“Stay right there.” Kit pinned her with his gaze from behind the long shadows of his fringe. “I guess we’re sort of even now. What was it you wanted to say?”
“Nothing.”
He didn’t stop touching himself even though she was staring him. Hard as she tried she couldn’t quite tear her gaze away. He held himself differently than Ross, used his fingers more, instead of just relying on his wrist.
“You like watching, don’t you?” His tongue tip flickered against his full lower lip, and the corners of his mouth turned upwards into a smile. He patted the duvet. “You can come closer. I don’t mind. “
He looked like an indie rock god sprawled there, caught inflagrante and totally cool with it. Evie pressed her tongue to her upper lip and watched his long fingers play upon his shaft, vaguely aware that the motion was turning her on. She knew she ought to say something, maybe even summon more outrage and storm out, slamming the door, but the way he looked at her, so full of promises, sucked all the words of anger from her.
Ross had blue eyes—ocean-like, azure pools. Blue like the desert sky. Blue like a tropical storm. Kit’s eyes were like dark mirrors, wickedness and playfulness the only clear emotions writ within their silvered depths. He shifted slightly, causing the edges of his shirt to part farther, giving her another glimpse of muscle and the tattoo upon his hip.
Realization dawned that Kit was not the sort of man a boyfriend typically invited to stay. He was too confident and enticing. Nicely packed too, handsome even, if you liked your men a little on the pretty side.
Evie pressed her tongue to her upper lip, her gaze still fastened upon his cock as he drew his looped finger and thumb up and down the shaft. This was more than just her barging in on him now. It had turned into a performance. If she’d been single, that would have been fine, but she wasn’t. She was with Ross, and this guy was supposedly his oldest friend. It’d be best if she said her piece and left right now. Only, when she tried to speak, all that came out was a mute little croak.
She swallowed, wet her dry lips and tried again.
“You don’t have to say anything. I won’t intrude again. Sorry never really cuts it, does it? And I’m not, by the way. How can I be sorry about such a visual treat?” he said.
His gently spoken words made him sound like the voice of reason. He’d seen her at her most vulnerable; therefore it was only fair she saw him similarly exposed. Not that Kit seemed remotely vulnerable as he toyed with himself. His movements were too comfortable and precise. When she’d first asked Ross if she could watch him masturbate, he’d agreed but his cheeks had burned the whole time and his movements had been incredibly jerky. Through repetition, he’d learned to relax and had worn away the sense of embarrassment. Kit possessed no such fragility, or coyness of motion. He touched himself with the confidence of someone who was used to performing, and knew they looked good doing it. Each languid, feathered caress was designed to elicit a slow burn. There was no frenzy, just a soft whisper of enticement.
Evie refused his offer of a perch upon the bed and shuffled away from him until she found herself backed up against the stack of cardboard boxes. Probably best if she stayed out of his reach lest he suggested more than just watching. Frighteningly, she could imagine touching him. Not his cock per se, but definitely pressing her palm to his abdomen, and perhaps sliding it over his warm skin. Her eyes briefly closed, as she replayed how he’d felt against her when she’d wrapped her arms around him in the shower. She relived the jolt of fear and the fluttery feeling of panic, the latter so akin to tingle of arousal she zipping through her now.
Ross… She loved Ross. He made her insides flutter and her heart race. She ought to be watching him, not this man with a devil’s smile.
Her eyes snapped open again. “That’s enough.”
A refutal flared within the dark depths of his eyes, and then he moved his hands away from his body. “As you wish.”
“No more watching,” she said, just to make sure she’d been completely understood. “And no other guests, either. I don’t want a stream of strangers traipsing through.”
“That’s fine.”
“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.”
“Perfectly.” He grinned and settled himself more comfortably with his hands clasped behind his head.
Evie sidestepped around the mound of boxes and left, closing the door behind her. At the top of the stairs she paused and swallowed a ragged breath. Two dichotomous images of Kit lay etched inside her head, one of him naked with a hand-towel clamped over his loins, and the other of him spread out upon the bed, clothed, but with his cock exposed, and that after he’d been in the house only a few hours. Lord knows what other havoc he’d wreak given a month.
Ross had moved from his spot on the sofa when she got downstairs. She found him in the kitchen, scribbling answers into the newspaper Sudoku with a sandwich clamped between his teeth and the kettle in his free hand. Evie wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed up tight to his shoulder blades, taking comfort in the heat and strength of his body. There was no denying her encounter with Kit had left her more than a little horny.
Ross put down the pen and sandwich. “Everything all right?” he asked.
“Fine.” She snuggled closer, breathed in his scent and rocked her hips against his bum.
“You didn’t lay down the law too hard, did you? I haven’t seen him in ages, and I’d like a chance to talk to him.”
“It was all very amiable,” she said and then clammed up. She’d fully intended to explain exactly what had happened to Ross, but somehow she couldn’t. Blurting it out would seem too much like a confession, which it wasn’t, and besides, Ross had a whimsical look about him, as though he was looking at his past through rose-tinted spectacles, and she didn’t want to spoil it for him. Having your oldest friend turn up and flash his cock at your girlfriend, regardless of how it happened or for what reason, generally didn’t result in anything but discord. Especially—a wry frown troubled her brow—when it had happened twice in one day.
Kit closed his eyes when Evie left the room. He unfolded his hands from behind his head and rested them palm up upon the duvet. For several minutes, he stared at the ceiling, replaying every moment he’d spent with her over in his head, while his cock continued to buck against his stomach, seeking additional stimulus. When it bucked a little too eagerly, leaving behind a wet thread of precome, he pushed himself up off the bed.
He was done with jerking off, for now at least, despite an awareness that he could come very quickly if the fancy took him. But the moment had passed. Evie had gone, his tit for tat apology half-accepted.
“Shimatta!” he swore. The lady no doubt thought he was a complete prick now, and she’d be right. Certainly there were better ways to impress a woman than giving her an eyeful. Sure, women liked cocks, but generally they preferred them with a brain attached. In the absence of higher functioning, they tended to opt for a nice whizzy toy in place of a dunce.
Engage brain not cock next time, he chastised himself. Although in the middle of a wank wasn’t generally when he did his best reasoning.
Kit fastened his trousers over his hard-on. His cock strained against the leather, leaving him feeling uncomfortable, but it seemed fair punishment somehow. He’d known Ross wouldn’t bat an eyelid at him watching, but he should have checked out the lady more thoroughly before indulging his voyeuristic streak, made sure she felt the same way.
A fractured glimpse of another pretty woman peeped briefly out of the mirrored wardrobe door at him before he pressed his forehead to the cool surface. He chased the thoughts of her as best as he could from his head. Maybe it had been a mistake coming back here so soon. Six years had seemed an eon on the flight from Japan, but it really wasn’t that long at all.
Working in Kabukicho, he’d been isolated. No close friends, no real relationships and no troubles, just a nice, safe cocoon. The only demons he’d faced wore designer skirt suits and stiletto heels. If there
were dark memories lurking in the shadows they were only of pointless fucks in dingy alleyways, nothing more hurtful than being paid to screw, even if it was in a round-about way. Here, time hadn’t moved on. Kirkley was as it was the day he left. Same people, same chocolate-box façade, same red phone box nestled beside an overgrown hedge on the corner of the green.
“Hey, in there.” Ross, unlike his girlfriend didn’t bother to knock. He just barged in and struggled past the wall of boxes. His gaze swept Kit’s body in one smooth glance and settled upon his face. Okay, Ross had changed. That his friend had lost about a foot of hair was the most obvious one. He’d filled out too, no longer a lanky youth who didn’t quite have control of his limbs. Ross’s increased bulk suited him well, especially as it appeared to be all muscle.
Gone was the rumpled sex-stained work suit, and in its place he wore a pair of faded black jeans and a tired grey jumper, mended at the cuff with silver embroidery thread and still familiar from six years ago. He sensed Ross’s gaze too, probably ringing all the changes in him. There weren’t many; it was just polish mostly, a nice glossy shine designed to win favour in the bar he’d worked.
“Thought I’d better come up and make sure she hadn’t left any marks. Evie can be wicked cruel if you rub her the wrong way,” Ross said.
Kit rubbed the melancholy film from his eyes. Too many times he’d wished that things had turned out differently. “Women were never my strong point.”
“Yeah, right!” Ross gave an explosive snort. He sagged onto the bed and rested his elbow upon his knees. “As I recall, they were your only strong point. And looking at you I’m guessing that hasn’t changed. Any chance of you slumming it, so I look a bit less of a tramp?”
“I suppose.” Kit stripped off his green shirt and rummaged in the topmost suitcase for T-shirt. The one he pulled on was black, ripped at the neck and had “Sukebe 69” emblazoned across the front in white. He pulled a leather thong from a pocket too, and dangled a pewter skull pendant around his neck so it lay in the space where the T-shirt was torn.
“So, are you gonna come down and eat? I’m cooking,” Ross said.
“Depends—I think I should tell you what I’ve been doing first. See if you still want me around.”
“Kit, I know what you’ve been doing. Who’d you think told the probate people where to find you? I live in Yorkshire, not on the moon. I’ve seen your ugly mug plastered all over YouTube. It doesn’t matter. I’m glad to see you.”
Ross stood and clapped a hand on Kit’s shoulder. He gave him a gentle shove towards the door. “I bet you were raking it in.”
“I did okay.” Kit allowed himself to be guided onto the landing. He’d kind of suspected that Ross knew he’d been working as a host. It might have been mostly innocent, but that didn’t mean that people here wouldn’t get the wrong end of the stick and think he’d been prostituting himself. He sighed. It was just something else they could hate him for.
“Yeah, well get downstairs and work your schmoozy host bar tricks on Evie, so I don’t have to spend the next millennia apologizing for saying you could crash here,” said Ross.
“I can get a room at the pub. As for the tricks—they involve alcohol and a hell of a lot of flirting.”
“We have beer and wine. Alcohol isn’t an issue.”
Kit turned his head and gave Ross a shrewd glance. “Anyone would think you wanted me to seduce your girlfriend?”
“I don’t think there’s much chance of that, Mr. Intruder Man.”
“She’s already seen my cock. Twice,” said Kit.
Ross just smiled at the admission. There wasn’t even a momentary furrowing of his brow. Instead, he calmly leaned against the banister and gently shook his head. “I’m not giving you an excuse, Kit. It’s up to you if you stick around or go. I just hope you realize that the only bogeyman here is the one that lurks in your head. No one ever blamed you…”
Shutting his ears to the sound, Kit continued down the stairs. It didn’t really matter if no one else blamed him. He blamed himself. He should have been a gentleman that night, not a sod.
“Oh, for crying out loud, let it go,” said Ross. “It’s ancient history. Time to move on.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Kit retorted. He snapped his mouth closed without saying anything else as Evie appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
“I was just coming to get you,” she said to Ross, completely ignoring Kit. “The water’s boiling and I assume you want to put something in it. Oh, and I think the kitten’s hungry. He’s meowing a lot.”
“She,” corrected Ross.
“What kitten?” Kit asked. He’d swear there hadn’t been a cat earlier. He wasn’t so good with animals.
“The one you clearly didn’t notice cause you were too busy staring at my butt,” Evie snapped, although she broke into a smile immediately afterwards, flashing a hint of teeth and a smidgen of a challenge. That spark jolted him out of his looming doldrums. She hadn’t forgiven him yet for spying or being overly suggestive, but she was open to accepting him.
“I brought her home from the practice,” Ross explained. He prodded Kit in the back again, urging him down the last few steps, whereupon he pushed past him and headed for the kitchen door. “There are some kitten pouches in my workbag.”
Kit shadowed him into the kitchen.
“Is pasta okay with everyone?” Ross asked as he rummaged through the pantry. “It’d better be, because it’s all we’ve got.”
“So, what happens once you’ve done up the house?” Evie asked. Dinner had dragged on into late evening, followed by coffee and now several whisky chasers, as they lay sprawled across the living room furniture. She lifted her head from Ross’s lap to peer at Kit. He’d taken the sofa by the window that she and Ross had made out on earlier, leaving her and Ross the joy of the threadbare, foldout sofa bed, which groaned like a banshee every time anyone moved near it. “Will you be sticking around or moving on?”
Although there remained a part of her that resented Kit’s intrusion into their lives, she’d warmed to him over the course of dinner. Unlike most of Ross’s mates, he grasped the fact that conversation was a two-way thing, and he didn’t insist on putting vinegar and ketchup on everything.
Kit rested his chin in the palm of his hand, his elbow propped upon the arm of the sofa. “It’s a lot of effort to go to, to just sell up.”
“So, you’ll be sticking around.”
Kit pulled his eyebrows down low over his dark eyes. “Suppose. I haven’t really thought that far.”
“Leave him be. He’s just got into town, Evie.” Ross stroked a hand through the front of her hair. “Not everyone has their life mapped out the way you do.”
“I just like to be organized,” she retaliated. Her pursed lipped smile elongated into a yawn. “Think I’d better call it a night soon.”
“Why don’t you go on up to bed?” said Ross, giving her a friendly bump up off the sofa. “Kit and I can handle the dishes.”
She glanced between the two men and clapped her hands. “I’m not arguing with that. Okay, goodnight.” Having ensured the kitten was comfortable in the basket they normally used for kindling, by lining it with one of Ross’s old fleece jackets, Evie left the two men to the washing up. She could still hear the low purr of the contented kitten and the rumble of the men’s voices as she trekked up the stairs to bed.
Tea towel in hand, Ross lingered by the kitchen table, listening for the sound of Evie’s footsteps upon the stairs. His gaze remained fastened upon the broad expanse of Kit’s shoulders. Above the torn neckline of his friend’s T-shirt lay the smooth expanse of his neck. The ends of his jet-black hair were shorn close, probably razor cut. The remainder of his hair was thicker, and of course, the front remained long enough to cover half his face.
“Get tired of brushing the back?” Ross asked.
Kit reached a soapsuds-covered hand out of the washing up bowl and rubbed the back of his neck, leaving behind a film of white bubbles
. “You’ve lost a bit yourself,” he retaliated. Not turning, but meeting the gaze of Ross’s reflection in the kitchen window.
For a moment, they just looked at one another, then Kit put his hands back in the washing up water and started scrubbing again. Ross drew closer and began drying a plate. “So, why did you really scuttle back from the pub so fast?”
Kit’s head remained tilted downwards towards the sink. “Why do you think? I never even reached the place. I got halfway across the green and saw Tony go in the door. That’s one reunion I can live without.”
“It’s a long…” He was going to say time ago, but Kit turned and gripped the front of his jumper, leaving it wet, with several rivulets running towards his waistband and puddle of dishwater between them on the floor.
“It’ll never be long enough. Don’t pretend any different. I didn’t come back because I thought everything would have blown over. I came back because…” Kit paused; he tilted his head upwards slightly, so that he was staring at Ross’s mouth. “Because…” He licked his lips. “There are things that need to be said.”
“What things?” The muscles of Ross’s stomach cramped in anticipation of the reply. He placed his hand over Kit’s fist, but his friend’s grip didn’t loosen.
“We left things at an awkward point.”
“You mean, you did.”
Kit jerked away at the accusation, and stalked across the kitchen. He paused by the pantry door and snatched up a towel with which to dry his hands. “Maybe I could have handled things better, but it seemed best not to embroil you in the media circus.”
“But leaving without so much as a goodbye, let alone a postal address. That was uncalled for.”
“Call it guilt. I had to, Ross. I couldn’t stay.”
“I’d have left with you.”
“Gone into exile. That would just have made us both look guilty.”
Enticement Page 3