Keys to Your Closet

By Peyton Landry

Blurred Lines Series – Book 3 - Keys to Your Closet

Miranda Howarth is close to achieving her goal of completing her first erotic gay romance, but her excitement is tempered by darker thoughts of what she’s lost in the process.
Corbin Macintyre can relate as he examines his own life, but Corbin is not willing to wallow, and he finds his future much brighter than his past.
Determined, and now bound by so much more than a book, Miranda and Corbin scramble toward their finish line as the doors to the closet are swung wide-open... and misery, treachery, and lies have never looked so beautiful, or so much like love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peyton Landry
• Release date: Nov 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781775083429

Peyton Landry

Peyton is the author of the Blurred Lines Series of blended erotic romances, mixing LGBTQ and straight love stories into one steamy book. She is married and lives in southern Ontario with her high school sweetheart, two teenagers, and two rescued cats. She enjoys writing while outside, lounging in a Muskoka chair no matter what the Canadian weather brings, and her love of Canada and hockey keeps her novel settings genuinely Canuck, and the score usually in favour of the Maple Leafs.

Book preview

1

To Dad and his dedicated Curler: Your belief in me and your excitement for me has allowed me to believe in myself. Hurry hard, all the way to the end.

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter One

Decor

Miranda Howarth

I had been able to ignore the yawning hole in my chest for the last month. The refuge I’d found while hiding at John England’s condo on the shores of Lake Ontario allowed me the ability to forget it even existed. Away from everything that had been in my life, I was left focusing on the four walls around me while finishing my newest novel.

Now, at Corbin Macintyre’s home for two weeks, everything seems to be back in my face like an acid pie eating my flesh. Because of my work, Corbin’s life sits at the crossroads of mine. Most of the same people flow in and out, the topics are similar, and now that his boyfriend, Mark Castille, has left him, our hurt is one and the same. We are not the best company for each other right now.

Corbin and Mark’s protected red-brick Victorian home in the Cabbagetown section of Toronto has allowed me to be absorbed into gay central. It has helped me to tweak the finer details in the erotic gay romance I’m attempting to write. I’m thankful for that, but I’m watchful when I’m out of the house because I could be spotted by any one of their many friends, which would trickle back to Spencer Hayes.

Corbin and Spencer, having known each other since high school, share many of the same friends even though the two men don’t share the same preferences in bed, and Spencer is in town for work occasionally, close by due to the Toronto courthouse being only a few blocks away. Here, I’m always concerned he will find me. At John’s I had no risk of that. His condo was a distance away, and he kept anyone away who might know who I was.

Corbin’s place is not the same. Everyone tends to meet at the house before they head out somewhere. Corbin is also the go-to guy for any problem, and now that word has spread that Mark has left him after nine years together, the house is swamped with phones calls and impromptu visits, and I have found myself on more than one occasion sprinting to the third level of the house to hide in my writing room when the doorbell rings. To my relief, not one of the visitors has been Spencer, although he has called Corbin a number of times to check on him since Corbin is devastated from Mark’s loss.

Hey, can I come in?

I look up from my computer and find a tall, dark, and way too nice Corbin hovering at the door with a steaming cup of hot chocolate in his good hand, and a plate with a candied fruit bun teetering in his casted right hand.

Is that for me? I smile, loving my typical late-night snack.

I told you I would look after you once you moved in with me. How’s my award-winning writer tonight?

I’m good, I tell him, stretching my stiff back.

He has managed to put weight back on my withering frame. A good cook, adamant that you eat, is dangerous to a girl’s waistline. However, it’s healthier than the diet of tea, chocolate, and cigarettes I was enjoying at John’s.

When I notice Corbin is dressed in new black jeans and a black cable-knit sweater, I glance at the time. It’s almost midnight. He must intend on going out.

He’s been out numerous times over the two weeks I’ve been here. He never invites me to join him, and I have no idea where he goes. He hasn’t offered any info. I haven’t asked for any. If it’s a weeknight, he leaves by seven and is back by ten. If it’s a weekend, he leaves late and returns in the small hours of the morning, not rousing until noon.

Mark has been weighing like an elephant on his mind. Corbin hasn’t laid eyes on him since Mark left for Louisiana eighteen days ago to be with his family for Thanksgiving. When Mark returned to Toronto on the Sunday night, dumping Corbin by phone, he then transferred his pediatric patients to other doctors and was back on a plane to Louisiana by the Friday. Mark has been into town once more to gather a few things, but Corbin refused to see him. He barely spoke to Mark when Mark called to make the arrangements, and Mark’s things were removed from the house via John’s place because Corbin refused to let Mark come to the house.

The first few weeks of being single are always the hardest. I know from experience. Now, six weeks after leaving Spencer, the feeling of being alone is not as foreign to me, although the hurt lingers inside that gaping hole in my chest.

I know I need to give Corbin more time to sort this out. The sudden death of his mother in October, the month I’ve been missing, and Mark leaving him seems to have changed Corbin, and it’s like getting to know him all over again. But his grief aside, Corbin is fixed in his thinking that things cannot be repaired with Mark, and I guess when Mark’s grand plan is to marry Samantha Warrington, Corbin doesn’t have much choice but to move on. He considers Mark’s step to be final and that begging won’t work. Corbin is too proud to beg anyway.

You’re going out?

Corbin hums his agreement, saying nothing, but his broad shoulders sag as if embarrassed.

I might be up when you get back. I’m almost done writing and ready for Lilly to beta read for me. I’ll drive into Niagara Falls tomorrow to take it to her and visit. I might even visit my parents while I’m there, and I need to check that my house in Niagara-on-the-Lake is still standing.

Corbin looks up, his full attention caught. That’s a big step. You ready for that?

I shrug, not really sure.

Corbin knows I haven’t told my family I’ve left Spencer. I’ve called them while I’ve been in exile. They know I’m alive, just not where I am, but I have no intention of going back to Spencer, so I need to acknowledge that as well as spread the word. It also reminds me that I need to figure out what I have to do to annul my marriage to Spencer—the one only Corbin, Mark, and Darrius Beck know about, and only by accident.

I don’t know how late I’ll be, he says, setting my snack on the side of my desk.

I smile when he spins the large mug so the handle is pointing the right way for me to grab it. He’s too sweet to be hurting like this. He’s a prize and should be cherished, not crushed and tossed aside like garbage.

Well, I’ll be leaving early. Just be safe tonight.

Where’d that come from? His tone is curt, and his dark eyes narrow as he studies my face.

I’ve hit a nerve. I’m not sure why. I don’t know. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just want you to be… safe, while you’re out.

He nods and offers a smile before leaving down the stairs.

I have become close to him over the three months he’s been helping me with this novel, but he still baffles me at times, and his heartache over Mark leaving him has made him seem even more muddled.

Corbin Macintyre

I scan my body in the massive mirror while I wash in the large shower room of the bathhouse, which is busy with other men. I’ve been to the gym more often in the last two weeks to burn off my anger. With my right hand encased in black fibreglass, most of my time has been spent on core, legs, and back, and I have to say that it has paid off. The bit of weight I’ve lost since Mark left is enough to allow the increased definition to show. I like what I see, and so do many of the men bathing with me.

My casted hand resting above the showerhead, I soap my neck and chest, and the absence of body hair still alarms me, as does the experience of removing it.

Mark and I, having been in a long-term relationship, would groom our bodies the way we wanted with some preference to what the other enjoyed or desired. I always kept my pubic hair short because we both liked it. My chest hair is thin, and Mark had no problem with pit hair. Mark on the other hand would range between smooth genitals to full-on bush. I liked the variety of it. He would wax his chest on occasion, but I loved the dark trail that led from his navel to his dick.

But grooming when cruising is crucial, so after a visit to a gay spa last week in the Church and Wellesley area of Cabbagetown, I now reflect what I want in a sexual partner as well as what I hope a variety of men will find attractive.

I’ve had my hair cut very short and now have small, thin sideburns, and I have always kept my face clean-shaven. I’ve had my chest and abdomen waxed, leaving a thin, narrow trail of dark hair from my navel to my groin. I’ve left my pit hair, although it’s been thinned and trimmed. My arm and leg hair was never heavy, so I left it alone, and I’ve removed all pubic hair through waxing.

I had been to Steamworks Bathhouse once before with Mark, but coming on my own has been awkward, and it hasn’t gotten any easier over the last two weeks. I’ve had my dick sucked, sucked a few myself, both openly and through glory holes, but tonight I’ve made the jump and rented a room. I want to use it at some point over the two-hour time block I have it secured because I have no choice but to push forward with my life.

Mark is gone, and I can’t live in the past. I have no intention of sulking over him even if I do feel gutted. At thirty-four I’m young enough to pull the attention of a variety of good-looking men and enjoy the benefits that come with that. I’m no longer anchored by a closeted ball and chain at home, so I need to embrace the freedom that brings, even if the bathhouse isn’t one of my brightest ideas.

I’m watched by a blond when I step out of the shower and towel off. His gaze is heated as he studies the rivulets of water dripping from my smooth chest, and I like the feel of his eyes on my skin. I run the bath towel along my shoulders and down my arm to my cast, and I raise my arm, exposing my pit so I can dry my torso. I pay particular attention to my nipple ring and the large tattoo of a Celtic knot on my right shoulder cap for his benefit.

I thought I’d have to make it into the lounge or the tub room before I found enough interest from someone. Tonight, I haven’t had to go further than the locker room, but I’m looking for a bottom, so I make of point of sending those signals, never bending to expose my hole to the blond.

He waits, I think hoping for something to change, but he does eventually give up, not finding what he wants. However, my disappointment is minor, and I wrap the white club towel around my hips and move to the lounge.

It’s busy with it being Friday after midnight. The scrub down in the shower and the wandering eyes on me in the locker room has generated a solid erection. The various types of gay porn being played on the multiple TVs scattered around the large space of the main lounge is arousing me further, and the slow painful throb enveloping my dick is telling me that I want something more, so I leave for the tub room.

I pass a few occupied glory holes. I bypass the dark hallway where anything goes once you’ve entered, since it scares me, and I arrive in the main area of the hot tubs and saunas. This bathhouse is one of the cleanest in the city. There is always a diverse crowd of men. The facility has a good layout of hot tubs, wet and dry saunas, weight rooms, lounges, and a variety of private rooms to rent, and there is always good music, sexy scenery, free condoms, lube, towels, and mouthwash.

I toss my towel and my flip-flops and join the six men who are lounging in the large hot tub, their cheeks red. I half expected to see John in here tonight because he’s still trialing new guys for his sex parties, but I’m pleased I haven’t since none of my circle knows I’ve been cruising.

John’s parties are by invitation, and everyone is either a friend or someone John has slept with in the past. He offers some of the same perks as the bathhouse does—a variety of choice men and sex. Difference is that John charges nothing for the privilege, and you are assured everyone is sober, clean, and sane.

Mark and I had a standing invite but only used it once. Now that I’m single, I might take John up on the offer because the idea of the bathhouse being a regular stop sits like a rock in my stomach. I never pictured myself here, doing this—even if my dick seems to enjoy the atmosphere.

I finish in the hot tub and wander through the numerous saunas. I’ve shown myself enough that all I can do now is wait. No one approached me, but some men will delay and look for me in a room. It makes me a sure thing since chatting up and touching in the tubs and lounges only guarantees you a stiff dick. Someone waiting in a room is a guaranteed good time.

There is no need to turn lights on in the room due to the open ceiling and the lighting that hangs from the steel beams. The space is far from quiet, with the sounds of sex, of men getting busy, filtering in from other rooms in this area. The room is not large. It has a small bed and side table—not much more is needed. It’s not cozy, but it will do.

I leave the door open and ditch my towel and grab lube and condoms from the basket by the door. I position myself on the bed on my back, propped up with the pillow, and I relax and watch the varied traffic passing in the hallway.

My pose will signal that I want to pitch, therefore I will only receive attention from someone looking to catch, and only if they like what they see. With the way my body looks and my dick lying huge and hard on my abdomen, I don’t figure I’ll have to wait long.

A few men glance in but continue down the hall. A young, good-looking kid stops at my door, and I wonder if he’s even legal. I look away and he moves on because that’s what this is all about. All male. All gay. No questions. It’s just men enjoying men for their company and their bodies with no strings attached, no names, and no judgment. If you’re not interested, you don’t engage. If you’re not comfortable with something, you walk away. It’s simple. And what you end up with, if you get the right night, is sex with men who want to have sex with you. Both of you have picked the other because physically you are what the other wants.

The next man gracing my door is tattooed with arm sleeves and a full calf. He has multiple piercings including both nipples, and when he licks his lips, I see the heavy silver bead in his tongue.

Although I have a tattoo and a nipple ring, and the tongue bead is intriguing, the rest of the guy does nothing for me, so I look away. He curses but moves off, and a tall blond passes the doorway in his absence. Fit and toned but not bulging with muscles, he pauses while I give his body a quick glance from head to toe.

This is more like it. He’s stunning. His pale skin and striking blue eyes fit well with his tight, strong jawline, giving him a Norwegian or Swedish feel to his appearance. A Viking god.

He wavers in the doorway, hesitant, and he doesn’t enter. I offer a curt nod, and he finally steps into the room. His grips the door handle and looks to me, checking. I’m not wanting more company, so I nod that I want him to shut it. He closes it with a large white grin. He must not want company, either.

When I rise from the bed, the guy drops his club towel because he already knows what I have to offer, and although he won’t be putting his dick up my ass, it’s always nice to have something sizable to play with… and I’m not disappointed. He has more than enough to go around. It’s a nice, very thick piece of cut meat.

You clean?

His to-the-point greeting is not unexpected.

I was in a relationship, but I was tested last week. The acknowledgment that Mark is really gone from my life cuts into my gut further, but I carry on. I’m clean. No HIV. No STDs. You?

Clean. Tested two days ago.

I grin. I like him. His voice is deep and rich. His firm body is magnificent. And once I snuff my thoughts of Mark, I can picture myself taking this guy.

What are you into?

Nothing out of the ordinary, I tell him, feeling my nerves stirring my belly. Just wanna fuck.

Are you willing to turn the table?

No. But I’ll go as slow as you need, and if you want me to suck you as well as fuck you, I’m okay with that.

He nods, seeming pleased. You using those? He points to the lube and condom on the bed.

I won’t sway on this. The condom is a no-brainer, but without the lube it’s more likely to break. And that’s the last thing I need.

Yup. If you don’t want both, then find another room.

He nods, grinning again. I think I have the right room.

One more thing. I lift my hand to stop his move forward. Anyone have your ass already tonight?

No. I haven’t been here long.

I nod and step to him, taking his mouth with a deep, wet glide of my tongue. His bare chest presses against mine. He gives in to my lead, and the deeper I push, the more he allows it. He tastes of mint from the mouthwash station, and I wonder if he’s given anyone head tonight. I didn’t think to ask.

It feels reckless, but I take his mouth hard, enjoying the thrill of kissing another man. I’ve been sucked when I’ve been here, but this is the first I’ve kissed anyone. It’s the first kiss in nine years that hasn’t been Mark, and it drives an intense, vivid blast of excitement through my gut.

He eats at my mouth with as much enthusiasm as I eat his. He roams my body, squeezing my ass, gripping my arms, grating his entire body against mine, and with one hand I try to return the delectable favour.

The man feels incredible. His mouth is hot, his scent masculine, earthy. My heart speeds and my groin aches. The rush in my veins is something I haven’t felt in years. It’s like this is all new again, and it’s a wild, heady sensation of arousal that’s building in my body.

I can’t wait to fuck you, but your lips are incredible. I eat at his mouth harder, gripping his right bicep and wrapping my casted hand around his back to keep him against me.

He continues to squeeze and palm my ass, pulling my groin into his, and it feels too good to stop. I rub my dick against his. Both of our erections are bulging, and the grind against my body feels divine, but I’ll have to stop soon because I don’t want his pre-ejaculate all over me.

I want your ass, I puff against his lips.

The guy pulls from me, his lips swollen and red from the intensity of our kiss. His breath is as fast as mine, sawing in and out of his chest. It’s what I want to do to his ass.

He keeps me close, rubbing his fat dick against mine. He takes my nipple ring in his mouth and tugs and bites the flesh of my nipple. You gonna fuck me good? he hums against my chest.

I bury my face in his blond hair, gripping his ear. You have no idea. You’re gonna love it.

He continues tormenting my nipple while clutching my ass, but I have to break away because he’s driving my craving for him higher.

Do you care where? I ask, making my first eye contact with a bit of hesitation.

Dude, wherever you want me, he says, fisting my dick and pumping, not having an issue with the personal gaze.

I glance around, and as much as I like this guy, I’m not feeling the face-to-face thing. The end of the bed, feet on the floor. Is that cool? I can’t do much with the hand otherwise.

If he wants me to jerk him, I need the rest of his body supported. Being the same height, I’ll have no problem taking him while his feet are on the floor.

He tosses me the lube and grins. Up and at ’em.

He leans over the foot of the bed, bending to rest on his forearms, and he widens his stance. It’s perfect. He’s perfect. I squeeze jelly down his ass crack and rub it over his small pink hole. It’s going to be a tight squeeze, and the tingle of anticipation chills my warm skin.

His gorgeous body eases against the bed when I rub my palm across his smooth cheeks and around his sack. He’s waxed—thighs, ass, anus, balls, and the base of his dick—and he’s beautiful. I circle his pucker and push inside him, rotating and pulling out again. I groan my excitement to myself. He’s very tight.

You get taken often?

He shakes his head.

How fast do you want this? My cock is aching.

I’ll let you know if you’re too fast.

He seems confident that I’m not going to rip him a new one. Brave man. I drive my fingers into his hot depths again, however, having my other hand casted is getting in the way of things, but I’m able to jam the tube of lube between my palm and the cast. I find enough pressure by squishing my fingers together to get more jelly from the tube, and I squeeze it onto my left hand.

I work the lube into his sweet ass, and more of my fingers disappear with it. His hum of satisfaction is loud. It thrills me that I’m doing it for him, but my long-term goal is that I find pleasure and fulfillment.

You’re getting soft. Relax a bit more. I’m dying to take you.

He groans when I enter him with my thumb pressed tight to my pinched fingers. I rotate my wrist back and forth, and my clutched fingers force him open.

Fuck, man. That’s good! he pants against the sheets.

Pass me your towel.

When he grabs it from the floor beside him, I flop it over my shoulder, and I open him wider, loving the small sounds he makes as I fill him with my fingers and rub past his prostate. His anus pulses, so I know his arousal is hitting a peak since his body is easy to read.

Unless you want fibreglass splinters in your dick, I can’t jerk you until I’ve buried my cock.

He laughs, tossing me the condom from the bed. I need a hand on my dick while you do this. Yours or mine, I don’t care which.

With that encouragement, I suit up, cover the condom with a ton of lube, spread more on his ass for good measure, and offer a sweet pet to his back before wiping my hand on his towel and tossing it on the floor beneath him to catch his jizz.

Spread yourself. I can’t. I fist myself. He reaches back to grab his cheeks, his chest against the bed, and he pulls them open and wide. Fuck I hate this cast. I would kill to do that for him.

I prod his anus, testing, and although his hole has softened, he is not as wide as what he will need to take me with ease. This is going to burn like a bitch, I warn him as the head of my dick spreads him.

My unhurried slide is warm and wet and arousing. His masculine body is slow to allow me entrance, but it’s amazing to watch. He trembles as I give him more of my thick stock. His pant becomes loud, and he drops his hands from his cheeks, but he begs me not to stop, cursing into the pillow, now masturbating like a pro.

You feel fucking huge, man.

I snicker. I’m only halfway in. You have no idea.

A few more fuck, fuck, fucks into the bedding, and his free hand twists the thin dark blue sheets on the bed. This appears to be daunting for him, but he is deriving some pleasure from the pain.

There?

Almost.

Jesus. There? he asks again as his legs begin to shake.

I seat myself and try to find my voice. Yup.

Oh. Fuck! he groans, the pleasure evident in his voice this time.

Do I pack you enough? I ask, indulging in the warmth of his sweet backside under my palm and wanting more of his praise.

I stopped at the right room.

I chuckle to myself. I’m just getting started. The sounds of men having sex in the rooms around us are loud. Much louder than I’d heard before, and I want to add to it. Desperately.

I want to hear you, okay?

That won’t be a problem.

And he groans when I pull from his body. I keep him wide with the head of my dick to make this easier on him, and I reach around his waist. His dick is thick and twitching, and leaking like a tap in his hand. I pump his meat while I pack him again on a slow slide, and his moan grows in volume as I feed him more of my length. And he shares one loud "fuck," not three.

My dick throbs, begging me to move faster. I grumble my arrival when I’m submerged, but I jerk back, grabbing his shoulder before stuffing him.

You’re fucking gorgeous with my dick in your ass. It’s stretched wide. You’re going to hurt tomorrow.

Buddy, it’ll be worth it if you keep this up, he says as I pull from him again. Your cock feels great.

No more leisurely stroll, I hum. You ready?

He tightens his grip on the sheets and bows his back. Let me have it, boss.

And I do.

I work his fat dick with my fist, setting a brutal pace that keeps up with the speed I take his delicious hole. The guy releases a loud, rough grunt every time I nail his ass. My heavy bag slaps against his, and the rapid rhythm and the sounds make this hookup everything I wanted for tonight. He doesn’t feel like Mark, but he feels like the perfect fuck for a new start.

His roar shakes his body while I rock my hips with my thrusts, taking him through his powerful climax. He bursts his load hard enough that it misses the towel and hits the end of the bed, and I don’t give a shit. I’m seconds after him, locking my hips to his ass, my grunts coming in time with the throb of my cock in his tight gate.

He pants, his face in the bedding. I pull from his body, and his anus closes, becoming a small pink pucker again. Yup. He’s gonna be sore.

Before ripping the condom off, I check it, having no idea just how scared I was until this moment. It’s clean, which surprises me, but it makes it easy to see there are no tears, so I force myself to relax.

You douche? I ask, wrapping my towel around my hips and unlocking the door, opening it.

Yeah. Mind if I grab a fresh one? He points to the stack of towels in the corner of the room.

Go ahead.

You showering? he asks, covering himself.

I nod. I’ve got the room for a few hours.

Mind if I join you in the shower before I leave the club for the night? He grins, looking at my cast. One-handed, you might need help.