Time Out of Mind (Suncoast Society #43)(88)

But after, as they curled up together with Mevi snuggled securely along his side, Doyle made a mental note to contact Landry and Cris to find out something that was Tilly’s favorite thing, so he could buy her a truckload of whatever it was.

Because she’d damn well earned it.





Chapter Thirty


Doyle stepped out of the international terminal and scanned the small gaggle of drivers holding signs with names on them until he found the one for him. The driver immediately took control of his luggage cart and quickly led the way to a nice private car. He wasn’t even sure what country he was in at this point, only that he was in Eastern Europe in a former Soviet bloc country.

He’d had the reservation number, flight number, airline, and time and date Clark had given him at Heathrow, and wherever he was, they’d accepted his passport and waved him through after a cursory search of his bags.

This was the thirty-second day since he’d last been face to face with his boy, and he couldn’t wait to have him in his arms again. They talked nearly every night or morning on the phone, depending on the band’s travel schedule and Pippa’s filming schedule, even video chatted when they could.

Mevi had purchased Doyle a high-end phone that worked in Europe and had it sent to him so he had one with all the bells and whistles and could do Skype on the phone itself, instead of the cheap basic model he’d purchased for himself.

Mevi had somehow managed not to kill his latest phone.

While cruising shops with Pippa one afternoon, Doyle had found a heavy chainmaille necklace appropriate for a man, called Clark to get the band’s itinerary, and had shipped it to the band’s next hotel.

When he’d watched livestreamed video from that night’s concert, Mevi had been wearing it on stage, and was wearing it when they video chatted that night after the concert.

It wasn’t a collar. He didn’t want or need a “collar” on his boy.

The ink on Mevi’s wrist—and the ring he’d one day wear on his finger—were enough for him.

He also suspected his boy would be very eager to see him, since he’d ordered him four days ago not to masturbate.

Some things didn’t change.

When they pulled up to a hotel about forty-five minutes later, the driver spoke to a doorman, who snapped his fingers to get a bellman’s attention. Doyle was ushered into the lobby, where, to his relief, the desk clerk spoke perfect English.

“Do you have a reservation, sir?”

“Yes. Doyle Turner.” He spelled it. “I was told my name is joined to an existing reservation?”

Her brow barely furrowed as her fingers flew over the keyboard, then her eyes widened slightly. “Yes, sir, I have your name here, and your other party has already checked in.”

“Can I ask a stupid question?”

She smiled. “Certainly, sir.”

“Where am I? I mean, besides eastern Europe?”

“City of Tallinn, Republic of Estonia.” She prepared him a keycard and handed it to him after writing the number on the inside of the little gold, embossed folder it had been tucked into. “There you are, sir. Please enjoy your stay.” Then she spoke to the bellman, who led the way to the elevator.

At the room door, when the man motioned for the keycard, Doyle waved him down. “It’s okay. I have it from here.”

Apparently the guy didn’t understand English. Doyle dug into his pocket and pulled out a couple of euros, hoping they actually took euros there. “Here, tip.”

The man apparently understood that, smiling broadly and nodding before he turned and headed back toward the elevator.

Doyle inserted the key card into the lock, relieved when it turned green. He opened the door and propped it with his largest bag while dragging his others inside. Once he closed the door, he threw the deadbolt.

Sure enough, there was tissue shoved into the viewfinder, and a towel by the door.

My smart boy.

After replacing those, he walked in, crossed the suite’s small living room, and stepped into the bedroom doorway.

Two LED candles flickered on the dresser, providing enough illumination against the darkness from the curtains being completely drawn.

On the floor, naked except for the necklace, knelt Mevi. Full bow, arms stretched, forehead to the floor

“There’s my boy.” Doyle started unbuttoning his shirt, his own cock hard.

He also hadn’t masturbated.

“How many more concert stops, boy?”

“Three more after tomorrow night, Master.”

“How long?”

“Nine days. From tomorrow.”

“And then home?”

“Yes, Master.”

“I’ll ask Clark to fly us into Tampa.” He dropped the shirt onto the chair next to the bed and kicked off his shoes. “We’ll drive down to Sarasota and get married after a couple of days off. See if Tilly can be there. You aren’t getting away from me.”

Mevi still knelt in position. “I don’t want to get away, Master.”

That word coming from Mevi’s lips always sent a jolt of electric heat straight through him.

“Up.”

Mevi smoothly rose and Doyle pulled him in for a long, deep kiss. Then he took the necklace off him.

“When my boy is formal, I want my boy totally bare unless I put something on you. Except for a wedding ring.” He kissed him again. “I love seeing you in it, though.”