Captain Jack’s Wet Dream by Gale Stanley

It was Saturday night, and Captain Jack sat at his corner table watching a continuous stream of hot men enter TomCats’s bar. Some were dressed in tight, provocative clothing. Some were bare-assed naked. They were all ridiculously good looking. Two out of three men looked back at Jack and winked or smiled. They were ripe for the picking. Jack thought about which one he’d like to have in his bed that night. One guest was more beautiful than the next. It was going to be a tough decision.

Jack never denied that he was a flirt. Why should he apologize for enjoying his life? He was single, and he worked damn hard. Not only was he part owner of the hottest gay resort in Key West, he was also the charter boat captain of TomCats’s sailboat. Being a charter skipper required more than knowing where the best fishing spots were. The job required a US Coast Guard captain’s license and a good knowledge of weather, navigation, and radar. Jack was responsible for the safety and comfort of his clients as well as the upkeep and maintenance of the boat. All his training and hard work brought in a lot of money for TomCats, Inc., but Jack didn’t do it for material rewards. He would have performed his duties for no compensation at all. There was no place he’d rather be than on the water. Taking care of the boat was a labor of love. The only kind of love he was interested in these days. He used to believe in love. He had the scars to prove it. But that was a long time ago, and he didn’t plan on riding that emotional roller coaster again. Once was more than enough.

Life was good now, no sense rocking the boat. Jack was in his forties and still going strong. Cat-shifters aged slowly and healed quickly. His shoulders were broad, his stomach flat, and his arms muscled from working on the boat. Only a few gray streaks in his hair gave away his age. Men liked him, and he liked them back. There was no harm in it. A little flirting kept everybody happy and helped expand the customer base of his charter business.

One of the human vacationers seemed on the verge of approaching him, but the man changed his mind at the last minute and veered off in another direction. Shit! He was Jack’s type, too—a long-legged blond. Obsessed with men’s legs, Jack thought they were often underrated, but they were definitely his favorite part of the male anatomy.

Jack wasn’t in the best of moods tonight, and he must have let it show on his face. A streak of bad weather had prevented him from taking the boat out for a few days, and being landlocked always made him mean—especially today.

A man should be able to do what he wanted on his birthday, and Captain Jack wanted to be on his boat. Well, that was the problem, wasn’t it? TomCat, the beautiful sixty-five-foot-long boat designed after a traditional nineteenth-century sloop, didn’t belong to him, not entirely anyway. TomCats, Inc. owned the boat, and the revenue Captain Jack brought in with his charters and sunset cruises went a long way toward keeping the resort business afloat.

Jack didn’t sweat the weather. When it was cold, which was rare in Key West, he put on a jacket. When it rained, he donned his slicker. Most days the sun would be shining and he would shed his clothes altogether. He rolled with the flow. The weather never held him back. But damn it, the TomCat didn’t belong to him—not really. Jack didn’t mind the rough water and giant swells, but he couldn’t risk messing up the boat. Once again, he promised himself to start looking for a boat of his own, something smaller that he could sail singlehanded.

Despite the rough weather brewing outside, inside TomCats’s bar, with its rich dark wood and small tables fronting the long bar, the atmosphere was warm and tropical. The wall that slid open to reveal the private patio and lush gardens had been closed to keep out the anticipated storm, but the turmoil inside Jack matched the high wind blowing outside. The cool spell seemed to symbolize the way Jack’s day was going. This sour mood was uncharacteristic for a man who was normally happy-go-lucky, but the Captain was having the kind of day when he really just needed to strangle someone.

Jack took a swallow of his Corona, licked his bottom lip, and froze. His gaze fixed on the small, exotic-looking boy who had just walked through the door and was now standing at the threshold, looking around uncertainly as if he really didn’t want to be there.

Aran Suttirat looked totally out of place. Surrounded by humans and cat-shifters, the young Thai’s small stature and exotic looks made him stand out from the crowd. The boy attracted a lot of appraising glances, but he seemed oblivious to the attention.

Aran looked in Jack’s direction, and he blushed furiously when he realized that Jack was staring at him. Then he smiled shyly. Jack was enchanted, but he averted his eyes quickly and looked down, suddenly developing a profound interest in the bottle in front of him. When he caught a glimpse of the boy again, he saw that Aran was still looking his way. This time they locked eyes. The two men seemed frozen in place, while the activity in the bar swirled around them. Jack felt disoriented, and his mouth went dry as the Key West sand on a hot summer day.

Disarmed by the sudden rush of lust, the irresistible pull of sexual chemistry drew Jack’s complete attention toward the boy. Jack might as well have been lassoed and hogtied. Normally Jack loved this moment of discovery between two men—when eyes locked and the air fairly buzzed between them. It was especially satisfying when the object of his desire was another cat.

A group of strangers entered the bar, and suddenly Aran was lost in the crowd. It didn’t matter. Jack was still aware of the boy moving closer, but now he didn’t need to make eye contact. In a cat-shifter’s world, chemistry had much to do with smell. It wasn’t Aran’s choice of cologne that drew Jack, but the boy’s raw, unscented self. Aran was cat, and they were like two animals sniffing the air to confirm the attraction between them. It was definitely there, and they were drawn to each other like moths to a flame.

The music stopped. Some of the dancers left the floor, and Jack spotted Aran in the void. The boy stared wordlessly in Jack’s direction, and then he took a step closer. Suddenly the tall blond Jack had spotted earlier tapped Aran on the shoulder. The boy turned and looked up at the much taller man, they spoke for a few seconds, and then the blond led Aran into a dance as the music started up again. A low growl rumbled up Jack’s chest. What the fuck? He should be jealous over the blond, not Aran. The boy wasn’t even his type. At least, that’s what Jack told himself.

Jack picked up his bottle and held it to his mouth. Empty. Damn. Carefully avoiding the dancers, he made his way to the bar for another Corona. The music was loud, and Jack felt a headache coming on. At the bar, all the stools were occupied and Jack stood unnoticed behind two men that he recognized. They had taken a sunset cruise earlier in the week, and the sandy-haired man had flirted with Jack shamelessly. Nothing had come of it—then. Maybe tonight they could take things to the next level.

Jack was about to squeeze between them and make contact when the flirt turned to his buddy and laughed. “I’d do the Captain for sure. He looks great for his age.” The darker man smacked his lips. “Think we could get that daddy interested in a threesome?”

Daddy? Jack froze, horrified. He was nobody’s daddy and especially not to two men who were well into their thirties. Jack was turning forty-five for Christ’s sake, not senior citizen status, not by a long shot. He’d been told many times that he was hot. Yeah, but a lot of those times the compliment had been qualified with the words for his age. Those three words changed everything. He died inside every time he heard them.

His drink forgotten, Jack took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair, and walked toward the bathroom. He needed a few minutes alone. Jack stood at the sink and looked intently at his image in the mirror. When had he become a middle-aged cat? Did he really look forty-five? The years had passed so quickly. It seemed like only yesterday that he and the others had come here from New England, where their families had lived for years. They were young men on vacation that had fallen in love with Key West and stayed. When the opportunity arose to buy an abandoned cigar factory, they took it and turned the property into the popular all-male resort—TomCats. That time seemed so long ago, but it was only ten years. The other cat-shifters had been in their twenties. Although Jack had been the oldest, at thirty-five, Tom Kay had handled most of the transactions and became the unofficial CEO of TomCats, Inc. That was fine with Jack. He didn’t care about business. His love for the sea took precedence over everything else. TomCats charters was his baby, but he didn’t get too involved in the financial end. He was all about sailing and taking care of the sloop.

It was a good life, so why was he so fucking down? The face staring back at him didn’t look all that different. No wrinkles creased his angular features. His ocean-blue eyes were still sharp. So his black hair had a few streaks of gray, so what?

Fuck it. He knew he was still attractive. It was just that he was always surrounded by beautiful men, and being the oldest of the group they felt they had to tease and remind him of it all the time. He knew he was hot. He heard it enough. Daddy? Really? Give me a break.

This was bullshit. He wouldn’t let a few careless words bug him, not on his birthday. He splashed some cold water on his face, opened the door, and got blindsided by Tom Kay.

Tom slapped him on the back. “Hey, Stud.” The auburn-haired cat-shifter looked him up and down. “Not too shabby for your age.”

Jack bared his teeth at his friend and headed out toward the bar. He heard Tom laughing behind him. Jack normally liked hanging in the resort bar, but tonight it just depressed him. He wished he could leave, but he’d already committed to sticking around for Tom’s impromptu birthday party.

The weather had sent him into a funk all week, and yesterday when it had become apparent that he would not be taking the boat out on his birthday, Jack had holed up in his room and stopped answering his phone. It hadn’t stopped Tom Kay from getting on his case. The other shifter had paid him a personal visit. The redhead had talked and talked and talked, while Jack sat on the edge of his bed, trying to ignore him. Tom had insisted on champagne and birthday cake at midnight in the bar. Distracted and morose, Jack wasn’t interested, but finally he had agreed, just to get the other cat out of his room and his hair.

Now he was stuck. Damn it! Jack looked at his watch. Twenty minutes until the witching hour. His pals and everybody else in the bar would sing, he’d take a bite of cake—I hope it’s at least chocolate—and then he would make his getaway. He went back to his table, hoping the time would pass quickly.

Tom, that fucker, stood by the bar, with a shit-eating grin on his face. Jack fumed. Why did he let himself get boxed into this corner? He never should have agreed to go along with this party crap.

Jack looked away from Tom and his gaze lit on Aran, still out on the dance floor. Eyes closed, a slight smile on his face, Aran leaned his head back, oblivious to the people dancing around him. Aran was small, no more than five feet eight or nine inches, and yet he commanded the floor. The boy had a noticeable aura about him, a feline grace that lent itself well to the dance floor. He didn’t just dance. It was like the music was inside him, part of his soul.

Aran’s T-shirt and baggy boardshorts did nothing to accentuate his body, and yet the look made Jack’s mouth water and his dick hard. His gaze lingered on Aran’s perfectly formed calves. The sight mesmerized him.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen Aran, but it was the first time he’d seen him dance and the first time he’d allowed himself to scrutinize the boy so closely. When Aran had first arrived in Key West, the sight of him had sparked so many painful memories in Jack that he had turned tail and run like a scared rabbit. He’d kept his distance ever since.

Now Jack found himself staring at Aran hungrily. The boy was sexy as fuck, and Jack couldn’t take his eyes off him. He was no dancer, but right then he wished like hell he could be on that dance floor instead of sitting in the corner waiting for the stroke of twelve like Cinderfella.

A figure appeared in front of him, blocking his view of the dancers. It was Lyon. Jack resisted an urge to growl at him.

“I brought you another beer. You look like you need it.” Lyon set a bottle in front of Jack, and then sat down next to him.

Jack glared at him. “I thought you were working tonight.”

“I am. Everyone’s entitled to a break. Besides, I thought you could use some help.”

“Help? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Help. You know, like you helped me out when I was trying to hook up with Andy.”

Averting his gaze, Jack picked at a loose cuticle. “Very funny.” Lingering guilt feelings about his role in almost breaking up Lyon and the love of his life stressed him out. He had thought he was being helpful when he goaded Lyon into making a move on the human by betting him he could get to first base with Andy before Lyon. Of course, he knew it would never happen. The human was head over heels for Lyon, and sure enough their connection was explosive. The relationship between Lyon and Andy had been going along great until Jack opened his mouth and stuck his big paw into it. He’d only been playing around when he tried to pay up on the bet, but it had backfired. Andy overheard the conversation and took the first plane back to New York. Thank God Lyon had been able to square things with his boyfriend and bring him back to Key West. They were made for each other and deliriously happy living together here at TomCats.

Lyon chuckled at his discomfort. “Seeing as how I’m more qualified to give advice to the lovelorn, I’d say you should get out there on the dance floor and dance with him.”

“Who?” Jack pretended he had no idea what Lyon was talking about.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Lyon said patiently. “You’ve been staring at him since he walked into the bar.”

A frown crossed Jack’s face. “Don’t you have better things to do than play Sam the Cat Detective?”

The tawny-haired cat-shifter grinned and reached under the table, grabbing the bulge at Jack’s crotch. “Yep, just as I thought, he’s got you locked and loaded.”

Jack groaned as Lyon cupped him through his shorts. “Damn it, Lyon, lay off!”

Lyon chuckled and gave him one last squeeze before pushing away from the table. “Go get him, stud. I’ll bet you he’s dying to dance with you.”

“What makes you think that?” Jack looked over at Aran and the young Asian boy caught his eye, flushed bright red, and looked away.

“That’s why. Go for it.”

Damn, he wanted it, and why the hell not? Aran was legal and cute and would make a tasty birthday treat. He watched Lyon retreating back for a few seconds and then stood up.

Jack felt like he was moving in slow motion. A few feet from Aran, he froze in his tracks. Aran was so lost in the music, Jack felt like he’d be intruding. Finally he took a step forward, ready to cut in, but before he could make his move, Seth came up behind Aran and slipped his arms around the boy. Smirking, the tall cat-shifter hauled the smaller man back against his bare chest. Aran’s blond dance partner opened his mouth to protest, but he took a long look at Seth’s muscular biceps and smug expression, and then turned abruptly and walked away.

Jack stopped dead, frozen with a sudden attack of insecurity. What the fuck am I doing? Seth is thirty-one, ten years older than the boy. Fourteen years younger than me. As Jack started to back away, Aran’s eyes fluttered open and leveled on Jack.

Something in that look made Jack feel raw and exposed like the nerve of a tooth. Before he could make sense of his feelings, Seth dragged Aran away.

Jack felt Lyon at his back. He whispered in Jack’s ear, “You snooze, you lose.”

“Fuck you.” Jack went back to his table and sat down. He’d just dodged a close call. It was better this way. Getting involved with Aran would have been a huge mistake. Better to sit through this bogus birthday celebration and then have a real celebration of his own. He would find himself a man, a real man, not a boy, and have a private birthday party in his bedroom. A thirty-something would go a long way to help him forget the lithe young body out on the dance floor.

He tried not to watch the dancers, but he couldn’t help searching the dance floor for Aran. Looking from one gyrating body to another, he didn’t see any sign of Aran or Seth. Where the fuck were they? Disappointment turned to anger. If that fucking Seth lays a hand on the boy—

A chorus of off-tune voices singing “Happy Birthday” almost made Jack smile. Almost. Then he saw Tom Kay and Seth wheeling a huge cake over to his table. He glared at Seth and was about to make a disparaging comment when the cake started to tremble.

Suddenly, Aran popped through the top tier, surprising the hell out of Jack. Aran’s slim, hairless, and very naked body was oiled, and here and there, traces of white frosting stuck to his tanned flesh. Jack gawked at him, stunned. A natural flush highlighted the boy’s high cheekbones, and Jack felt his own face heat as Aran straddled Jack’s lap.

A lock of straight, dark-brown hair fell over Aran’s brow as he glanced up provocatively from under long, thick lashes. Monarch butterflies took wing in Jack’s chest.

“Happy birthday.” The words slipped softly from Aran’s pouty lips. The boy blushed furiously, but his scent and the hard prick poking Jack’s stomach left no doubt as to Aran’s interest.