Page 31 of The Lonely Hearts Guide

Feeling lightheaded, Elliot nodded in agreement.

Elliot lay back in the chair, not worried that his erection was visible through his Speedo. Alexander’s hands were heavy against Elliot’s chest, slipping and sliding all across thanks to the lotion. He took a brief detour at Elliot’s nipple, stroking the hard nub repeatedly until Elliot thought he might crawl out of his skin. When he opened his eyes, Alexander was staring at his nipples the way Professor Plum stared at plum jam cookies. Like he wanted to devour them whole.

“That feels incredible,” Elliot whispered. He loved the soft touch. “More. Please?”

Alexander looked to his side, making sure the coast was clear. Thankfully, the twink and his master were locking lips, so no one was paying them any attention. Alexander quickly leaned down, his lips parting around Elliot’s nipple, and darted his tongue across, making Elliot cry out.

“Alexander,” he whined. He wanted more. Needed more, but he knew he couldn’t have that desire quenched on the pool deck.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled against Elliot’s nipple. Looking up, he locked eyes with Elliot and dragged his tongue across the automaton’s nipple. “I’m going to worship you tonight.”

Elliot slammed his eyes shut and nodded rapidly. “Yes. Yes, I want that very much.”

Alexander crawled forward until he was nuzzled in Elliot’s lap, then leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “All I want is for you to feel good. To be happy.” His expression turned serious, and the look he gave Elliot made it seem like he had entire novels in his eyes, ready to pour out affectionate words like cozy sunshine. “If this thing between us works out, I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to keep you happy in every way.”

Elliot smiled warmly at him, because Alexander already did that. They’d clung to each other for less than a day, but Elliot already felt their bond strengthening into something solid.

Elliot wanted to switch sides and slather Alexander’s body with sunscreen, but the pair next to them caught his attention.

“And can you believe the work Ms. Broussard has done to her face?” the twinkish beau asked. Elliot’s ears pricked up, and he shared a nervous glance with Alexander.

“She wanted a change. I can’t say I blame her. I’ve been thinking of getting a facelift too,” the twink’s master said.

The bountiful beau smiled at the man. “You’re beautiful the way you are. I’m just not sure why she’s referring to it as a facelift when it looks like someone’s let the air out of a balloon.”

“That’s not kind, baby,” the man said. “What does Daddy say about kindness?”

“I know. Sorry, Daddy. Kindness costs nothing. I pray you’ll forgive me for speaking out of turn.”

The man chuckled. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. I’m not like some of the other masters here. I won’t punish you.”

Elliot’s and Alexander’s eyes never left each other, and Alexander looked just as worried as Elliot felt. He knew they must have been referring to Mrs. Peppercorn, but Mrs. Peppercorn promised she had a plan. Was that the plan, then? Donning an ill-fitted wig and ballgown, then wandering around the ship, claiming botched plastic surgery? The rest of the passengers saw Mother the night before, so unless Mrs. Peppercorn was trying to say she had emergency overnight surgery, he didn’t think the plan sounded nearly as foolproof as she claimed.

“We need to find her,” Alexander said. “We need to make sure she won’t blow our cover.”

Reluctantly, Elliot rose from the deckchair and slipped back into his clothes, holding a pool towel over his lap to shield his unyielding erection. He reached down and picked up Professor Plum, and the look of annoyance on the fieldmouse’s face was undeniable.

“Yes, Professor Plum. I would like to lounge around all day, too, but there are pressing matters at hand. Nod if you understand.” When the fieldmouse refused to move a muscle, Elliot narrowed his eyes. “Typical. Well, shame, shame, shame, I know your name.” He lifted the mouse and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead. “I’m only joking. I adore you.”

They traveled across the ship, trying to find Mrs. Peppercorn. Eventually, they reached the dining hall, and when she came into view, Elliot had to do a double take. Sure enough, Mrs. Peppercorn was walking the room, chit-chatting with beaus and suitors. When she saw them, she lifted her arm, offering a princess-like wave.

“There they are,” she announced to the room. “The men of the hour.” Elliot brought his hand to his pocket, slipping Professor Plum inside. He didn’t need to bear witness to this foolishness. “Elliot, what does Mother say about being tardy?” She was attempting a Creole accent to match Mother’s, but it sounded more Russian than Cajun.

“Pardon?”

“What does Mother say, Elliot?”

Mother had never really mentioned tardiness during his training, because she’d told her beaus it was the man’s job to get them to places on time, and it wasn’t something a bountiful beau should worry their pretty little heads about. Elliot was a man, too, though. Sure, his skeletal system might have been created from steel, but in every other aspect, he was just as much a man as his potential mate. And wasn’t that just the silliest thing? As if only men could keep track of time. For God’s sake, it only required a wristwatch and a set of eyes.

“I’m not sure, Mother. I don’t recall any lessons in tardiness.”

Mrs. Peppercorn rolled her eyes and flung her hands in the air. “If one wishes to keep their beau . . .” She paused, deep in thought. The silence stretched longer than it ought, and for a moment, Elliot wondered if she’d forgotten the topic at hand. Suddenly, she lifted a finger in the air and shouted, “one must never get dressed too slow.” She stared at Elliot as if she was awaiting a pat on the back. “You know, because it would make you late.” She looked around the room, probably for a rousing round of applause, only to be met with confused expressions from her patrons. She patronizingly mimed as if she was clapping her hands, looking at the crowd with expectant eyes. “You can clap now.” Confusedly, the passengers gave her a lackluster round of applause.

Despite the rhyme being emotionally unfulfilling, Elliot nodded anyway, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that Mrs. Peppercorn clearly wasn’t Mother, even if everyone was clinging to every word as if she was.

“Yes, Mother. I apologize. Please forgive me.”

“Forgiven and forgotten.” She shared a knowing wink with Elliot before turning her attention to the crowd of forty-or-so bountiful beaus and their suitors. “As I was saying; cutting edge technology. That’s the name of the game.” She took Elliot’s hand and walked both him and Alexander to a small platform with speakers, a microphone, and karaoke equipment. The stage wasn’t terribly tall—essentially just a slight step up from the floor—and it wasn’t quite big enough for three people, so Alexander propped one foot on the tiny platform, and kept the other squarely on the floor. As Elliot and ‘Mother’ stood at the karaoke station, he said a silent prayer that she wouldn’t force him to sing, because Elliot wasn’t exactly Celine Dion.

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