Mischief Maker

by Andi Lee

  Chapter Twelve

  HE PARKED near Liam’s flat. The air in the car thick was with tension, his pulse like fire in his veins. He gripped the steering wheel, turned off the ignition, and twisted to stare at Liam.

  Liam’s body was tense beneath the artful lounge and smouldering look. Jamie spotted the twitch in his jaw, the heat in his eyes, and the way his chest rose and fell a little too hard. His T-shirt was stretched tight over his chest, the logo on the front half-obscured by his open leather jacket. Did he ever take that damned thing off?

  Jamie swallowed. Why were they always in the car for awkward conversations? Liam had been the perfect rebound boyfriend so far. He’d held Jamie’s hand and soothed away the rawness of seeing Paul. Now it was his turn. His nerves felt brittle—with one sharp movement, they’d snap and he’d crumble like a deck of cards.

  It had been a long time since he’d done this with someone new, and first-time jitters made him want to crawl out of his skin. First times were never how they were described in romance novels. In Jamie’s experience, they were always awkward. He’d become used to sleeping with the same man, knowing what he liked, how he looked.

  Liam lived in a converted terraced house at the opposite end of Lockstone from Jamie and had precious off-road parking. Cars were parked bumper to bumper on the pavements on either side of the road, so he truly was lucky.

  He wet his dry lips with his tongue, and Liam followed the movement with his eyes. Strangely that was all it took to calm his nerves. Jamie peeled his fingers from the steering wheel and concentrated on the soft glow of the streetlamp outside.

  He’d thought of saying so many things on the drive over—rehashing old stuff like rules, boundaries…. But sitting there in the dark with Liam waiting patiently next to him, none of that mattered. Paul didn’t want him, but Liam did. Liam, who didn’t usually want anyone for more than one night, wanted Jamie tonight, tomorrow, next week. Who cared about a year from now? By then he’d be long gone, and hopefully the feeling in his chest with him.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me in?” He forced himself to look at Liam and was glad he did. When he wasn’t trying to layer on the charm, there was a raw vulnerability to Liam that Jamie wished he could see more of.

  Liam’s mouth dropped open and then morphed in one of his trademark smiles. He opened the door and put one leg out. Jamie’s breath stuck in his throat as he waited. “Are you coming inside?”

  Heat uncoiled inside him like a spring, and he let out a shaky breath, yanked the door open, and locked the car behind him. Three long strides and he was chest to chest with Liam. He was an inch shorter, so he had to tip his head back slightly as Liam leaned over and kissed him.

  It was nothing like their first kiss. It started out deep and became all-consuming. Liam ran his hand through Jamie’s dark curls, and he shivered at the sharp bite of pain as he wrapped them around his fingers and angled the kiss exactly how he wanted it. Jamie swayed toward him, and their chests touched.

  LIAM SHUT his front door behind them, pushed Jamie against it, and crushed him as he devoured his mouth and shoved his thigh between Jamie’s legs, urging him to thrust.

  Fuck. He felt good, but kissing wasn’t enough anymore. All night he’d given Jamie teasing touches and fond looks to help with the pretence, but he’d driven himself crazy instead. He needed more than fake touches. He needed something real and harsh—something he could taste.

  When the room began to spin around them, he pulled back. Jamie’s mouth glistened, and his eyes were heavy lidded with desire. Satisfaction curled his lips. That look was for him, not Paul, and Liam wanted to make Jamie forget that fucker’s name.

  This was where he came into his element. If there was one thing he was good at, this was it, and he would make sure Jamie knew it firsthand.

  Jamie leaned his head against the door, his mouth open and swollen, glistening with saliva. Liam’s heart skipped a beat at such a wonderful sight, and when Jamie blinked at him, his gaze finally focusing, Liam smiled—that slow half smile that made his viewers weak at the knees.

  Liam leaned in for another kiss, distracting him as he undid Jamie’s fly, then pushing his jeans and boxers down his thighs. He gasped into Liam’s mouth, and Liam couldn’t stop the grin forming around the kiss.

  Jamie’s cock was hard to the touch, his balls heavy and hot. Liam had to taste more than just his mouth. He ripped away from Jamie’s lips, dropped to his knees, and pressed his nose in Jamie’s neatly trimmed pubes. He was gorgeous. Standing there mostly dressed, with just his cock out, he made Liam’s heart race and his ears roar.

  Jamie’s hand thumped against the door. His cock was already dripping precome, and Liam tasted a droplet on his tongue and let the flavour explode in his mouth with a salty earthiness that he could very easily get used to. They both groaned.

  He sucked the cock into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, and listened to the change in Jamie’s voice, doing his best to drive him to the brink. Jamie let out a strangled grunt and gave a stuttering thrust with his hips. Liam’s cock was painfully hard, trapped in sinfully tight jeans. He rubbed his palm against himself, but it wasn’t enough.

  “Please,” Jamie said. Liam rolled his eyes upward, caught his heated gaze, and almost came on the spot. He pulled off Jamie with a pop and stumbled to his feet. That usually never happened. He was always in control.

  Jamie’s eyes bored into his as though stripping him to the bone while keeping him fully clothed. His gut clenched, and he pushed Jamie around until he faced the door and Liam didn’t have to stare into those all-consuming eyes. He pulled Jamie’s hips until his arse jutted out. That was better. This he could do.

  His breath was harsh against the back of Jamie’s neck. He yanked Jamie’s jeans all the way down, felt the firm globes of his arse, and imagined how it would feel to push between them.

  His legs went weak, and he draped himself over Jamie’s back, wishing the T-shirt weren’t in the way of the open-mouthed kisses he pressed against his shoulder blades. He grabbed the supplies from his jeans pocket and then stood straight so he could free his cock. He shuddered when it hit the cool air.

  He wanted to get naked, wanted to strip Jamie until there was nothing between them, but that wasn’t how he did sex. He did fast, hot, and sexy, not slow, tender, and heartfelt. He forced himself to do what he knew, knowing they’d both feel good. Jamie didn’t want that extra stuff from him, and he didn’t know how to give it anyway.

  He rolled on the condom with shaking hands, then squeezed some lube down Jamie’s crack, fingers quick and efficient as they loosened him up. Jamie made small mewling noises that made Liam’s cock twinge, and as he sank into the tight heat, his own grunts joined them.

  Jesus Christ. Jamie was unbelievably tight. The ring of muscle twitched around him until he saw stars. “God,” he said, laughing because he’d never felt so… much before. Jamie pushed out his arse, grabbed the door handle with one hand, and pressed his other palm flat against the door.

  Liam set a brutal pace—fast, hard, and sweaty, thrusting his hips unevenly, the door jingling each time Jamie slammed against it. The room was full of their gasps, the scent of their sweat, and the tender scent of them combined.

  It didn’t take much to push him over the edge, and when he felt himself coming—that delightful tingle as he teetered over the edge—he fisted Jamie’s cock. He came seconds after Liam did and tightened around Liam’s softening cock. Jamie’s legs failed him, and they both ended up on the floor, breath harsh, eyes blown, and skin cooling in the summer air.

  Jesus.

  Chapter Thirteen

  IT WAS confusing how all-consuming a fake relationship could be. Perhaps if he’d put the amount of time and effort into Paul as he put into making sure people believed his and Liam’s relationship, Paul wouldn’t have strayed.

  They walked shoulder to shoulder along Birmingham Canal, having a couple of drinks on the way. The bars overlooking the water were jammed, people spillin
g out onto the pathways and up the spiralling steps across the water. They took the scenic route until finally they reached Hurst Street, the hub of the gay village.

  Birmingham was a thriving city, but Hurst Street was something special. It sounded ordinary, but there was so much history there. The Victorian Back to Back houses restored by the National Trust stood proudly on the corner. There were LGBTQ+ bars that first opened when it was just a warehouse district and the gay community was looking for a safe place to belong. It was also home to the Hippodrome, where he and Paul had seen the Royal Ballet.

  He pushed the thought away, not wanting to ruin the night. He was feeling nostalgic and sentimental. The gin he’d drunk had dulled the edges and brought the ordinary into minute focus. He smiled when a drag king walked by, his hips swaying as he walked in four-inch stiletto heels. Jamie admired the way his short-cropped hair sparkled with red glitter and how his corset cinched his waist, yet made him look masculine at the same time.

  It was Friday night, and Hurst Street was alive with queers. His spirit always lifted when he was there. Music pumped out of the Village Inn, and there were men glittering in sequins or dressed in leather, and everything in between. The music was infectious, and the loud, cheesy melody of the cabaret cut into the summer evening.

  Liam suddenly pushed him against a wall. The rough red brick was like sandpaper through the back of Jamie’s T-shirt and scraped deliciously against his spine. He sank into the kiss with a laugh as catcalls and wolf whistles called out around them. It was easy to forget about Paul and the reason they were doing this.

  The night of the BBQ unleashed something inside him. He’d expected sex with Liam to be good—he was gorgeous, after all—but he hadn’t expected it to be mind-blowing. That only happened between the pages of the books he read. If rebound sex was this good, then he needed to remember to have more of it.

  They stumbled away from the Back to Backs, high on music, sex, and alcohol. They were meant to be getting the drunk train back, but they were having such a good time that they’d decided it was worth splashing out on a taxi.

  “Shall we go to Nightingale’s?” Liam’s voice buzzed with excitement, and it made Jamie feel it too.

  “We might as well make that taxi worth it.”

  They veered off Hurst Street and onto Kent street and joined the queue of people already waiting to get inside.

  It had been so long since he’d been to Nightingale’s that he’d forgotten how huge it was. The dance floor was vast, already full of writhing bodies moving in time to the beat. Liam dragged him into the throng and pulled him close as they danced.

  When Jamie was drenched in sweat and his throat was so dry he thought he would swallow his tongue, Liam went to the bar to fetch them bottled water, and he chugged down at least half in one go.

  “It is you! Liam!” someone shouted, though the music swallowed most of the sound.

  The guy pushed through bodies on the dance floor to get to him, ignoring Jamie completely. He beamed up at Liam with adoration in his eyes. Jamie knew Liam got around, but he didn’t expect one of those hookups to find them in a club as huge as Nightingale’s.

  “It is you. Oh. My. God.” Liam froze, tightening his hands around Jamie’s waist. Jamie waited for an introduction but didn’t get one. He shrugged it off. Liam probably didn’t remember his name.

  “I watch your—”

  “That’s so nice of you. I appreciate it. Thank you so much. But I’m busy right now,” Liam said with a tense smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His old hookup looked at Jamie for the first time, eyes widening, and Jamie wondered if he had something on his face.

  “Is that…?”

  “None of your business,” Liam said and slung an arm around the stranger’s shoulder. He held one finger up to Jamie, promising to be back, and then led the guy toward the bar.

  He was back within seconds, and he pulled Jamie back onto the dance floor. But the ease of earlier had disappeared, and Jamie wasn’t quite sure how to get it back.

  Apparently it took hot, sweaty sex to ease the tension that had fallen over them. When they got back to Liam’s flat, he pulled him out of the taxi and up the stairs, not giving him a chance to go home.

  Jamie didn’t mean to fall asleep once they finished—it was an unspoken rule that once they had sex, one of them would leave.

  When he woke properly the next day with his body aching and stomach itching because he hadn’t cleaned up, he was tangled alone in Liam’s sheets. He touched the other side of the bed and it was cold.

  He sat up, brushed his hair back off his face, and frowned. He was still naked, so he looked for his clothes and found his boxers and T-shirt. Unable to face putting on tight jeans over a sticky body, he padded barefoot out of the bedroom.

  He heard faint music from the kitchen, and he followed the sound to find Liam singing along softly to the iPod in the small docking station on the corner of the worksurface. Liam stopped when he heard Jamie and gave him an awkward smile.

  “Morning,” Liam said. “Do you want a sausage sandwich?”

  His stomach growled, which made Liam laugh, and some of the tension in his shoulders disappeared. Jamie smiled sheepishly at him. “Morning, and yes, please.” The please turned into a long yawn. Jamie rolled his shoulders and heard them pop.

  The music continued to play, but Jamie didn’t recognise the band. They played so many different covers he was always interested when he heard something new.

  “Who’s playing?”

  Jamie put six sausages under the grill. “His name’s Phase. He’s this punk-rock pianist. He’s more underground, so not many people have heard of him. He actually comes from Birmingham, as many of the greats do.”

  “An Ozzy fan, huh?”

  Liam shook his head. “No, Judas Priest, obviously.” He gave a wink.

  “Phase doesn’t sound much like Judas Priest.” Jamie felt lighter now that Liam was talking without any tension.

  “I have an eclectic taste in music. He’s more… Antony and the Johnsons.”

  “I’ll have to look him up. Do you mind if I shower?” Jamie wanted to ask if they could shower together but thought that might be too much too soon.

  Liam shook his head. “No, course not. Towels are in the airing cupboard. Do you want to borrow some clothes? I know we hadn’t planned on… last night… you staying over.”

  “Thanks.”

  The sausage sandwiches were done when he was finished in the bathroom. He smelled like Liam’s shower gel and was wearing his clothes. The jogging bottoms were too long in the leg but tight around the hips, and the T-shirt was an old band T-shirt with the arms and neck cut out. It didn’t escape his notice that the image on the front was of the singer Liam had been listening to in the kitchen.

  Liam carried their plates to the living room, and they settled on opposite ends of the sofa. Jamie took a bite. Liam’s feet were so close. It only took a tiny movement, and they were touching. Liam looked at him and smiled—which made Jamie smile too.

  “Are you doing anything today? Do you want to watch a film?”

  “I have to go home at some point and feed the animals, but I’m free for a while.” He put his empty plate on top of Liam’s on the floor.

  Liam beamed at him and then leaned over and squeezed his knee. “What do you want to watch? I have Netflix, or you can look at the DVDs in there.”

  Jamie got up, kneeled on the rug in front of the TV, and opened the cupboard next to it. He whistled. Liam had an impressive collection—TV series, films, and then… terrible films.

  “Seriously? I Bought a Vampire Motorcycle?” The front had a motorbike covered in spikes rearing up onto its back wheel, a group of people cowering behind a cross beneath. Liam laughed, and the sound warmed Jamie’s insides and made his stomach flutter.

  “I love trashy films,” Liam said.

  “Me too. But in this case it was more because I had a crush on Neil Morrissey.”

  He handed the DVD ov
er to Liam, and he put it in the player as Jamie curled back up on the sofa. When he sat back down, he sat next to Jamie, arm across the back of his chair. Jamie moved his feet to curl on the other side and pushed his shoulder into Liam’s side.

  Chapter Fourteen

  IS THIS What Dating Is?

  L_ofa_Ride

  1 day ago. 85K Views

  His parents’ living room was full of cats and knickknacks. Photos of Liam and his sister through various awkward stages of their childhood adorned the walls, and the sofas were worn but perfect to nestle into. He sat in comfortable silence with his sister while his dad made dinner. Wednesday nights were always his nights to cook, and Liam hadn’t been over for dinner in much too long.

  Dumbledore, a velvet grey cat that had adopted his mom over ten years earlier, lay sprawled on his lap, so comfy Liam worried he’d just slide off, which had happened in the past. He meowed and batted Liam’s arm, demanding a stroke, and Liam automatically scratched behind his ear and sent the cat into a purring frenzy.

  With his free hand, he checked his phone. Only YouTube notifications popped up, and he grunted and scrolled past them. Nothing from Jamie.

  Frank would be pleased. Jamie was turning into the perfect companion. Liam hadn’t even missed having sex with random men.

  Another YouTube comment popped up, and he grunted in irritation.

  He’s no good for you—it should be me—I had it all planned out

  Some of his viewers could be a little intense.

  His sister jabbed his knee with her foot to get his attention, and the cat took that as an invitation to jump off his lap and onto hers. Traitor. He looked up. What? he signed one-handed, pointing his index finger at her and shaking his hand.

  She rolled her eyes in exasperation, and he was instantly transported to their childhood. You’re such a twat, she signed back, which was amusing to see in sign. What are you doing?