Monty didn’t need it but Forsythe was attractive and standing next to him and, from the look in his eye, interested in a reprise of past experiences. Monty was willing.
Forsythe slid an arm around his waist. “Come on. I’ll show you around, as promised.”
He led Monty to the buffet table. The spread was huge and varied.
“What’s the theme?” Monty asked as he looked around.
“Chocolate.”
“Chocolate?”
“Mm-hmm. Everything here has chocolate in it.”
“Aren’t those empanadas?”
“Yep. They’re delicious.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Monty was filled with a sudden desire to show the spread to Hilliard. He wanted to know what his friend thought of the theme. He wanted to see Hilliard’s reaction to the empanadas and the…enchiladas? He wasn’t quite brave enough to try anything on his own. But with Hilliard, it would have been a riot.
“Here,” Forsythe said. “Something a little more conventional.”
Monty turned to see the other man holding a chocolate covered strawberry. Monty reached to take it, but Forsythe pulled it away with a grin. Smirking in response, Monty opened his mouth, allowing Forsythe to feed it to him. The juice burst against his tongue, with the sultry taste of chocolate making him moan. No sooner had he swallowed the bite than Forsythe’s mouth was on his, sucking the juice off his lips, the arm around his waist pulling him closer. Monty moaned again.
Unexpectedly, his thoughts wandered to Hilliard. His friend had promised he didn’t mind cooling his heels while Monty had his fun. But would he be bored? Would he feel strange sitting alone in a crowded party while Monty fell into bed with someone else? Would he eat? Would he?—
The kiss suddenly broke off.
“Your mind is far away. How did I lose you so fast?”
“Sorry,” Monty said. “A little distracted, I guess.”
Forsythe didn’t seem bothered. He tossed the leftover strawberry top into a nearby trash can. “Let’s go where you can focus on having a good time.”
Monty downed the rest of his cocktail and put the empty glass on a side table before he was led out to the pool. People were everywhere, all in various states of undress and in various stages of sexual activities. Monty noted three people sharing a patio chaise lounge, one of them likely utilizing magical dexterity as a sewist or musician by day if the level of skill they were showing off with both hands was any indication. Powell’s biggest Western star was in the pool between the legs of a script girl, who was sitting on the edge with her head thrown back in pleasure. He spotted Director Chen pinning someone against the side of the pool—and quickly averted his eyes at the sight of Joan Dupree topless.
Forsythe cupped his ass and then tugged him around to face him. “What do you think? Better for the mood?”
“Sure,” Monty purred.
Forsythe nipped at his lips. “Good. From what I hear, you need some relaxation.”
“Do I?”
“You’ve been hard at work and locked up in the suburbs.”
Monty laughed. “It hasn’t been bad. It’s actually been kinda nice.”
Forsythe hummed as his mouth made its way down Monty’s jaw and neck. Monty tilted his head back to give the man better access. Then he used the opportunity to look around a bit more. Where would Hilliard be the most comfortable while he waited? Would he hang out near the pool and people watch? He couldn’t imagine the man being that voyeuristic.
Forsythe pulled away again. “I won’t be offended if you’re not in the mood. Or not in the mood for me.”
“Sorry.” Monty rubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe I need another drink first.”
“Anything particular?”
“Something strong.”
Forsythe flagged down a waitperson. He plucked two glasses off the tray and handed one to Monty before clinking them together. “Down the hatch.”
