Twenty Times Tempted: A Sexy Contemporary Romance Collection

by Petrova, Em

  Soon, they reached the turning they’d been looking for, and Wilkes smirked as he spotted the classy-looking adult shop on the corner. He managed to refrain from nudging Balkhi, but it was too late. He’d already spotted Wilkes’ expression.

  “What?” he said, his eyes wide. “What is it?”

  “Um...” Wilkes realised his mistake. Balkhi was so damn worldly in a lot of ways—he’d seen and done a hell of a lot in his life so far—but how to explain an adult store, a sex shop, to a Muslim? A gay Muslim man, at that. “Can we... leave this conversation until later?” He knew he was wimping out, but he really didn’t want to discuss sex toys with his gay lover in the middle of a busy street.

  A tiny frown line appeared between his eyebrows, but after a little shake of his head, it smoothed out. “Yes, okay. Ah, there is a restaurant that looks as though it is open. Shall we go in there?”

  It looked nice enough, but it seemed a shame to get this far, then duck into the first place they found. “Shall we walk a bit further, first? See what else there is? We can always come back.”

  With a casual shrug, Balkhi replied, “Yes, of course.”

  Continuing down the street, they saw that there were several eateries—most of which were open—as well as bars and cafes, some of which had rainbow-coloured flags and signs hanging up.

  “Definitely looks as though we’re in the right area,” Wilkes said, pointing one out.

  Just then, two men emerged from the establishment he was indicating, hand in hand. Wilkes felt like the proverbial rabbit in the headlights. If he looked away, they might think he was disgusted, but if he continued staring... who knew what they’d think?

  As his addled mind struggled to make a decision, one of the men saw him looking. Tugging his partner over, they moved in front of Wilkes and Balkhi. “Everything all right, fellas?” said the man who’d seen Wilkes, a blond guy who looked to be in his mid-twenties and wore skinny jeans and a tight t-shirt. His boyfriend appeared around the same age, in a similar outfit, and with ginger hair.

  “Y—yes,” Wilkes eventually forced out. “W—we’re,” he pointed to himself and Balkhi, “just exploring the area.” He could have kicked himself for stuttering like a buffoon—he wasn’t scared of these men. He was bigger than the two of them put together.

  Flicking a glance between Wilkes and Balkhi, a frown flitted across his face, and was gone. He seemed unsure what to say next. After a beat, he smiled and said, “Oh, you’re tourists! Are you looking for anything in particular?”

  Yeah, somewhere I can take my bloke for a nice dinner without being gawped at. Instead, Wilkes replied, “Somewhere that does nice food. We heard there’s a good atmosphere around here.”

  The blond and his boyfriend exchanged a look. Then the blond opened and closed his mouth, before eventually saying, “Can I be straight with you, mate?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you’re in the heart of the gay area of Soho. That’s not to say there’s not nice food or a good atmosphere, because it’s got those in abundance, but you, uh, might be more comfortable somewhere else.”

  Now it was Wilkes’ turn to frown. “I don’t understand.” He looked at Balkhi, then back at the couple. “Are you saying interracial couples are frowned on, or something? I thought this area was meant to be inclusive!”

  The man clapped his free hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. “Shit!” he said, the word still easily audible even through his fingers, which he then removed from his face. “I’m really sorry, guys. I didn’t realise you were... I mean... I thought maybe, but then I thought not. You just don’t seem...” he tailed off, then pinched the bridge of his nose before shooting his partner a rueful glance.

  “Okay,” he continued, “let me try this again. You’re a couple, exploring the gay area, and you’re looking for somewhere to eat a nice meal. Right?”

  Over the course of the blond’s babbling, Wilkes had gone from confused to amused, then frustrated. He understood why the poor guy had no idea what was going on between him and Balkhi—they still had the whole awkwardness thing to work out.

  Hoping like hell that Balkhi wouldn’t mind, he grabbed his hand. “Yes, we’re a couple. I know we probably don’t look like it, but we’re both new to this and things are... well, let’s just say things are pretty complicated. We’re spending the weekend together and thought that exploring Soho would, um, break us in gently to being seen out in public together.”

  He had no idea why he’d just blurted out so much information, but he couldn’t take it back now. On the plus side, Balkhi hadn’t pulled his hand away or run for the hills. Relaxing his grip, Wilkes smiled.

  “Right, I get it. I’m sorry for the mix up. Well, you’re in the right place. No one will give you a second look around here. Unless they’re checking you out, anyway. You’re both pretty hot.” He glanced over at his boyfriend and gave him a sweet smile. “Though not a patch on you, obviously, baby.”

  Turning his attention back to Wilkes and Balkhi, he continued, “What sort of food are you looking for? Something upmarket, pizza, pub grub?”

  Wilkes looked at Balkhi, who shrugged.

  “Anything, really,” Wilkes said. “As long as there’s plenty of it. I haven’t eaten since lunchtime.”

  The blond laughed out loud. “All right, I know just the place. In fact...” Looking back at his partner, they exchanged some meaningful eye contact, eye-roll gesturing and head jerks, which apparently they understood perfectly well, whereas Wilkes felt Balkhi speaking in rapid Pashto would have made more sense.

  Eventually, the blond said, “Would you mind if we joined you? I know it’s a bit random, since we don’t know each other, but Paul and I were just heading home to get a takeaway, and now I’ve got this place in mind I’d rather eat there. And, I confess, I’m absolutely intrigued about your ‘pretty complicated’ situation. I’m Jared, by the way.”

  He held out his free hand, which Wilkes grasped and shook. “Hi Jared. I’m Hugh Wilkes, and this Rustam Balkhi.”

  Lots of handshaking between the four men ensued as they were all introduced.

  “So,” Jared said, glancing between Wilkes and Balkhi, “would it be okay if we joined you?”

  Wilkes turned to Balkhi. “Are you okay with this?”

  Balkhi seemed a little taken aback by the whole situation, but there was warmth in his eyes. “Yes, of course. I suspect Jared and Paul will be able to give us some... insider information that we might find useful.”

  “Excellent!” Jared clapped his hands, then reached for Paul’s hand once more. “Okay, let’s go. I’m looking forward to this.”

  With that, Jared and Paul turned around and began walking down the street.

  Wilkes looked at Balkhi, shook his head, and shrugged. “I’ve no idea what just happened there, but it looks as though we’re in for an interesting evening.”

  Balkhi smiled, and as they fell into step behind the other couple, he leaned in close to Wilkes and said, “Yes, I think we are. And the best part is I get to take you home afterwards.”

  The true intent of his words was unmistakeable. Wilkes’ heart missed a beat. Warmth flooded his face, then the blood started to flow somewhere much lower down. He managed to engage his brain enough to reply, “Carry on saying things like that and we won’t even make it to the bloody restaurant.”

  Chuckling, Balkhi reached out and took Wilkes’ hand again. “Yes, we will. We have made it this far, and we are doing well. Let’s see this through. Spending the evening with other gay men will be good for us. We will be able to see how it is done.”

  “I don’t think it’s as simple as that, Rustam. We can’t just copy everything they do.”

  “I know. I simply mean that being in their company may relax us, remind us that it is perfectly normal, and perfectly okay, for two men to be affectionate towards each other in public. I am not proposing we start kissing in front of an audience, or fucking on the restaurant table. I a
m just saying we may learn something from them. Or we may not. But they seem like nice people, so it cannot hurt to find out, can it?”

  “Now you’re the one who’s absolutely right. Though I’m glad you don’t want to kiss or fuck in public.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” he growled, pulling Balkhi closer and speaking quietly into his ear, “I don’t want to share you with anyone else, that’s why.”

  A small smile crept over Balkhi’s lips. “And I do not want to be shared. We may not have any idea what we are doing here, but make no mistake, Hugh. I am yours, and yours alone.”

  Wilkes felt an urge to lean over and give Balkhi a quick kiss, but his bravery didn’t stretch quite that far. Not yet. They were still holding hands, which was a great start, but perhaps it would be better to get used to that before doing anything else.

  Internally, he shook his head. Why the hell was this so hard for them? Why couldn’t they just throw caution to the wind and show affection however they wanted?

  Because, he reminded himself sternly, they couldn’t break long-standing habits in the blink of an eye. They’d get there, he was sure of it. It would take time, but they’d get there.

  Realising he hadn’t replied to Balkhi, he squeezed his hand. “And I am yours, Rustam. For as long as you’ll have me.”

  Chapter Seven

  They had a late start the next morning—due to a late night, rather than hangovers. After the meal with Jared and Paul—which had consisted of fabulous food and excellent company, they’d gone to a pub and carried on chatting. Paul had been up for going to a nightclub, but Jared had pointed out that it might be a little full on for Wilkes and Balkhi, plus it’d be too loud to have a conversation. He’d also reminded Paul that they didn’t yet know the full story of Wilkes and Balkhi. Paul’s curiosity had won out and the four of them had ended up in a gay-friendly pub on Wardour Street, tucked up in the corner, chatting away.

  While Jared and Paul had been sipping happily away at pints of beer, before moving onto Jack Daniel’s and Coke, Wilkes had nursed only three pints over the course of the evening. He didn’t want to get drunk, and make it even easier for Jared to extract information from him. He also didn’t want to waste valuable time tomorrow on a hangover, when he could be spending time with Balkhi. Lastly, he felt a little odd drinking at all, when Balkhi didn’t.

  Until they’d gotten seated in the restaurant and started perusing the menu, Wilkes was inwardly ashamed that it hadn’t even occurred to him before that Balkhi didn’t drink alcohol. But then, although he knew plenty about the Muslim culture, he’d never spent any social time with Muslims before, so it hadn’t really sunk in.

  After a muttered conversation, whereby Balkhi had insisted he didn’t mind if Wilkes drank alcohol, Wilkes eventually relented. He wasn’t going to get drunk, so he figured it wouldn’t make much difference whether he was drinking beer or soft drinks.

  By the time the four men parted, Jared and Paul had heard pretty much all of Wilkes and Balkhi’s unusual story—minus the sexy parts. Wilkes was sure the two men could probably fill in those blanks themselves. In return, Wilkes and Balkhi were now a lot more clued in to gay culture generally, and knew lots of specific hints and tips about London and Soho. They were much more comfortable knowing that they weren’t going to commit any terrible faux pas while they were out and about. They’d even continued holding hands right from the pub to the bus stop, where they’d then waited for what Jared called “the dreaded night bus.”

  It had been by far the most unpleasant part of their evening—or, technically, the next day—but the double decker full of drunkards and morons had eventually gotten them back to Stockwell, where they’d been more than happy to disembark, hurriedly getting away from the overwhelming stench of booze and vomit. They’d hurried into the block of flats, locked up, gotten ready for bed and had a lazy, sleepy session of making out and tossing each other off, before falling into a happy, satisfied slumber.

  On waking, Wilkes immediately rolled over to find Balkhi’s side of the bed empty. He felt a pang of disappointment for a moment, then, as his senses started to wake up, he picked up the unmistakeable scent of frying bacon. Confused and delighted all at once, he slipped on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and ambled into the kitchen.

  Balkhi stood there in shorts and a t-shirt, frying bacon and eggs. He glanced over his shoulder with a smile. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” Wilkes replied, walking up behind Balkhi, slipping his arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “Forgive me for asking a stupid question, but is that bacon?”

  Apparently understanding exactly what Wilkes was getting at, Balkhi replied, “Yes. The bacon is for your sandwich, the eggs are for mine. Unless you would like eggs, too, in which case you can have these ones and I will do some more afterwards.”

  Stepping to one side, he leaned against the counter and watched Balkhi flipping over the delicious-smelling rashers. “No, no, that’s perfect, thank you. I just wasn’t expecting you to, you know, buy and cook foods you don’t eat.”

  Balkhi shrugged. “It is not a problem for me. I have my beliefs, but I do not preach them to other people. Besides, I know you love bacon.” His brown eyes glinted with mischief, and Wilkes felt a tug of lust right beneath his bellybutton. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he wondered if there’d be time to drag Balkhi into the shower before they headed out.

  “I do,” he agreed, nodding. “Thank you. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I already have plates and sauces ready, but if you would like to make two cups of tea, that would be excellent.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Wilkes grinned widely as he went about the simple task. Already the two of them were more comfortable, more relaxed around each other. Granted, they were currently in private, but the domestic scene felt very natural, and it reinforced Wilkes’ belief that, in time, the weirdness, the awkwardness, would be nothing but a distant memory.

  “So,” he said, as he set about making the drinks, “what’s the plan for today?”

  “One moment.” Turning, Balkhi grabbed the plates and moved back to the cooker. Loading up the sandwiches, he put the plates back down, switched off the hob and indicated Wilkes should help himself to sauce. “Let’s go sit in the living room.”

  Moments later, they took their sandwiches and cups of tea into the front room and settled into dark brown leather chairs that faced each other. “To answer your question,” Balkhi said, having taken a bite of his sandwich, chewed and swallowed it, “I am not sure. There is so much to do in London that it is difficult to know where to start. And I do not know what things you have done already.”

  Swallowing a mouthful of tea, Wilkes replied, “Okay, fair enough. Well, I haven’t done very much, really. I’ve been quite a few times for work, but haven’t spent much time here as a tourist. Let me think...” He munched on his sandwich while he tried to remember where he’d been in the past, and what there was to do that he fancied.

  Before long, his brain was whirling. “Wow, you’re right. It is difficult to know where to start. I think when I get back to base, I’m going to go online and order myself a guide book! That is, if you’re not too embarrassed to be wandering around the capital with a full on tourist?”

  Balkhi shook his head and flashed him a good-natured grin. “Not at all. I may live back here now, Hugh, but I am still as much a tourist as you. When I first started medical school I was so busy trying to get used to everything, to life here, to the studying, to the culture, that I had very little free time. And I was too shy to make friends, so the free time I did have I spent by myself in my room. I was not brave enough to explore London by myself.”

  With a chuckle, Wilkes said, “All right. So let’s say we’re both starting from scratch.” He stood, still finishing the last few bites of his breakfast, and went to the window. Pulling the curtain aside and peering out, he continued, “All right. Weather’s looki
ng good. Bit cloudy, but nothing too ominous.” He turned to face Balkhi. “What’s top of your must-see list on a dry day? We can save things like museums, castles and houses for rainy days.”

  “Good idea. What about Hyde Park?”

  “Perfect. First, though, I have another suggestion.”

  Balkhi’s raised eyebrow encouraged him to continue.

  Spotting Balkhi’s empty plate, he said, “Give me that. I’ll wash up. Drink your tea, then wait for me in the shower.”

  “Yes, Captain Wilkes. Right away, sir!” He gave a mock-salute.

  Taking the proffered plate and ignoring Balkhi’s mischief, Wilkes headed back into the kitchen and started running hot water into the sink, adding a squirt of washing up liquid. Feeling utterly content, and looking forward to his near future, he whistled happily.

  Balkhi popped in a moment later to drop off his empty mug, giving Wilkes a wicked smile before leaving again.

  Quickly, Wilkes completed his task, stacking the cups, plates, cutlery and frying pan onto the draining board to dry. Then he hurried into the bedroom, discarded his clothes and went to join his lover in the bathroom.

  Closing the door behind him, Wilkes stalked over to the shower—which was a shower-over-the-bath set up—and tugged the curtain back just enough to move through the gap. Once inside, the delicious sight had his cock swelling in milliseconds. Balkhi, naked, wet and fucking gorgeous.

  Rivulets of water poured down his dark skin, and Wilkes wanted to kneel down and capture every one on his tongue. He wanted to soap up Balkhi’s hot body, wrap his hand around that perfect cock and tug it, he wanted...

  Damn, he just wanted it all.

  As Balkhi turned around to reveal his own stiffening dick, Wilkes had a vivid flashback to the fateful shower that had started it all between them. The two of them had accidentally ended up in an empty shower block together in Camp Bastion. The sight of Balkhi’s naked body had sent Wilkes scurrying for the safety of his accommodation, aroused beyond belief. But Balkhi had followed him, and what was supposed to be a conversation about the tension between them had turned into that frantic fuck on the carpet.