by J. L. Merrow
I grabbed him. I pulled him to me and mashed our mouths together in a kiss. He joined in for a moment, then backed off, laughing. “Oh, you have missed me, haven’t you?”
I didn’t want to answer that, so I kissed him again. I felt both his hands grab hold of my arse as he rammed his hard-on against mine. “Get in the bedroom,” Sebastian panted into my neck, his breath sour from the wine we’d drunk earlier. Still, mine was probably just as bad. I could smell his cologne, the scent of money and power, and it turned me on just like it always had. I started to unbutton his shirt, and we stripped hurriedly. I remembered to fold my clothes neatly so Sebastian wouldn’t get in a snit. “God, I’ve missed this,” he breathed, his hands firmly back on my arse. “Get on your knees.”
I clambered onto the bed and got on all fours. At least with Sebastian I could be one hundred per cent certain he’d changed the sheets since Xander. I heard him get a condom out, and the tiny sounds as he rolled it on, then another foil packet was ripped open and oil drizzled down my crack. I tensed involuntarily. What the fuck was I doing here? I should be home with Russell.
Who didn’t want me. Who I had to leave for his own good. “Come on, fuck me,” I snarled at Sebastian.
He chuckled. “You’ve missed this, haven’t you? Missed my cock. Missed me taking you. God, I’m going to take you so hard.” He thrust into me clumsily, and I gritted my teeth and waited for the burn to ease.
“Go for it, Seb. Make me feel you all bloody week,” I told him when I felt I could stand it, and he started to slam in and out of me like a pile-driver. His hands were all over my body, pinching and grabbing. I just wished he’d hurry up and finish.
After what seemed like hours he finally grunted, gave one last, painful thrust and stilled, breathing hard. “So good,” he gasped, collapsing on my back like a damp sack of potatoes. He didn’t ask if I’d come. Just as well, really. I shifted a bit under him, and he finally took the hint and rolled to one side. The weight lifting off me felt more spiritual than physical.
“You’re even tighter than I remembered,” he muttered smugly. “I don’t think your current owner has been treating you properly.”
I looked at him and I wanted to throw up. The worst of it was, he hadn’t changed a bit. It made me want to puke my guts up that I’d spent months with this bastard, letting him treat me like pond-scum.
I sat up. Maybe there was still a chance. I could go back home to Russell’s and…and what? Make him love me? We’d been living together for weeks. If he’d ever been going to love me, he’d have done it by now. If I went back to him, all I could hope for was a gentle rejection.
But it was better than staying here. I got off the bed and picked up my clothes. I’d thought Sebastian had passed out, but he roused briefly as I walked out the bedroom door. “Put the kettle on, I’ll have a coffee,” he called out drowsily.
“Sebastian,” I said softly, “you can take your kettle, and your coffee, and you can shove them up your scrawny, entitled arse.”
I didn’t wait for him to regain the power of speech, just left, closing the door quietly behind me.
I was very late for dinner by the time I got back to Russell’s. I looked around at the living room with its squashy, comfortable sofa and large-screen TV, and wondered how I’d ever thought the place dingy and uninspiring. Russell had already eaten and was sitting on the sofa with the TV off. “It’s in the microwave,” he said without quite looking at me. “A couple of minutes should do it.”
“Thanks, Russell.” I hesitated, then went into the kitchen and came back two minutes later, steaming plate of lucky dip risotto in hand. “Sorry I’m late. I met up for a drink with a friend and sort of lost track of time.” I dug in, wishing I’d thought to bring the soy sauce in too.
“Luke?”
Something in Russell’s voice made me put my fork down. “Yeah?”
He still wasn’t looking at me. “I’m—I’m sorry, but I need you to move out.”
Those words. Those fucking words. From Russell. And tonight, of all fucking nights. The rice in my stomach seemed to turn to lead. If I’d had more than a couple of mouthfuls, I’d have thrown up.
Russell turned to me then. “You understand, don’t you?” he said with a horrible attempt at a smile.
I looked at him, all ready to show him how a proper fake smile was done, and then I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Not with him. “No. I don’t understand. I don’t fucking understand anything. You don’t want to sleep with me. I get that. You’re waiting for that someone special. I can respect that. I’m not sure I can understand it, but I can respect it. But you and me… Fuck, Russell, I thought we were mates! I thought—I thought you actually liked having me here.” I stood so fast I nearly knocked the table over. “Fuck it. I’m going to pack.”
I couldn’t believe how close I was to tears. I felt like I’d wrapped bandages around my heart, and he’d just come along and ripped them off to reveal it raw and bleeding underneath. I started grabbing clothes and books and shoving them into bags, not caring what went where or if it got crumpled or ripped or what the fuck ever.
“Luke?” He was standing in the doorway.
“I’m going, all right?” I snarled at him. “You don’t have to stand over me while I pack.” My voice cracked on the last bit.
He fiddled with his sleeve for a moment, where his shirt cuff had frayed. I never had got around to taking him shopping. Or the trip to France. We hadn’t done that either. So many things I hadn’t done with him. I wanted to stay angry, but it all drained away while I was looking at him, leaving only sorrow. The one bloke I’d—but it didn’t matter. He didn’t want me.
“I had a call from Tom,” Russell said, not looking at me. “He said he’d seen you in El Nino, drinking champagne and holding hands with Sebastian.”
I froze. I’d just assumed, when Tom had left me, that he’d left. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he might have stayed there.
“And then, Tom said, you left together.” Russell looked at his watch. “About an hour and a half ago.” He looked down at his feet. “I know I’m not being fair—”
“Too bloody right you’re not being fair!” I exploded. “Yes, I had a drink with Sebastian. Yes, I went home with him afterwards. And yes, I let him fuck me because it’s been so bloody long I’ve almost forgotten what my prick’s for. And what the bloody fuck has it got to do with you?” I realised I was still holding a crumpled handful of underwear, and I threw it on the floor and tried to stop my hands from shaking.
Russell was hunched over, tense with what looked like misery. I didn’t get it. This was all fucking wrong. He didn’t want me. “I wanted to be just friends with you,” Russell said in a low voice. “I tried, I really tried. I just can’t seem to—” Behind the lenses of his glasses, his eyes closed. He gave a twisted smile. “It wasn’t like they didn’t warn me.”
“Warn you? Warn you about what?”
“They said…” Russell sighed, his eyes squeezed shut. He rubbed them, and when he opened them again it was to look down at his feet, not at me. “You told me once you hoped I met someone special,” he said to the carpet. His voice sank until it was barely audible. “I did.”
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak.
He turned away, muttering something I didn’t catch. It broke the spell, thank God. I lunged after him, stumbling over a box of books on the way. He turned at the noise, his eyes wary. “Me too,” I told him. “I met someone special too. That’s why I just had the worst sex of my life, right before I told Sebastian where to go and came home to you. Where I belong.”
And then I grabbed him, and I kissed him, and this time he didn’t try to push me away. This time he kissed me back and didn’t stop. I felt his arms slip around my waist, and he crushed me to him so hard I thought I’d get a bruise from where his cock was digging into my stomach. I wanted that bruise. I was terrified he’d stop; terrified he’d come to his senses and realise who he’d just called special. I didn�
�t think I could bear it if he let me go, so I wrapped my arms around his neck like I was drowning and he was a bearded, speccy lifeguard. I kissed him so hard my lips would be swollen for days, and I wanted it all. I wanted him to take me, mark me. I used to joke about Sebastian, saying he wanted his name tattooed on my arse, but with Russell I’d have lain down for it gladly, and got them to ink it on my forehead as well.
“Oh, God,” Russell breathed, and it brought me back to my senses. This wasn’t about me. This had to be for him; it was his first time, and I wanted him to remember it forever.
I wanted him to remember me forever.
“What do you want to do?” I asked, as I shoved a hand up his shirt.
I was kissing his neck, and I felt him swallow. “Anything,” he said hoarsely. “Whatever you want.”
So I pushed his shirt up with my left hand and started kissing my way up his stomach and chest, while with my right hand I fumbled with the fastenings of his jeans. I’d latched onto a nipple by the time I got them open and freed his thick, heavy cock from his underwear. It was gorgeous and hot and it felt just right in my hand. Just like the rest of him. He was moaning, and I knew he wouldn’t last long, not after waiting all this time. I was damned if I was going to let it end as a bloody hand job, so I slid to my knees and took him in my mouth.
Russell cried out loud as I slid my lips over his cock. He was burning hot in my mouth, salty and sweet. It was a rush, knowing no one had ever tasted him before me. I let my throat muscles relax and buried my nose in his pubes, taking him down to the root. He smelled delicious, all clean and musky. I rolled his balls in my hand, and he whimpered, and in the next breath he shot down my throat, thrusting and crying. I didn’t care that I could hardly breathe; all I could think about was that this was Russell and he was finally mine.
“Luke,” he said weakly, pulling out of my mouth. “Are you all right?”
I looked up into eyes that were wide with concern. “Are you serious?” I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Then I clambered up off my knees and kissed him.
When I felt his hand on my cock, it sent an electric jolt down my spine, and I gasped without meaning to. “Oh, God.”
Then I felt Russell lowering himself until he was on his knees, just like I’d been a few minutes ago. “Russell, you don’t have to…”
He didn’t answer, just wrapped his lips around my cock.
It felt like lightning striking me in the gut. It threw me, totally, because I’d never felt like this with anyone before. All the practised moves in the world just didn’t compare to the feeling of Russell’s mouth on my cock while his beard tickled my thighs.
I was glad he’d only lasted a minute. I was only going to last bloody nanoseconds.
I felt his hand come up to cradle my bollocks, like he’d been taking notes earlier—and then his finger crept further back to my arse, proving he’d been reading ahead. He circled my hole a couple of times, and then he pressed his finger inside me, and I lost it totally, coming in his mouth without even warning him.
I wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d spat it out, but he swallowed my come like a seasoned pro. He didn’t stop sucking my prick until I slumped down on the carpet in front of him, utterly drained. All I had the strength to do was kiss him, grabbing him ’round the neck and hanging on like I was drowning again.
We stumbled into bed afterwards and just lay there, my head pillowed on his furry chest and his arms wrapped ’round me like he was never going to let go. There was a pink nipple just in front of my mouth, and I was wondering if I had the energy to give it a nibble and maybe start the whole thing going again, when he spoke. “I, um, probably should have mentioned this before, but that…” He stopped, his arms tightening a little bit as if he was worried the next thing he said was going to send me running for the hills. “That was my first time. With anyone.”
I almost said, “What, seriously? I’d never have known!” But then I remembered who this was. This was Russell, and I didn’t have to pretend with him. “I know,” I said, craning my neck up to kiss him on the beard. “Nigel told me.”
There was an ominous stillness. “Oh.”
“He was a bit pissed,” I said quickly, feeling bad that I’d dropped Nigel in it. “It was at your birthday do. And he thought we were sleeping together, so I think he thought I must have realised already.”
“Oh.” And then again, “Oh.” Russell sighed. “You must have thought I was the saddest man on the planet. Is that why you walked out of the pub that night?”
I pushed myself up on my hands and looked him in the eye. He looked really cute with his glasses off. Maybe we should get him some contact lenses? On the other hand, it wasn’t like anyone else needed to see it. Just me.
“It’s all right,” he said before I could say anything. “Don’t answer that.” He gave a weak sort of smile. “Things are different now, I know.”
“No, they’re not,” I said, frowning. Then I looked at us, lying naked in bed together, well shagged. “All right, so they are. But I don’t feel any differently about you.”
“Um. Is that good, or bad?”
“Good. Definitely,” I reassured him, snuggling back against his chest. “What did Tom tell you about me?” I asked after a moment.
Russell gave a little laugh. It made me want to kiss him, so I did. “He said you smile a lot.”
I was startled into laughter. “What? That’s it?” I mean, it’s a fair comment but it’s hardly a complete description.
“Um. Well. He said you were really good looking, which obviously you are, and that you needed a place to stay for a few weeks.”
I don’t know why I was pushing it. But I had to know, somehow. “But he told you I’d put out, right? He must have told you that. What else?” I remembered something. “You said they warned you. What did they say, him and Nigel?”
“Does it matter? It’s not like I listened to it.”
“What?”
Russell sighed, and I felt his hand come up and stroke my hair. “They said, don’t get attached. They said you’d be off like a shot the minute you got a better offer.” He was silent for a moment while I wondered what the hell Nigel had thought he was doing, fixing up a friend—someone like Russell, for God’s sake—with someone like me.
“That’s why I tried to be just friends,” Russell whispered, clutching me tighter. “That’s why I couldn’t just sleep with you. I thought, if I wasn’t sleeping with you, it wouldn’t bother me when you—but I was wrong.”
“I thought you didn’t fancy me,” I told his chest. I couldn’t bring myself to tell it the real reason, that I’d thought he didn’t think I was worth it, but it was close enough.
The chest rumbled as Russell laughed. “I don’t think there’s a gay man on the planet who wouldn’t fancy you, Luke.”
I found myself laughing back. “There’s been a few straight ones too. At least, that’s what they told everyone they were.” I was quiet for a moment, drifting into that warm, relaxed stage where you’re still awake, but you know you could drop off any minute. “You know what?” I mumbled into the chest hairs that were gently tickling my nose. “When I was little I had a teddy bear just like you. My dad chucked him out when I was twelve. Said cuddly toys were for girls and sissies. Are you going to let me stay?”
“Luke…” He paused, and I tensed. “I love you,” he said finally. “I couldn’t kick you out even if I wanted to.”
I snuggled in closer. “Good. Because I’m not planning on going anywhere until you do.”
About the Author
To learn more about JL Merrow, please visit www.jlmerrow.com. Send an email to JL Merrow at [email protected]
When at first you don’t succeed, turn up the heat!
Just Desserts
© 2010 Scarlet Blackwell
French chef Luc Tessier is five-star successful. His cookery program on TV is rated as high as his restaurant, and casual flings are his specialty. The only stain on his toque is Daniel She
ridan, an English food critic who has made it his business to ruin Luc’s reputation.
The only way to clarify this particular pat of butter is to invite the critic to dine and bury the hatchet—preferably in Daniel’s back. The moment he lays eyes on Daniel, however, Luc’s thoughts turn from sauces to seduction.
Daniel definitely finds Luc appetizing, but he plays it cool. He never wants to be anyone’s toy, ever again. Yet in the face of Luc’s relentless pursuit, he’s finding it harder to keep the flamboyant chef at arm’s length.
A cooking competition on a remote Scottish island seems the perfect way to put some distance between them. Until Luc shows up to compete, determined to win not only the trophy, but Daniel’s heart…
Warning: Ingredients include two extremely hot men determined to come up with a whole new definition for “sizzling”. Explicit use of food items could incite spontaneous nekkid food fights.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Just Desserts:
It was seven-thirty. The restaurant was filled with women in jewels and men in tuxedos. Luc had a very strict dress code, mainly because a man in a tux made him hard. It was only fair these guys should give something back to him after he had given them a gastronomic orgasm.
He peeked through the serving hatch from the kitchen and watched people arriving, his heart beating far faster than it should. Soon he zeroed in on a man in a tuxedo being led across the room. Luc’s glance turned to a stare. If he had ever seen a more attractive man in his life, he could not remember. All his past conquests paled into insignificance beside this heavenly apparition.
The man was about five-feet eleven-inches tall and perhaps thirty-five years old. He had a nicely proportioned body, not too lean, not too fat, a hint of muscle under his perfectly tailored tux, the shoulders and chest broad, the backside undeniably pert. He had jet black, expensively cut hair, which was teased into luscious, shiny spikes by some no doubt outrageously expensive gum or paste. His skin was creamy white, his jaw strong and chiselled, shaved smooth as glass, his nose small and upturned, his mouth like a pink, pouting rosebud.