I should've expected it, but I hadn't. He put an arm around me and leaned over and gave me a quick, awkward, beery kiss.
Oh, I thought as he kissed me. Oh! It was revelation, pleasure, and discomfort, all at once. Great. Now things would be extremely awkward.
But it was a nice kiss, even though I hadn't known he liked me that way. And really, it would be quite all right with me to go to bed with him. If only . . . if only it wouldn't ruin things, the way it always did.
"Peter." He drew back, but still held on to me, panting a little. He reached up and rubbed one of my ears, a gentle caress, his breathing heavy. "Sorry," he said awkwardly. Then he drew away from me with apparent effort and sat back facing the movie, reaching for his beer again. His face was aflame.
I looked at him, took a swig of my own beer, and tried to figure him out. I didn't know what to ask, for once. It felt like a minefield. Was this the start of sex? Did he want sex? Was I supposed to make a move now?
I decided to go for the truth. "That was a surprise."
"Mm," he hummed noncommittally, gaze plastered to the screen, face flushed.
"It wasn't a bad surprise, though," I amended. "So, um, thanks."
He nodded, more like ducking his head. I thought I had the angles now. He wasn't that hard to read.
"Hey." I put a hand on his thigh, high up. Yes, he was definitely interested, not quite to the point of squirming discomfort, but close. I kept my gaze on his face and my voice gentle. "I'm very flattered. If you want to take this further . . . maybe we can stay in touch after the testing?"
He nodded, looking both relieved and enthusiastic. I felt something tight loosen in my chest. Good. Whatever happened, it didn't need to interfere with this certification process (or his job).
I smiled then, and walked my fingers up his side. "Pretty boy," I drawled, and when he squirmed away from me, laughing and pushing down my hand, I sat back with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin and drank the rest of my beer.
I was kind of hard already, but it was easy enough to ignore. Hey, I can be classy and show self-control as much as the next loudmouthed private eye.
If I was even going to be that anymore.
#
I continued to get to know Colin Gillis better over the next few days, and my admiration for him increased. It wasn't on the heavy lust level, but he was definitely getting under my skin all the same.
Colin was gorgeous. His shyness and hesitation kept it quiet at first glance — though he had an excellent body and good bones, impossible to hide — but when he was relaxed, not feeling self-conscious, when his smile lit with delight or he laughed, it transformed him into one of the prettiest men I'd ever seen.
The thing is, I'd never have guessed he liked me as anything more than a buddy to pass the time of day with, if not for that awkward lunge of a kiss and his blushes afterwards.
He was such a nerd sometimes, you had to love him.
He was definitely not the best choice for tricking anyone into a testing situation. He was too sensitive and truthful to be good at it. I liked that, though. I liked the way he looked at me, like I had interesting things to say, things worth listening to, rather than just being an annoyance to him.
I was usually more for brawn than slim, pleasing grace, but there was something about him. He had long, slender hands, a masculine yet whimsical presence, and wasn't all about being tough or showing you he was just as good as anyone else. When he fixed his hair right, and smiled more, he was pretty damned hot.
He had a sort of humble acceptance of himself, the ability to laugh, and his gentle eyes proved to be endearing, almost . . . mesmerizing. I could've spent more time with others going through training, but somehow after a day of "work," I was always ready to talk to him instead, to make him laugh, to sit together and eat comfortably.
Yes, I was showing off a lot of the time — performing for a laugh, in a way — but I'd always been like that, and he seemed to enjoy being the center of my attention, my attempts to earn his smiles.
He gave them easily, more so as we got to know one another. He shared his more boring work days, and I told him about my more interesting cases in the past, although he sometimes arched an eyebrow and wondered if I was being slightly less than truthful. When I did exaggerate a bit, I never fooled him. I liked that.
It was a comfortable friendship, with an agreeable sexual attraction underneath. He was taller than I was, slim, fit but not highly muscular, and his intelligent, gentle, humor-filled eyes would be very agreeable filled with desire.
The affection I already saw there was quite pleasing as well.
Chapter three
"You've shown yourself good at some readings, obtuse about others," Dr. Baer said. He was by now on quite good terms with me, almost a buddy. He didn't seem to mind my over-talkative nature, and I liked having someone take my talents seriously and help me ferret out their limits.
It was easy to discuss this casually with him, even if he was calling me obtuse. At least I wasn't only obtuse. I guess it was nice to have someone be as interested in me as I was in myself.
"There's a bit more discussion and two more small tests yet to come, but it seems certain you will be rated a steady and useful three-point-five. That's an excellent score for someone who previously tested nil."
We grinned at each other, as though it had been a test of willpower rather than innate talents.
"You'll definitely qualify for further training and a good job. I wish you luck at it." He held out a hand, and I grasped it formally, but grinning all the while.
"Thank you," I said, sincere and without a joke in me right now. I felt like I was going to bubble over with happiness, bursting up from inside me.
No more ridiculous, underpaid jobs, scrambling for work, unable to afford medical bills, living in a flood-prone house. Soon I'd have good health insurance, a flood-free living space, and real respect as an important individual who could tell whether people were lying or not!
I wondered if I'd get a gun, if I decided to work on the police force. It might be nice to carry. Then again, I almost certainly didn't need anything like that.
Indeed, later that day, after a couple more tests (which were much too hard for me to get anything reliable from them), I was rated three and a half on the scale they rated empaths on. Five was the lowest, couldn't be relied on for police work. One was the highest. At three and a half, I could be counted on for truth-telling abilities; my intuition should be counted on, too.
I was going to be a useful and productive member of society, without driving a minivan or scaring off stalkers.
Well, probably.
That night, Colin Gillis and I made out on my bed. We both agreed (rather reluctantly) that it wouldn't be professional to go all the way right now, but it was definitely open in the future, should nothing arise to prevent that.
He was a good kisser. And not too bad in the heavy petting department, either.
I sometimes thought of Jeff, but I was more above it now, no longer castigating myself for doing something wrong. If he didn't know a good thing when he saw it, that was his problem.
"So, what are you looking for here?" I asked Colin at the end, when we were trying to hold back from taking it further. I laid a hand on his heaving chest, looking into his eyes, searching.
I could read people pretty well, and we both knew that now, but he didn't draw back from me or hesitate to meet my gaze.
He reached up and laid a hand fondly along my cheek. "Let's see what happens, okay?" His eyes held a kind of gentle sadness. "You've got a lot of training ahead of you, and then some choices about what you want to do with your life. I'll still be here. Maybe it's best not to get too attached before you end up working halfway across the world or something."
I grinned at him — at the thought of someone getting "too attached" to me. That would be nice. "Okay, so, friends with benefits? Or just friends?"
"Let's see what happens," he repeated, and leaned forward to give me a ki
ss on the nose. His eyes were warm and gentle.
#
With my official rating intact, I was moved on to the more practical educational stuff.
It was a kind of foreshortened academy, just enough to make us not a danger to ourselves or others or likely to mess up a crime scene.
Several of us were learning these basics together, though we had different skills and ratings and might not all end up working for the police.
I found I liked it. It was easy, and there was a certain enjoyment in finding out I might go legit. I mean, it's fun being a private eye — except for the whole "not really very well paid or exciting" part. As well, I'd had to pass tests to be certified, so this was more or less a cakewalk.
Then the hard part. One-on-one training with an expert in the field. I had been feeling settled, happy, and slightly smug in my new worth. Time with the sympathetic and pleasant Colin. Breezing through the tests. Good meals every day and plenty of sleep without worrying about floods. I had become quite complacent.
Colin and I gave each other hand jobs almost every night — except when it was more than that. I liked how relaxing it was, sleeping with Colin. He never pushed, and he touched me like I was worth memorizing, cherishing. I hadn't had a lot of that in my life, and heaven help me, I ate it up with a spoon.
He was pretty enough and hot and kind enough that I really liked lazily exploring him as well. I was getting addicted to his lazy, warm smiles and his big, soft eyes looking at me like I was fascinating and amazing.
We could stay awake half the night, talking and touching, kissing and jacking each other off (though it felt like more than that perfunctory phrase), and fall asleep in the middle of a conversation and continue it the next day without effort.
I was getting a little too fond of cuddling up against him at night, or waking up with the smell of his warm body in my space, his hand tucked into mine. It was a little scary, because it wasn't the fireworks I usually felt when I was falling for someone, but it had a rhythm all its own that was becoming serious fast, whatever we'd promised each other.
My heart stuttered when he looked into my eyes, searching, and smiled and then cupped my face and kissed me like there was no rush in the world, all the time in the universe for kissing. Heaven help me, a guy could fall for someone who treated him like that.
When we did finally have sex, it wasn't like my previous experiences either. He was so slow and lazy about it, taking all the time in the world. It's usually a pretty adrenaline-filled experience for me, trusting another guy that much — sometimes more dare than lovemaking, to be honest. But he took such a sweet long time about it, it was like a whole-body orgasm when we finally got there.
It took forever — a slow, lazy stroking prep time before we got any further. And he talked to me. Damn, he talked to me almost the whole time, looking me in the eyes whenever he could, checking, talking . . . comforting me in a way I hadn't known I'd wanted, and hadn't known I'd be able to appreciate while still enjoying the hot things he did to my body.
I mean, I'm not a shy, blushing virgin. But I guess I'd been a little gunshy lately. So Colin taking his time, and being so gentle and careful of me, so very thorough about the whole thing, was a pretty hot and reassuring experience.
I was afraid I wouldn't be nearly as good for him when we switched. But the next night he stroked a finger down my spine self-consciously and, staring at my shoulder rather than meeting my eyes, asked if he could top again, maybe? Because he'd really enjoyed that.
"I mean, I can bottom for you sometime. If you want."
It was his shy way of sharing his preference. I grinned, kissed him, and called him 'baby.' "Anytime, baby. Spank me too, if you want." I was okay if he wanted to get a little kinky and not be quite so slow and gentle, but nope, he was all about the long, hot, panting lovemaking.
There was no way it was just sex. It was starting to get pretty serious.
I got a little scared when I realized I'd been thinking about asking him to be exclusive, get tested with me, and start barebacking.
Fortunately, I kept my mouth shut.
I kept my mouth shut and let him fuck me. With condoms. And I never, never said I was just possibly falling for him. If I wanted to scare him away, that was the sure method. It had worked for everyone else.
#
Colin was standing there naked and lovely, leaning against the doorway, his shoulders looking wide, his waist impossibly narrow. He was long-legged, lightly hairy in all the right places, and his eyes burned warm. He was naked, but he was wearing his glasses, and he was stroking his long cock to hardness, looking at me.
I was lying on the bed, on my back, propped up a little on my elbows, staring back at him. My cock was just waking up. It had been a long day, and a long evening. I'd fallen asleep after our first go together in bed.
And he'd awakened me by pattering off to grab a quick shower. I blinked at him and grinned. "Want me to wash off?" I asked, although I thought I already knew the answer from that look in his eyes.
He hated being dirty, but he looked like he didn't want to wait another minute for more sex.
"Or should I get a condom?" I reached for the drawer beside the bed, 'accidentally' letting the rumpled sheet slide off my body, revealing what I had to reveal.
He made a sound deep in his throat. He came towards me and crawled up the bed, making a little sound almost like a growl. He kissed me on the neck before he took the condom from me. I tried to hide my grin. But it was impossible when he turned my face and kissed me right on the mouth.
I really liked being wanted this much. I tried not to think about the future.
His hands slid down my sides, memorizing and cherishing my body, appreciating what I had to offer with no comments about my size or wisecracks about being a slut and wanting it rough. He was enjoying the whole thing and not feeling weird about it. I tried to shut out thoughts of the future and focus on the present.
I bit my lip as I watched him fit himself with a condom. And bit it harder when he began that lovely, now familiar rhythm, sliding himself smoothly into me, his big dick filling me, making me feel good. He was gentle and knowing somehow, even with his firm thrusts. Like he knew just what to do . . .
I lay back and let him, closing my eyes, falling into the rhythm with him. I was tired, but the nap had refreshed me enough that I could really get into it. I was loose, relaxed, wrung out, sweaty and slick inside already. It felt so good.
Damn, why couldn't sex always be this good? He fit me just right, and he sure knew what to do with his cock.
"Good?" he asked softly. Checking on me once again.
"Mm-hm," I said, and let him keep control, setting the pace to what he liked, taking care of me. I didn't have to push or rush. I didn't have to be tough, or try hard to please him. He was so responsive to me.
How was that even possible? He'd frozen, that first time, when he saw the first flicker of pain on my face. Checking with me, slowing down, being careful. Making it so good I couldn't be nervous, couldn't tense up with stress or pain.
I mean, I can handle a little pain if it comes to that. But it didn't, with him. There was no feeling of pushing myself at all, just letting him lavish me with sex and caring washing over me like the world's gentlest wave.
"Mm," he said as he found the spot that felt good to him. A sharp spike of pleasure shot through me, and I arched and groaned, fingers scrabbling for purchase, trying to hold on, wanting more, more . . .
"You're so . . ." He panted, his breath hot against me, and found my mouth to kiss me.
How could he make it so good, this helpless feeling of being taken, and wanting more, a restless feeling of waiting and loving it and wanting more immediately, but not wanting the waiting to end?
"I love you," he whispered, panting hard now, his body trembling and slick as he thrust with more purpose, nearing his tipping point. "I . . . I can't help it."
Afterwards, he buried his face against my shoulder and held on to me, hi
ding there, as if ashamed of his words, his needs.
I held him. For once, it wasn't me. It wasn't me who'd said those dangerous words, risking everything with someone who just wanted sex, not love. I couldn't help it, either; I held him, stroking his hair, still high from the sex . . . and I said it back. How could I not?
He'd been so good to me, and I felt so helpless with longing sometimes when I looked at him. If it made him feel better, I could say it. Hell, it might even be true. How could I know anymore? I'd been wrong so many times before.
#
After that, we never slept apart. The training got more intense, and when I was exhausted from a hard, demanding, and often depressing day, he was there. The trainers pushed hard, even though they knew there were a lot of things I'd never reliably be able to do; they had to try to teach me as much as they could anyway. Some nights he just sat with me, my head in his lap, and stroked my hair gently, reassuring me that I was doing well. It was shockingly intimate, maybe more so than the sex.
I got tested. He got tested. We didn't talk about it much, but we shared the results, and he got an excited flush on his face when it had been long enough to bareback.
I liked it.
Heaven help me, I liked it a lot. I liked the feel of him coming inside me, hot and close and dirty, nothing between us. But not dirty, really, because it wasn't just sex anymore. For him — or me either.
I liked the way my heart fluttered whenever he smiled at me. Liked it, hated it, feared it — craved it like chocolate pudding, like potato chips — like French fries when I was hungry for them and nothing else would do.
We had a lot of sex.
Exclusive, hot, satisfying sex.
For a guy who had started out trying to lie to me, who had seemed like a nerdy man with poor hair sense at first, he'd become steadily hotter, until I thought he was the best-looking guy even in a crowded room.
KEEP (Men of the ESRB Book 2) Page 4