeling like he wanted to scream. He doubted that he could
have found a man more unsettling and infuriating than Adam Alexander.
The vile cur actually had the colossal nerve to blame the
Forresters for what happened to his daughter at one of their
previous fashion shows. How could a sweet girl like Kimberly have
gotten stuck with a father like that, Ridge thought as he pushed
himself still harder. His strokes of angry precision eventually gave
way to an easier pace after a while, but only when his strong
swimmer's muscles showed serious signs of fatigue did Ridge finally
leave the water. Only the flopping of his five-inch soft dick
against his thighs reminded him to pick up his sand-covered Speedos
before he headed back to the beach house. Taking a quick shower, he
fell across his bed into a deep sleep.
In his dreams, the designer saw himself at the party his family had given him in honor of his fortieth birthday. Everything was so festive, and he had enjoyed the good-natured ribbing. He found himself going off to the upper terrace at the estate, feeling warm even in his light cotton shirt and shorts. A silhouette of someone already out there caught his eye. Who was it? Everyone else was downstairs, even the servants. As Ridge drew nearer, the person turned around and came into the light. What was Adam Alexander doing at his birthday party, looking so warm and inviting? He should be angry. He should be tossing the underhanded scum out on his ear. Why couldn't he? Adam drew closer. He experienced a strange feeling of peace. But why? Out of nowhere Ridge heard music, an old slow jam called, "At Last." Adam was taking him in his arms. They were dancing together. It felt like...
Ridge jerked up off the bed, panting like a cat that had been in the hot sun too long. What just happened? If anyone should have been prominent in that dream, it should have been Taylor, not Adam. Not his enemy. There seemed to be no escaping the man, not even in his sleep. "Damn!" he cried out, pounding his fist into the mattress. "Damn, damn, damn, damn! Damn you, Adam!!!"
By early evening, Ridge was relaxing as best he could. His dinner of a chef's salad, French bread and white wine had helped a little. Comfortably dressed in a pair of forest green silk boxers that hung just above his tan line, he prepared to settle down to an old Marilyn Monroe movie that had caught his attention on a cable channel. Perhaps a little escapism and some humor would do him good for the time being, and "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes" seemed to be the ticket. By the time Marilyn was onboard ship and scheming to get her golddigging hands on a diamond tiara, Ridge found himself smiling from the amusement. Jane Russell working a Parisian courtroom actually had him laughing. Just before the movie ended, he heard a knock at the door. He ignored it and went back to watching the screen, but the knocker grew a little more insistent. With a shrug, Ridge grabbed a short green terrycloth robe lying across the bed, pulling it on as he went out to the front door.
He hadn't told anyone he was coming here. Taylor would have called or just come in if she were back in town. Of course, Brooke often came by in the past, either because she was in heat or to play on Taylor's insecurities. Mother often came by unannounced---lately her visits were about some new stunt Brooke pulled that made her an even bigger slut than she already was. At present, Ridge's curiosity began to win out over his mild annoyance and he casually opened the door. He was almost certain that it was Brooke, steaming and ready to cut loose with a litany of his sins. That was nothing new; he could handle that. When the Forrester studmuffin beheld his unexpected caller, his eyes narrowed and his face contorted into a scowl.
Sally Spectra's ex-husband was a man in his early fifties. His wavy salt-and-pepper hair had serious silver-gray temples, and his mustache was just beginning to turn gray. Standing a couple of inches shorter than Ridge, dressed in a maroon polo shirt and khaki shorts, he had significantly greater muscle mass and power than Thorne, though his body wasn't as sharply defined. His large black eyes, though, were like windows. They could be loving one minute, dangerous the next. Since he'd been on the run for so long from some deadly loan sharks, Ridge preferred to believe that Adam Alexander's eyes were on the slimy, dangerous, untrustworthy side. That way he wouldn't have to think about how easy on the eyes Adam was, otherwise he might.....might.......
"Well, look who crawled out from under the rocks," Ridge snarled.
"And a good evening to you, o Crown Prince of Forrester," Adam said with a mocking smile, walking into the beach house as if he owned it.
"What? You're not happy to see me?"
"I'll be happy to see you leave."
"Well, Prince Ridge, we can't always have what we want, can we?"
Was there no end to the gall of this man? "Are you sure you don't have any goons lurking around?"
"That is water under the bridge," Adam said calmly. "Besides, you don't even know the whole story."
"Do I look like I care? With your history, one never knows," Ridge said sarcastically as he appraised his enemy. The man really had balls, standing there looking better than any man had a right to, driving him to distraction. Just being in the same room with him was hard on his lungs. Why hadn't he just stopped him at the door? No---this can't be happening. This just can't be happening, he thought. This was someone he hated. "Just what the hell are you doing here?" he said a little too forcefully.
"Oh, I was just taking a stroll along the beach and thought I'd see how the crown prince is doing these days, now that he's no longer in the limelight."
"So you came to gloat and get some cheap digs in, huh? Well, that won't last long, not with a third-rate design house like Spectra," Ridge said in his most condescending tone. "You may be up there now, but you don't have what it takes to stay there. Dirty tricks aren't going to keep you on top. All you are is a flash in the pan."
If Ridge had hoped to get a rise out of his Spectra nemesis, those hopes were dashed by Adam's serene, unfazed demeanor. "Sour grapes, Your Highness? Sounds like a little boy who took all his toys and stomped home because he couldn't get his way. Face it, Prince Ridge, Forrester Creations isn't the only game in town anymore, and King Eric has to step down from his throne. Spectra Fashions is going to be in the major leagues a long, long, time. There's room at the table for everyone. Besides---you and I have a lot more in common than you think."
Ridge felt his hands begin to clench into fists from Adam's taunts, not to mention the steam that was coming out of his ears. The cur may have to be taught a lesson sooner than he thought. "What would I have in common with a gutter rat like you?" Ridge growled menacingly.
"Oh, you'd be surprised, Ridge," Adam said with an ironic smile. "But seriously, you do need to grow up a little. I mean, look at you. You're standing there like a royal brat, all set to beat the daylights out of someone because you can't stand losing and nobody's telling you what you want to hear. Now really, isn't forty a little old for that sort of thing?"
That did it. Ridge lashed out with a right cross to Adam's jaw----at least, it was supposed to connect with Adam's jaw. At the last second Adam had blocked the punch and countered with one of his own, clipping Ridge on the chin enough to slow him down. "What's the matter, Ridge, losing your touch?" Adam taunted. Ruled by his temper, Ridge swung at Adam again and again, still unable to strike any blows that Adam couldn't block. With anger and frustration winning out, Ridge pounced on Adam, sending both of them to the floor as their bout turned into a wrestling match.
For the next few minutes all that could be heard in the house were the sounds of crystal shattering, furniture being overturned and the grunts and heaves of the grappling men. Though Ridge was determined to best Adam, it was proving to be a far more difficult task than he planned on. Even with that Superman clone Pierce Petersen he'd been able to land a few telling blows, but Adam just had this look on his face, as if he knew a big secret while maintaining the upper hand. The man seemed to thwart him at every turn, and he couldn't stand it. Just then, there came a moment where Adam appeared to be weakening, and Ridge seized the opportunity. He'd show this social climber from Bargain Basementland who was boss here. Or so he thought, as he unexpectedly found himself descending into the blackness of unconsciousness.......
Ridge slowly reached a semi-conscious
state from the "sleeper hold" he had been put in with
delightful titillation. A warm, wet something was wriggling around on
his torso, doing things to his nipples that made them tingle. It
roamed over every inch of his chest and stomach before it wrapped
itself around the head of his steel-hard shaft and drew a soft moan
out of him. But how was that possible? He had been dressed, so...
The something was down between his thighs, stimulating his nutsac and
causing him to breathe a little heavier. Despite his groggy state,
his body was responding to these pleasurable sensations, and the
hands that sensuously massaged him were like magic.
Something warm and quite wet surrounded his aching cock, and a breathy groan came from the hazy depths of Ridge's mind. The feeling was so exquisite that his head slowly rocked back and forth on the apparently soft surface he was lying on. He didn't even feel like he could move, just sink in deeper and enjoy the sensations of the steamy place his throbbing eight-inch cock was buried in. As he gave in to the surreal space he was in, he was aware of a feathery feeling around his pucker. He moaned again, loving the stimulation and squirming from a new presence at his back door. It was gently insistent, but instead of repelling the presence his tight hole grabbed at it. The mind trip was incredible. The new presence seemed to heighten the pleasure Ridge received, and he reveled in it.
Adam took all of Ridge's pleasure muscle down his throat and held it there, marveling at the unconscious sighs the younger man made before he came up for a breath. It had been a long time since he'd been with another man. Lance had been so good to him during the time he'd been forced to go underground for the Feds, before he'd remarried and assumed the name Myles Fairchild. Even when his second wife died, Adam had concentrated solely on work and his daughter. Yet, as he bobbed up and down on Ridge's randy pole, it was as if the experiences happened only yesterday. Adam hadn't liked this pretentious snob from the moment he'd met him. However, his gaydar had gone off around Prince Ridge like a Civil Defense siren. In spite of all the trappings, it was apparent to him that Ridge was gay and didn't know it. Yes, he would definitely show this upstart a thing or two. He'd make him admit it---and how.
Ridge felt like a mass of desire. Though his mind was still somewhat cloudy, his body was sensually heightened in its awareness. The featherlike sensations on his chest and arms. The hot steaminess around his turgid cock. The tingles on his taut buns. That new feeling at his tight hole that he so wanted to experience again. And then, there was that comfortable heaviness on him, protectively enveloping his body, grinding into him, making him hotter and ready for more. He had to know. He had to see what was taking him on a journey to a sensual nirvana.
Ridge managed to force his eyes open---to the last thing he ever expected. The living room was illuminated solely by the intense moonlight that filled it, and Adam's face looked upon him, not with hostility or anger, but unadulterated passion. The strange weight he had felt was Adam's powerful, naked body on top of his. Before Ridge could say a word, Adam gently parted his lips with his tongue, kissing him like he was the most precious person on earth. Ridge struggled weakly, but his overheated, traitorous body simply didn't have the heart for it, especially with the lingering effects of Adam's wrestling expertise. And as Ridge found himself wrapping his arms around Adam's neck, he found that he didn't want to leave this man's arms or the euphoric feeling of his kiss. The Forrester pretty boy's temperature felt like it was going to go through the roof, and the steady pulsing of his eight hard inches against Adam's stomach clinched his realization of the overwhelming pleasure he was getting from kissing a man. Kissing this man.
Continuing to give him soft kisses, Adam slowly added a second lubed finger into Ridge, gratified by the eagerness in which Ridge kissed him back when he felt his love spot massaged. This is going to be easier than I thought, Adam mused to himself as felt his battering-ram thick, ten-and-a-half inch pleasure rod jerk with anticipation. Looks like my little playboy here has just been waiting for me to bring him out. I guess you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar; you just have to find the right brand of honey. He's going to have a night he'll never forget.
As he groaned into the kiss and pulled Adam's magical fingers deeper into his tunnel, Ridge wondered if he ever really knew what passion was before now. His nipples were like peaks from the sensual way Adam squeezed and sucked them. His mouth savored the aftertaste of Adam's magnificent cock, even though he had only been able to get half of it down his throat between kisses. His hand, which had found its way down to Adam's vibrant mantool, caressed the plum-shaped head, slickening it with the pre-cum that had been leaking from the slit. Right then he knew that he had to have Adam Alexander inside of him or he would go out of his mind from the ever-increasing need. True, Adam was big, but Ridge wanted him so badly it ached inside. "Oh Adam," he said huskily, gazing at the older man's smoldering eyes, his own eyes heavy-laden with desire. "I want you. I want you. Take me."
"I'll give you what you want, Ridge.....and more," was Adam's sexy reply as he rose to his knees, adding more lubricant to his impressive manhood and Ridge's cherry manpussy, exhilarated by the way Ridge gently licked his lips in anticipation. He slowly raised the designer's legs, tantalized by the moist hole that came into view. He brushed his rigid dick against it and then backed away. He did it again and smiled as Ridge's pucker tried to grab it before he drew back. As he massaged the backs of Ridge's thighs, Adam looked directly into his eyes and said, "Tell me again, Ridge. Tell me what you want."
Any rational thoughts had fled long ago. The words would have been unthinkable even yesterday, but now they came to Ridge softly and easily: "I want you, Adam. I want you to fuck me."
"What was that you said, Ridge?"
"Fuck me, Adam."
"I want to be clear on this, Ridge. Say it again, like the gay man you really are."
With a catch in his throat, nearly
crazy from wanting, Ridge knew there was no denial possible---not
anymore. "Please fuck me. Please, Adam, please fuck me."
With the head of his love muscle securely at the entrance to Ridge's portal, Adam's voice became a husky whisper. "Then open up, Ridge. Push those muscles out and let me in."
Was it something in the air? Some kind of enchantment? Perhaps that was it, a sweet surrender that allowed him to open up to Adam's slow and sensuous entry into what was pristine territory. This strange, new feeling of fullness. The unspoken assurance that this man wouldn't deliberately hurt him. The pain, what there was of it, that hurt so good. The large, dark eyes that never left his, that danced when the wondrous cock inside him hit his magic button and sent him into unparalleled bliss. The lips that sought his as their coupling began. The strong body that embraced and covered him, now joined with his. The man himself. Adam. Adam was giving him what he wanted and long denied that he needed, even to himself.
For Adam, the feeling of being inside Ridge's virgin territory was truly something to savor. As he worked his pulsating member in the the designer's sweet channel, he couldn't remember being in anything this tight---at least, not since Lance. And Ridge was fast proving to be a natural at this---from all the signs, he was taking to it like a duck to water. That's right, Adam, play those cards just right, he thought. Look at that expression on Prince Ridge's face. His ass was made for my cock. This is going to be a real pleasure, making him want it, and making him want it all the time. Then we'll see who's so high and mighty.
"Don't stop. PLEASE don't stop. Don't EVER stop," Ridge pleaded as Adam continued those slow and easy strokes into his steaming hole. The Spectra superstud silenced his pleas with one of those deep kisses that only enhanced the scattering of Ridge's reason to the four corners of the earth. With the complete enjoyment and pleasure Adam's manhood received from the tightness of Ridge's tunnel, it was an added thrill to hear the Bel Air playboy begging to be fucked, eager to be impaled on his manmeat. At last, the conqueror of women had himself been conquered. He slowly increased the pace, reveling in seeing Ridge's dick turn purple and drip with juices, seeing Ridge himself going wild the need to be plowed by him.
No wonder Taylor loves it, Ridge thought. No wonder Brooke pursued me like a heat-seeking missile for all those years. You just feel so wonderful inside of me, Adam. I LOVE IT! I don't care what anyone says, I've got to have you again---and again and again and again. Your hands, your lips, your arms, your body, your big, beautiful cock. OH YES, hit my spot, fill me up. That easy pace of yours is driving me up the wall. I've never felt so good in my life. My ass is yours, Adam. Only yours.....
After the better part of an hour Adam pulled out of Ridge momentarily, exercising all the self-control he had to keep from shooting. At that moment, from somewhere in the depths of his soul, Ridge whimpered from the empty feeling in his tunnel of love and his need for Adam. Though he had entered into this at first with the express purpose of showing Ridge that he wasn't all he thought he was, Adam realized that somewhere along the line something had changed, that his feelings for Ridge had run deeper than even he was aware of. Now that Ridge had recognized the desires which had been inside him all along, he was reaching for Adam's thick, pulsing ten-and-a-half inch fuckpole to guide it back inside him, his voice so full of emotion as he said, "Please." Adam found himself reeling from the way that whimper had touched his heart. How could he possibly refuse him?
He plunged his formidable manmeat back into the wanton designer, and Ridge's ecstatic endearments spurred Adam to give him the experience of his life. Making love to Ridge Forrester was bewitching. Could this have been what was beneath all the animosity between them? This kind of passion? These deep feelings? A future for the two of them? He would certainly find out, because the precipice they were about to leap over was imminent.
The joy Ridge experienced knew no bounds as he felt Adam's love tool thrusting inside of him---back where it belonged. He locked his legs around Adam's waist, using his anal muscles to make love to Adam's dick. In his long history as a jet-setting playboy, he couldn't remember anyone who had made him feel like this. No one had ever taken him to such heights. Seeing the happiness on Adam's face, Ridge knew he would do anything in his power to keep that look there, to keep this man satisfied. Anyone who could do what Adam had done to him deserved no less. And as he felt the older hottie hit his G-spot again and again, Ridge shuddered with the anticipation of the cresting wave....
Adam had barely completed ten long strokes when Ridge's tight tunnel squeezed him like the world's biggest vise. "ADAM!!!!!!!!!!!" he yelled as his untouched cock turned into an oil well, literally drenching them in love cream. The grip Ridge's muscles had on his dick was more than he could handle, and Adam roared like a lion as his seed spilled into Ridge with all the power of water over a bursting dam. In the midst of the mind-blowing rapture, Adam found his way to Ridge's mouth and locked onto it like Velcro, the men kissing each other with the fervent passion of what could have been centuries.
"You're mine, Ridge," Adam said sensuously as the two were curled up together, enjoying the feel of Ridge's hot, wet chute wrapped snugly around his hardening manhood. "You may be married to Taylor. You may have screwed every runway model in this town. But you're mine. Understand?"
"Yes, Adam," Ridge moaned softly as he squeezed his muscles around Adam's rod to further arouse him.
Adam smiled sexily as he kissed Ridge on the back of his neck, beginning the easy erotic dance that they enjoyed so much for most of the night. "Good. So from now on, whenever I want you, wherever I want you, you'll be there. Right?"
"Oh yes, Adam," Ridge said huskily, feeling his own shaft rise again from the internal massage. "But...."
"Suppose what, Ridge?"
"Suppose......I can't wait that long?"
"I'm sure we can arrange something," Adam said with a naughty grin as he held his lover/former enemy in his arms, grinding his hips to start them on another round under the magic of the full moon.
Indeed, Ridge had found himself most eager to be at Adam's beck and call The mental images alone of being tenderly plowed by Adam had the former Forrester ladies' man hornier than a Vulcan with the seven-year itch. The times and places varied drastically, but the need for Adam to take him and make him beg for it was upon Ridge. There were so many times in the past few months when he would throw himself at Adam and Adam would make him wait, knowing that it would only increase the frenzy their libidos were in when the coupling actually began. Whether it was in a private jet at 30,000 feet, a romantic beach in Samoa, the Forrester steam room, the freight elevator at Spectra, the back seat of a vintage 1957 Plymouth or the middle of Redlands National Park, Ridge was always ready, always willing, even thinking of ways to entice and seduce Adam into satisfying his ever-growing passion for his touch, his kiss, his presence. Though Taylor was alluring, Adam Alexander had staked an undeniable claim on him that she couldn't touch, one that Ridge found more and more difficult to live without.
The most memorable time was when Adam had gotten into Forrester Creations disguised as a deliveryman and had Ridge paged just before their most recent fashion show began. He had pulled Ridge into a clothes closet and teasingly plowed his love hole for all of three minutes. The Forrester crown prince had pleaded with him not to stop, but it was in vain. Adam just pulled out and waved his impressive and very hard penis in front of Ridge's hungry eyes, saying, "I'll be waiting for you after the show," just before he sealed his promise with a kiss. Ridge wanted the show to be a success---and it was---but he felt as though he had waited two lifetimes for it to be over. When the press conference ended, Ridge hadn't cared if the president of the United States had wanted to see him. He practically ran to the metallic blue super-stretch limo with the deeply tinted windows waiting behind the building, frantically tearing off his clothes once he was inside and heading up the Hollywood Freeway, lifting his legs and spreading his cheeks as he lay panting on the seat, eager to be kissed by the handsome, naked man next to him, to be filled by that huge, beautiful pole of his that he'd grown to love---and crave.
"I want you so bad. Take me, Adam. Just take me," he begged...
As Ridge finished his latest design with a satisfied grin, he couldn't help but think of how his life had changed in one fell swoop. Forty years. How could a man be forty years old and not realize that he had such deep passion for another man? All the gay men he had crossed paths with in the fashion industry, and it hadn't once occurred to him that he felt the same way. Until Adam....the man he was beginning to realize he was falling for, and falling for hard. As he squeezed his muscles around the butt plug that was sewn into his briefs, he knew that the rapturous lovemaking they had shared was a huge incentive, and yet there was---more.
The more they talked, the more he got to know Adam, the more he saw the warm embers of love in those dark eyes, the harder it was to justify in his mind how he could ever have hated him. When Adam had revealed the entire story of his flight to the underground, Ridge realized how overly judgmental so many of his beliefs about the man had been. Even more so, he could no longer point a finger at Thorne when it came to "sleeping with the enemy," not when Adam could merely look at him a certain way and he would be ready to melt into the man's arms. Adam had known what was inside him all along. How could he have brought it out if it hadn't already been there? Besides, his strong feelings and desires for men were probably behind the way he constantly waffled in his relationships with Taylor, Brooke, Caroline and the other women he had liaisons with in his past. There was none of that with Adam, and he knew that a crossroads was looming on the horizon for him, one that so many married men who realize they are gay come to. Telling Taylor wouldn't be a walk in the park, even with her training as a shrink. And yet, as he lay snuggled in Adam's arms the other day, listening to "At Last," Ridge remembered sensing that he had to follow his heart, difficult as that road would be. Wait a minute---that's what Brooke always says, he thought with an ironic chuckle.
Ridge got up from his desk and stretched, going over to the clothes rack and opening the garment bag thoughtfully. The midnight blue three-piece suit was flawless upon inspection, suitable for a night at the theater, the opera, an awards presentation, even a very special date like the one this evening. He gently squeezed his muscles on the butt plug again, quietly congratulating himself on the added feature this design had---the hidden zipper that went all the way down the back seam of the pants below the belt line. Would Adam ever have a surprise during their night on the town........
For those of you who contacted me when Chapter 1 was posted, I thank you and appreciate you. For those of you who haven't and would like to, I'd like to hear from you. Make sure you include "Bold & Beautiful Men" in the "Subject" area of your e-mail so I can readily identify it. If you plan on contacting me to flame, it will be ignored and deleted. Comments can be sent to firstname.lastname@example.org
Have a good one!