The Watermark: Blurred Lines Series, #1

By Peyton Landry

The Watermark

Book 1 of Set 2 in the Blurred Lines Series

 

Their friend's wedding is everything Otto Ryerson and Darrius Beck had hoped for, but the day holds a great deal more excitement for Otto because the sexy, spiky-blond wedding photographer hired for the day has captivated him from the first click of the shutter.

But Ty Lansing's darkroom holds more than just negatives, and although it's Ty's camera that's brought the men together, it's Ty's history with it that will bring Otto to his knees in a way he never expected. And it has Otto trying to hold on to the man he loves while that man fights him every step of the way.

 

The last time Karrie Hayes saw Darrius, he was a mildly handsome teen, just growing into his body. Now, he is a stunningly virile man of thirty-four, every inch of him screaming that his adolescence has passed, as has his innocence.

The last Darrius laid eyes on his friend's baby sister, she was an awkward child. Now, Karrie is a curvy, bubbly, twenty-four-year old blonde with a fierce mind of her own and an amazing presence.

But Karrie's brother, Spencer, has a problem, and it has nothing to do with Darrius ebony skin; it's his eclectic sex life that has the two men brawling since Darrius has always preferred his women petite and blonde, and his men muscular and tall. And Karrie is not the only person Darrius wants in his bed this time.

Although… with a snap of the shutter… Darrius isn't the only man interested in Karrie's picture.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peyton Landry
• Release date: Jun 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781775083436

Peyton Landry

Peyton Landry is a Canadian author of blended romances, merging gay and straight love stories into one amazing book. She lives just outside of Toronto with her high school sweetheart, two teenagers, and two rescued cats. She spends most of her writing time outside in her yard, lounging in a Muskoka chair no matter the Canadian weather, 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

Prologue

Early-morning sunlight has slithered its way around the thin green beach towel covering the kitchen window of my third-floor apartment. The air is thick and stale. The humidity will climb higher as the day warms. It will be stifling in here by 10:00 a.m., making it difficult to breathe, and I will have no choice but to leave my tiny apartment to find cooler shelter to make it through the rest of the day.

I scrub at the two days’ worth of growth on my face while scowling at the pricey cell phone bill on my battered kitchen table, however, the overdue hydro, gas, and water bills from last month upset me more. I set aside the hydro bill to pay and stack the others on top of the fridge. They will have to wait until I get more money.

I’ve been short of cash before, but three weeks is the longest I’ve gone without some form of work from the agency or the studio. And for some reason, my current predicament feels more ominous than it has in the past.

I bash myself for letting this happen again while fully aware I couldn’t have done more to stretch the cash I do have. I have no idea what an indulgence even feels like.

As I rest my hand on the crease of my elbow, I close my eyes and run my fingers the length of my left forearm. The tiny scars, well hidden under the tattooed, sixteen-point compass rose that covers a great deal of the inside of my arm, feel like braille. And they tell a dark story.

While I endeavour to find the positive direction I often lose sight of, I pray I don’t have to wait much longer for work.

Since I’ve been clean, I’ve barely managed to keep my head above water. I don’t want to slip back into the punishing habit or the foolish things I did to support it. Drugs and alcohol shattered my already messed-up life. It was destructive behaviour, truly my darkest period, and I now feel ancient for my twenty-eight years.

It reminds me, I should find an AA or a NA meeting tonight. It’s been a while. With the way I’m feeling right now, I believe it’s been a while too long.

I take a panicked breath and lift my ringing phone from the table. I’ve barely cleared thoughts of work from my mind, but the call can only be work related. But a whine catches in my throat when I see Teddy’s name.

The dating agency is not what I want right now. His calls never bring the same cash Tony’s do. The studio is always more lucrative.

I stab the screen and hope it will be something good. The twisted shit from last time was hard to take when I expected a simple date.

Hey. Whatcha got for me?

You ready for this, Ty? You’ll never guess. Teddy laughs, his soft voice sounding as petite as his body.

Playing games is not the way I want to start the day. I lost my humour last year sometime. And I don’t see it coming back any time soon.

You still got that camera of yours? he asks with a flirt in his voice. I’ve got two queer princes getting hitched today. Their photographer got caught up in a car accident on the way to the church. They’re in a panic, desperate, and paying top dollar. The call came through a number of people, and I thought of you.

I stroke through my short hair, which needs a fresh dye, while I try to make sense of the odd request. Teddy calls with escort work, not gay wedding snap shots. That’s all the guys want? Wedding pictures? Nothing else? I can’t hide the shock in my voice. But I wait for it—the twisted fetish which is the underlying cause of the seemingly innocent request.

Nope. Sounds like they want a legitimate photographer. Although, it was Anthony who called me, and it’s tied to some guy he knows who throws regular sex parties, so...

Great. What a score, I grumble.

Come on, I don’t think there’s any double rub and tug involved, so I’m not asking for a cut. Just a friend doing a favour for a friend. I know you’re hard up right now.

I relax. I don’t mind the companion stuff. It’s the seedy, twisted sex calls I sometimes get from Teddy that turn my stomach. I’ve certainly done worse, but with my financial situation right now, I worry I might take whatever prostituting opportunity he offers me.

How soon and where do I need to be?

ASAP. I’ll text you the address. It’s in the city, so you’re good for transit. You got something to wear? It’s classy by the sounds of it.

I deflate like a dead balloon. I got nothing. You know that, I snap while finding my reality hard to take today.

I have nothing that would blend me into an elegant wedding. Teddy outfits me when I’m on dates. I have no other reason to own a suit or swanky clothing. When I work for the studio, my fashion sense is not a deal breaker. My birthday suit is what they’re interested in.

Nonetheless, wardrobe aside, I have no idea if I can pull this off. It’s been a while since I’ve looked down the lens of my camera.

I press my lips together and slow my breathing to contain the excitement that was building. This may fall through after all. He’s not asking for a cut of this job, so I have no idea how generous he’ll be with his closet. He’s a friend, but one that has a bottom line of gaining financially somewhere in our transactions.

It’s fine, Ty. Head over. I’ll figure you out, he says, much to my surprise. But move it. The subway will be packed, and you need to be to the church on time.

I hang up and rush to find my camera bag in the closet, concerned the batteries will be dead. It’s my one possession. It’s real. It’s expensive. It’s something I’ve thought about pawning many times over the years but could never bring myself to do it. It’s the only thing I truly own.

The noise in the building is growing. The paper-thin walls keep nothing private, and Melissa’s three-month-old has launched her day early, showcasing her incredible lungs.

It’s going to be warm for them today. Now that I have a cooler location for myself, my concern for the family next door becomes paramount. I’ll point Melissa in the direction of a city-run cooling centre before I leave. It’s not much, but it’s all I can do for her in this July heat.

With the camera batteries charging, I head into the bathroom, hoping Teddy’s amazing fashion sense will prevail, making me look like a million bucks. I take a cold shower that hurts. The biting darts on my skin are hard to take. But I’m protecting my next overdue hydro bill by not plugging in the hot water tank, and I’m avoiding the sweat on my body from starting too soon.

Sir Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray makes me sigh when I lift the novel off my jeans and remember what I’d read last night.

The one charm of the past is that it is the past.

I brush the beat-up cover with my thumb as I use more care than the novel has seen in its life to place it on the tall stack of books on my bedroom floor.

I’m doing the best I can, but at times, it’s still not enough. Something has to change for me. This has to get better. Life has to get better.

Chapter One

Octavius Ryerson

LIFT HIS KILT, OTTO! Darrius Beck laughs, his wild white smile made brighter by his smooth ebony skin and the glaring July sun.

I grin. I love the way my childhood friend thinks, but I wouldn’t dare attempt his taunt. Corbin won’t appreciate his ass on view for his wedding guests, and I’m positive he’s free-balling it under the abundant pleats of tartan wool. He’s too much of an Irishman to have corralled his junk today.

"Touch it... and I will kill you, Otto, Corbin whispers as I follow the photographer’s instructions by moving closer to Corbin and tighter into the frame of the picture the man is trying to capture. And I’m sure you’ll have Mark halfway up your ass as well, and not in a good way."

That brings a riotous round of laughter from the gay men in the wedding party, but Spencer Hayes and Corbin’s brothers-in-law, Tucker, Seth, and Devin, appreciate the humour and join in with the jubilant feel of the moment.

This is a fairy tale for the guys. Nine years together with a recent breakup of four months, and they have decided to get hitched. And it’s about goddamn time. I’ve never known a more perfect couple than Corbin Macintyre and Mark Castille.

Other than Corbin’s kilt in the blue, black, and green of the Macintyre Clan, the wedding party is a sea of black tuxedoes with Miranda Howarth, our resident celebrity author, dressed in black as well, as not to confuse her position in the wedding party. She is a gorgeous, curvaceous, but short addition to the mass of nine tall men who are crammed around her. And her stunning legs and abundant cleavage are the only skin showing for the pics, aside from Corbin’s sexy knees.

I want nothing to do with Mark’s ass, I protest before leaning into John England standing to my left. "The photographer’s ass is a completely different story," I mutter under my breath.

The shutterbug has taken my every breath since he arrived at the church.

The ass comment draws a low chuckle from John. He smiles, keeping his eyes forward for the picture. I made a phone call... and see what was delivered? It’s better than pizza.

He’s a blond piece of ecstasy.

It’s not what you know in life, Otto, it’s who you know. I would indeed take a bite. A big one, John says with encouragement.

Corbin’s powerful figure wavers beside me. He’s straight, he whispers, having heard my comments. As you know, my gaydar is excellent. You have to hope for another ass, Otto.

Mark’s growl is slight but audible. Not at our wedding. You had better stay away from the bathroom stalls, Otto, or so help me...

Darrius snickers as the quiet conversation trickles down the line of the sophisticated-looking wedding party.

Mark keeps his perfect smile plastered on his handsome face as he scolds another friend. That goes for you, too, Darrius. You’re no better. Pussy or cock... stay out of the bathrooms.

Mark knows Darrius’s mixed tastes well. He also knows about his higher-than-average libido.

Corbin’s brother-in-law Devin clears his throat. "You guys keep this up and I’m staying out of the bathroom tonight."

The remark brings about a contained laugh from everyone, and Devin offers an innocent smile to his wife, Regan, while she rests on a bench in the shade of the old, red brick roundhouse which houses the Steam Whistle Brewery in downtown Toronto.

You want an opinion that means something, Otto? Spencer asks as he slips his arm free of Miranda’s waist at the photographer’s insistence.

I groan. This wasn’t intended to be a group discussion. It was a passing remark, intended as humour, not a topic for debate.

Even though I do find the guy intriguing, I didn’t want anyone to think I was serious.

You gay guys love your fantasies of turning us straight guys, but it’s not happening. Ask Miranda— Spencer pulls his hand from his fiancée’s ass with a soft pat. The guy keeps staring at her breasts. He’s no queer.

A sharp whistle leaves Darrius’s lips. We already know the black mountain of a man loves the push-up bra Miranda is wearing and her fight to keep her girly parts hidden in the long dress. But his whistle stirs the entire group, all of us laughing, and we catch shit for it with the speed of a flyswatter.

I have no idea what’s so funny... the young, blond photographer sighs with a sweet smile. But the pictures should be interesting. You guys are impossible. Any way you can keep it together for me? We’re almost done.

Sorry, Ty, Corbin says, scolding us in the same breath. Knock it off, guys, will ya?

He’s gay, Miranda whispers, trying to beat Corbin’s next scolding with her speed. I’ll put money on it. I’d even wager a butt plug.

Before anyone can respond to her bold statement, Ty descends on the group of us. He repositions and pokes us into another picture against the wide wooden train doors of the brewery on the edge of the distillery district. The brick-and-stone building with antiquated windows and shutters and worn advertising across the walls will be an incredible backdrop if we can keep our shit together long enough for this guy to get a few shots. I agree with him. We are an impossible group.

Spencer straightens, his toned body going stiff when the guy touches Miranda to turn her narrow shoulders and bring a too-willing Darrius tight against her back. With the photographer having one palm on Darrius’s muscled arm as he draws him against Miranda, and his elbow now stabilizing her shoulder, Spencer is unmistakeably having a problem with how close Ty—and Darrius—are to his woman.

Mark and Corbin follow fresh instructions while Ty adjusts Mark’s jacket collar and boutonniere. Corbin slips alongside Mark, and each of us waits for our directions. Ten people is a large number for pictures. It has made it awkward for the photographer. I don’t envy him.

Ty asks me to step beside Spencer, who is standing beside Corbin as his best man. He then asks me to rest an elbow on Spencer’s shoulder while he pulls John close to us, requesting Devin stand beside Darrius.

Ty makes his way along the pile of guys and Miranda. He adjusts boutonnieres, collars, hands, and arms, as well as Miranda’s long, dark, curly hair before stopping in front of me and Spencer.

May I? Ty asks Spencer.

Sure, Spencer responds.

Ty smooths Spencer’s jacket underneath my arm, once again placing my elbow on Spencer’s shoulder. I let my other arm drop casually to my side, and I avoid Ty’s eyes.

I believe Ty knows he’s ruffled Spencer’s feathers each time he’s touched Miranda. It’s not difficult to sense. Spencer can radiate his contempt like a foghorn, even with a smile in place. It’s a lawyer thing, and Spencer has it. He’s also superprotective of his woman, which is where his tension is coming from right now.

Ty releases the button of my tux jacket before stepping back to assess the change. My body’s potent response to the unexpected move frightens me. I don’t need the sensation of him undressing me, and I for sure can’t handle an erection right now. But he doesn’t stop there. He slips his hand inside my jacket and tugs on my dress shirt like he’s ready to pull it from my pants.

I wasn’t expecting that move any more than the first contact, and the knot of desire forming in my gut from his electric touch shatters my calm.

I can imagine him peeling me out of this tux now. I see it in vivid colour.

Very good. Better, he says. And neither of us makes eye contact while he brushes my lapel. Much better.

He lets his hand drift down my side, tugging once more on the ends of my jacket before pulling away. And damn—his rich hazel eyes scan my entire body while he does it.

Hand in your pocket, please, he asks before his attention falls on John.

My heartbeat flutters in my neck. My belly flops. I feel my cheeks flush warm. I would give anything to have his hands on me again, and I’m not sure if the guy is gay, but I enjoyed that.

I want to blame my body’s reaction on the heat of the July sun beating down on us, but it’s more than that. I felt that touch in my very core.

The guy simply turns my crank, plain and simple. Short, dirty-blond hair with moulded platinum spikes. Perfect height of six two. His toned body is easily showcased by the modern cut of his fitted navy suit. A sweet smile plastered on a youthful face. It all equals damn delicious in my book.

Miranda’s snicker catches my attention. She’s paid closer attention to me and my fascination with Ty than I’d realized.

Told you, she says, watching her volume. "You guys are all idiots. He’s admiring your asses. The only reason he’s watching my breasts is to make sure they’re hidden in the cups of the dress before he snaps the picture. And he’s only watching the rest of me to make sure the thigh-high split in the damn dress Mark put me in isn’t showing too much skin."

I thought you liked the dress, Mark says with a gasp.

I do. It’s just...

Finally! Ty cheers, and his cheeks expand when he blows out a big breath. Hold it for one more. Then I need Corbin, Mark, and the family.

I’ll hold whatever he wants, for one more of anything he needs. I chuckle to the group, and everyone groans my humour. But I meant that this time.

I’m glad my part in the pictures is over. I ease back on the rough stone wall on the side of the brewery, and I relish my Steam Whistle beer while watching Corbin and Mark enjoy the last of their wedding photos.

I have difficulty keeping my roaming eyes off Ty. But I taunt Corbin with the green bottle in my hand, taking a long sip of the ice-cold wobbly-pop. It’s something he’s clamoring for. The pictures and reception held together at the roundhouse was a great plan—the guests don’t need to drive, and the beer and liquor are not far from hand. Without a doubt, it will be a carefree night.

I watch the guys interact with Ty. They seem thrilled with the job he’s done as the three of them take a brief look through some of the shots from the church and the area surrounding the brewery. Ty appears to have been a fortunate hit after the original photographer was unable to show due to a car accident. I have no idea where John found him, but it’s worked out well for Mark and Corbin.

After a shaky start, Ty was great with everyone, and unbelievable with Corbin’s dad. The family losing Corbin’s mom only ten months ago, there have been large parts of the day that are emotionally challenging for them and a number of our friends, yet Ty has managed to navigate around them with ease, and his sharp wit brought on a bunch of smiles instead of tears at points.

Spencer arrives clutching the necks of three beer bottles in one hand, retaining his ability to hold Miranda’s hand with his other. Yet another inseparable couple meant to be together and soon to be married.

Hey! Spencer calls to the guys, raising the bottles to draw their full attention.

No further encouragement is needed; both make their way to us, hands out and smiles huge.

Corbin, more of the Neanderthal and dressed appropriately for it, chugs about half his beer. His exhale is loud as Mark, Mr. GQ, swigs his, and his lips press together, appreciating the cool taste on such a warm day.

Corbin smiles at me. Let the party begin. The worst is over.

Mark shoves Corbin, shaking his head, laughing. Not what I’d hope you’d say at this point.

Corbin gives Mark a kiss in apology. I meant that we can let our hair down now. All the formal stuff is done. Now it’s just time to celebrate.

And I know what that will entail—a great deal of beer and Irish whiskey, wild dancing, and Corbin putting Mark to bed. No wedding night sex.

Maybe you guys should use the bathroom before dinner... I laugh, sipping my beer. It might be the only time Corbin gets his dick wet tonight if Mark’s drinking.

We enjoy a laugh at Mark’s expense as Ty approaches, giving Mark a casual pat on the back.

I’ll see you guys in there. I’ll take some candid shots while everyone is prepping for dinner.

Corbin stops Ty with a gentle hand on his arm. The envelope we gave you at the church, we didn’t include money for added pictures.

Ty shrugs. I want to go through the posed pictures before I give them to you. I’ll give you a separate SD card with the untouched candid shots. They will give you a taste for what’s gone on today when you two weren’t around. I’ve been taking them since the church.

The guys are shocked and thank Ty, reminding him to grab a beer when he gets into the brewery.

My eyes follow Ty as he disappears around the corner of the building. He hasn’t given me any signals that he’s interested in me, even though I’ve had a hard time ignoring him since he arrived in the parking lot of the church, but I found myself holding my breath until he arrived at the brewery since he disappeared in a hurry without a word from the church following the service.

He’s talented, Mark says in Ty’s absence. I was worried at first. He seemed confused by what he needed to do, but the pictures we’ve seen so far are incredible.

That sets Miranda into a deep discussion about wedding photographers and her frustration with the woman they have chosen for their September wedding.

I pay little attention to them, still focused on Ty’s sexual preference. The last thing I want is to offend Corbin and Mark’s photographer. I don’t want to make an ass of myself in the process, either. I’ve been bashed enough in my lifetime for my orientation. I don’t need another incident to add to my list. Especially not one I bring on myself.

This isn’t like you, Otto, Spencer says, pulling away from Miranda’s conversation concerning their photographer.

What?

The guy. The salivating.

I sigh and smile, because he’s right. It’s not like me to drool over anyone, let alone a guy who may not be gay. I much prefer the exclusivity of the bathhouse and the impersonal touch of getting my rocks off namelessly. There’s little chance of rejection and hate when every man is naked and interested in the same thing.

He’s throwing me off my game, nothing more, I tell my childhood friend, chuckling. Something about him... I don’t know. It’s weird. But I believe you’re right. He’s comfortable with all this, but he’s not gay.

I’m not sure why that aches to admit. I’m not hunting for the man of my dreams. I’m not craving the happily-ever-after Corbin and Mark share, or that Miranda writes in her gay romances. I’m in the same boat as our friend John. Monogamy is overrated.

However, something about Ty has me thinking that seeing him more than once wouldn’t be a horrible experience; seeing him every day might be interesting, and having him all to myself every night could be amazing.

I clink Spencer’s beer, scrubbing a hand through my short, dark hair. As Corbin said, the worst is behind us. The rest of the night is going to be stellar.

Chapter Two

Octavius

I FINISH MY REQUIRED toast to the guys. Ty snaps a picture of me while I do it. I breathe a sigh of relief when I sit.

Public speaking is not something most people enjoy, but this situation is breeding a panic attack for me. Business groups are tolerable. Over one hundred wedding guests waiting for humour equals meltdown for me.

Mark smiles, giving me a quick nod of approval before he lays a heavy kiss on Corbin’s lips. Their many guests applaud, but it’s from the show of affection more than my sappy words, and Ty snaps another discreet picture of the guys before disappearing to his seat at one of the closest tables.

Again, through dinner, I found myself stealing glances and paying closer attention to Ty than I should’ve been. His appeal has grown stronger as the day has progressed. My interest and curiosity have been piqued because of it.

I can’t seem to shake the feeling of his hands on me earlier. It’s as if they are still hovering. Waiting. Anticipating. The soft brush across my torso when he smoothed my dress shirt. The slight tug of my jacket. They are both robust and resonate in my body.

It was only the smallest contact, but it’s what I felt from his touch that’s set me askew. It’s the fact that I wanted more of it. And not just to be touched, but to be touched by him.

I’ve hunted all night for a random glance or his fleeting attention. I want him to look at me, not because I’m part of his job and in the wedding party, but because he wants to look. That he’s choosing to look.

Perhaps Spencer is right. It’s a straight-to-gay fantasy, or quite possibly it’s that he appears young and unused. Either way, the man is stunningly handsome, and hard to discount.

As Corbin and Mark stand to do their final part in all of this, I drink more of my wine and dive into the dessert I was unable to eat before I spoke for fear of throwing it up.

If I drink a bit more, I might be able to wipe my mind of Ty, or maybe I will find the balls to speak to him. I shake my head free of the crazy idea. As I determined before, I don’t need the guy going apeshit on me because I’ve assumed he’s gay when he’s not.

Mark’s words to Corbin tug at everyone’s heartstrings. His abrupt and painful departure in November drives his need to publicly declare his deep love for Corbin again. Corbin’s words are more humorous but drive home his need for Mark and his thrill that they’ve finally tied the knot.

They share a lingering, tender kiss after speaking. It sends the place into an uproar again. It’s a sweet moment caught once again by Ty and his busy camera.

So, Spencer, how’s your sister? Darrius asks once the guys settle at the head table again.

Darrius’s voice is soft and sweet as he leans past me to address Spencer, but the two of them have been over this topic so many times in the last ten months that I can anticipate their responses and beat them to the answers.

Karrie, Spencer’s youngest sister, is off-limits to Darrius as far as Spencer is concerned.

Darrius’s take on the matter differs. And I think Darrius pushes harder because Spencer has taken such a dislike to the idea of Darrius dating his baby sister.

The situation has nothing to do with Darrius’s colour. It has nothing to do with his personality or temperament.

It’s his eclectic sex life.

Darrius has always liked his women petite and blonde, and his men muscular and tall. He samples the pot often, as if he can’t decide which team he desires more, and he’s had that tendency since Spencer, Corbin, and I were in high school with him. Darrius preferring both sexes to be white, and his overbearing mother hating that fact adds