This was a man who didn’t know what he wanted.
This was a man who wanted to hide.
I pulled his hand from my erection and then from my throat. I could feel the moment he let me. I could feel how much he wanted to hold on.
I turned so I could meet that cold glare of his. “If you want to fuck me, then do it. But own that you want it. You can make me dirty. You can make me little. But don’t make me your dirty little secret,” I said.
“We could never be anything else.”
“Then I guess,” I said, pushing past him, miserable and still so, so horny, “we’ll never be at all.”
And I left him there, alone in the hallway.
CHAPTER THREE
James
They called him Tally.
A silly name for a silly boy.
And like that boy, oddly charming.
It was weeks after the shocking kiss and even more shocking reveal that Tobias Talbot-Ullswater was not only an irritational mistake but an irritating stepbrother.
It should have been enough time to purge myself of my poisonous infatuation with him. Instead, I found my mind drifting in the middle of debriefings with my senior advisors, thinking about the surprising petal softness of Tally’s lips, wondering what ridiculous thing he might be wearing the same day I greeted the prime minister of France and hosted him for dinner with his astonishingly beautiful wife who did absolutely nothing for my errant libido.
The thought of Tally in those magenta trousers painted on to his lean limbs and that damnable thumb ring with the sapphire the same dark, glittering shade as his eyes, of course, made me hard as stone.
I palmed my erection as I sat in my poorly lit office at half past eleven at night in 10 Downing Street because I’d wasted away the day fantasizing about a boy of all people.
The thing was, I’d surmised with a shiver of unadulterated shame, it was his very youthfulness that entranced me so. I was suddenly acutely aware of why Zeus fell in love with Ganymede or Apollo with Hyacinth. Tally’s energetic, almost bouncy energy invigorated me, filling me with a passion for life I’d forgotten over the long, toiling years in politics that had perhaps aged me before my time.
I did not remember a time when I was not serious. My mate, Alexander, often poked fun at my solemnity, but I’d always assumed it was just a matter of my character.
Now, even thinking of Tally and his brattish personality made my heart leap and my lips twitch with reluctant amusement.
I felt as Eurydice must have following Orpheus blindly up into the light, awed and terrified in equal turn.
The infatuation wasn’t enough to change my mind about doing something brash like dating a man before I was even sure I would like one beyond Tally and even like him beyond one kiss.
I was a logical man.
A man of reasoning and philosophy.
So my only conclusion as I was frustrated and stretched thin by fatigue alone in my office––so bloody alone––was to conduct an experiment.
Before I could debate the issue with myself, I pulled up my father’s text message history. He had passed on Tally’s number with the fruitless suggestion we might want to “bond as brothers.”
Unfortunately for my father, nothing was brotherly about my obsession with my new stepbrother.
“Hullo?” Tally answered the phone jauntily.
“I’d like to conduct an experiment.” I cut straight to the point.
He didn’t ask who was on the other side of the phone. He knew, and by the change in his breathing, he was intrigued by it.
“I told you before how I felt,” he reminded me, but his voice was soft, pliable like warmed butter.
He was not at all resolute.
But I was.
“If I am going to suddenly be attracted to me, I want to know how I might react to doing more than kissing,” I explained perfunctorily.
Tally gasped dramatically. “My, my, Prime Minister, are you calling in the middle of the night to have phone sex with me?”
“I am.” I adjusted in my chair, getting comfortable. “Indulge me in this.”
“Why should I?”
“Because you’re curious about me, about what I might want to do to you, and you seem like a man who lets his curiosity rule him.”
“Hmm, that seemed like a backhanded compliment, but you aren’t wrong,” he agreed easily with a note of amusement in his posh voice.
“Are you in bed?” I asked gruffly, already imagining him there.
I was too turned on to use a deft hand or subtlety. My pulse had quickened the moment his voice came through the phone, the heavy beat of it in my groin where my cock was hardening.
There was a slight hesitation, the feather-soft stuttering of a breath caught in his throat, then, “No.”
“Go to your room and undress. I’ll give you a moment to wrestle with those ridiculously tight pants of yours.” I paused. “If I was there, hard as I am, Tally, I’d cut them off you to avoid the issue entirely.”
I was rewarded with a hiccough of breath and a silky sigh before he sassed me back. I was beginning to understand he rarely abandoned his impudence, but I was looking forward to distracting him enough to rid him of it. I wanted to see what it might take to make Tobias Talbot-Ullswater pliant beneath my puppeteering touch.
“If you ruin a pair of my GUCCI trousers, I’m more likely to twist your balls off than play with them,” he warned lightly.
I chuckled, warm with contentment as I sat back in my chair, cock an iron pole pressing ruthlessly against my fly. It was, quite probably, the most fun I’d ever had in my office.
“Hush, boy.” Tally groaned at my words, and the sound pierced through my chest so profoundly I ached. Not with pain, but with rightness. “Do as I say.”
My order was met with a faint rustling on the other end as he did as I bid.
“It’s bloody cold in here,” Tally finally said, and I could perfectly imagine the curl of his lower lip into that audacious, delicious pout.
“Pretend I’m there to warm you,” I suggested idly as I squeezed my length and allowed myself to imagine what I might do to him. “My hands are hot on your chest, my tongue molten as I part your lips and devour you with my mouth.”
“Christ, you’re good at this,” Tally breathed. “Are you quite sure you haven’t done this before?”
“With a man or over the phone?”
“I’m not sure, both?”
“No to either,” I admitted. “I’ve never wanted someone enough to take them any way I can. Even if it is only over the phone.”
“That’s the first time you’ve admitted you want me,” he pointed out. “Progress.”
“Well, that is the entire point of this exercise.”
“I thought getting off was the point,” he countered playfully.
I bit off the edge of my grin. “That too. Now, stop distracting me. Where was I?”
“We were snogging.”
“Yes, we were. But now, I’m not feeling as kind as I did before your glib comment. If you insist on exercising that smart mouth of yours, I can think of a much better use for it.” My own voice felt deeper than ever before, velvet crossing over my tongue, dark even in the taste of it on my palate. “I could order you to your knees, couldn’t I, boy? But I don’t have to because you want my dick in your mouth just as much I do. Maybe even more.”
“Yes,” Tally hissed. “I want to know if you’re cut, if you’re too thick to fit in my hand or too long to take down my throat. I don’t have much of a gag reflex, you know?”
“Is that so?” I hummed casually as if I wasn’t filled with the fire of his words and the imagery they invoked. “I believe I’m thick enough to stretch those pretty, pouty lips of yours. Long enough to wedge down your throat and disciplined enough not to come the moment you hollow your cheeks around me.”
“Oh, I think I would test that iron control, Prime Minister,” he cooed wickedly. “I think the sight of a grown man on his knees bef
ore you, licking up and down your shaft, then sucking you back like he can’t get enough…I think that would prove too much for you.”
“Maybe,” I admitted, panting now, cock leaking through the tweed of my trousers. I unbuttoned the clasp, pulled down the zipper, and freed my pulsing flesh. A groan rattled through my lungs as I gave it a proper stroke.
“Seeing the way I stretch my lips around you, looking up at you as I take you to the back of my throat so easily, so eager. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Tally suggested, an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before.
He wanted to break me, obliterate the iron will I’d encased myself in all these years.
He didn’t understand I wouldn’t break.
It wasn’t in my nature.
But breaking him?
That seemed to be exactly in my wheelhouse.
“Too eager,” I said, voice harsh. “I’m the man in charge, Tally. If you cannot remember that, I’ll have to show you.”
“How?” he breathed, a little too keen and curious.
Power surged through me. To have a young, wicked man under my control and waiting anxiously for my orders sent desire reeling through me until I was almost dizzy with it.
“I want to make you come apart for me.”
“Oh, yes please,” he said in a way that made me shiver.
“What…” I sucked in a bracing breath, shame dancing at the edges of my yearning. “What turns you on?”
“When you call me boy,” he responded instantly, and beyond that, I could hear that soft sound of skin slapping as he stroked himself for me. “Until recently, I wouldn’t have said this, but I almost came in my trousers when you choked me a little in the hall. I think I’d like more of that.”
“Mmm, you like being bossed around.”
“You like bossing,” he retorted.
I did. In all aspects of my life, I was in charge. I didn’t know how to be any other way, but I had never allowed myself to dominate in the bedroom.
I was raised by a staid, old-fashioned Brit who believed gayness was not to be remarked on, sexual deviancy was for the low born, and any bodily topic should be avoided.
I carried that learned shame at the heart of me without ever realizing it.
But now, I did, and now, with Tally’s stuttering breath and the slap of skin across the phone line, I was going to carve it out of my chest.
“But mostly,” he continued slyly. “I love having my arse played with.”
My throat constricted, and sweat broke out across every inch of my skin.
He pressed on, purposely driving brutally through my discomfort. “I love having a tongue on my hole and fingers stretching me open, readying me for a nice hard cock.”
“Lord,” I muttered as I dabbed the condensation on my brow and took a stranglehold on my jerking cock, struggling not to come based on his words alone. “You’re filthy.”
“I’m lying back on my bed now, Prime Minister,” he drawled. “Wanking my hard cock while I suck on my fingers and pretend they’re yours. If we were properly together, we would need lube, but for now, spit will do.”
He released a jagged sigh as he played with himself.
I struggled to swallow. “What are you doing now?”
“Teasing my hole,” he said thickly. “Christ, it feels good.”
“My fingers would feel better,” I asserted instantly. “If I was there, you wouldn’t dare to touch what’s mine. Your pretty dick and your arse.”
“How do you know it’s pretty?”
“You’re the prettiest creature I’ve ever seen,” I admitted, unable to hold myself back from properly masturbating now. The sound of it, the wicked sharp snap of flesh on flesh, joined Tally’s. “I’ve no doubt you have a pretty cock.”
“And my arse?” he coaxed, so breathy.
I imagined him splayed on the bed, pale legs rucked up against his chest to reveal his marbled dick and full balls, the pink hole like a punctuation mark beneath it all. My dick jumped in my hand, spitting pre-cum down my shaft.
“Even prettier,” I croaked. “Finger yourself for me, boy. Tell me how tight you are so I can imagine I’m fucking you and not my fist.”
Safely locked in my office without the threat of discovery and absconded far away from him, I felt safe imagining it and even facing the reality of having intercourse with a man.
While I was submerged by his voice, the fantasy was vivid enough to obliterate every other thought.
“Bloody hell, James,” he hissed. “You’re going to make me come.”
And that did it.
My name in his masculine voice absolutely savaged by lust.
Lust for me.
I was going to come harder than I ever had before, alone in the highest governmental office in the land acting like a heathen all because of one blithe, ludicrously tempting young man.
“Do it,” I bit out. “Come all over your hand for me.”
The sounds that followed were ripe with sex, heavy breaths, threadbare sighs, and exclamations to God.
It was, to my ears, even as I spilled hotly over my fist and up onto my spotless linen shirt, the sweetest music I’d ever heard.
We were silent in the aftermath as our breathing de-escalated through the phone. I didn’t want to ring off, tidy myself up, and make my way home to a cold, dark house.
I wanted, inexplicably, to go to Tally, clean him of his cum, and tuck him up cozily in his bed. Even if I couldn’t join him—and I told myself I never would—I couldn’t curb the desire to take care of him after he had so aptly cared for me.
“How was it, then?” he ventured, flippancy hardening the edges of his tone. “What is the conclusion of your little experiment?”
I sighed as I wiped my cum off on a silk handkerchief the French Prime Minister had gifted me. “It’s safe to say, I liked it.”
“Liked it?” he echoed dully.
“Well, rather, I loved it,” I corrected myself even though the truth deeply unsettled me. “But I’m still the heterosexual prime minister with an upcoming election next term. I can’t very well uproot my very identity right now.”
“Even though pretending as you have been makes you a curmudgeon?” he snapped back.
“Even though the thought of you haunts me,” I whispered roughly, cupping my hand over the cell phone as if the hard plastic was his angular cheek. “Even though I want to do all of this again in person.”
“Seems you have some serious issues to figure out then,” he said haughtily, almost coldly, and it shocked me because it was so unlike the Tally I’d come to know.
“I just need time,” I offered—reasonably, I thought—even though I didn’t expect him to agree. “This is a big deal.”
“I won’t be a secret, James,” he reminded me sharply. “They never last long. Thanks for the wank and the orgasm. I’ll be seeing you.”
I swallowed once, twice, and then whispered, “Right, good night, boy.”
He sucked in a harsh breath but didn’t reply.
Instead, he hung up and left me once again alone.
CHAPTER FOUR
Tobias
It had been two weeks since James had called me in the middle of the night and made me toss off to the sound of his voice. Two weeks since the best orgasm of my life.
And two weeks of absolute radio silence after.
You did the right thing, I reminded myself. You set boundaries. You’re not going to be some politician’s secret booty call.
I understood that James was from a different generation; I understood the intense visibility of his job. But hell, if hyper-Catholic Ireland could have a gay PM, then surely the nation that pioneered all-boys boarding schools could? And more importantly, I wasn’t interested in hiding. Jesus, I didn’t know if I could hide at all. All the usual British subtlety and repression genes seemed to have skipped my queer little zygote at conception. For example, I informed my mother I was gay at my seventh birthday party...in front of my grandparents a
nd the entire grade 1 class of Little Langford’s Boys School.
And then to re-come out to Mum as pansexual seven years later, I baked her a cake with blue, pink, and yellow sprinkles. It was supposed to be in the shape of a rainbow, but it definitely looked more like a penis after I’d glommed a bowl of icing on there and tried to spread it around. I also sang her a song of my own invention called “Oops! I Came Out Again” as she ate her slice of accidental penis cake.
My point was that I was both unhappy at the idea of hiding and incapable of hiding anyway. I’d been really lucky to have supportive parents and the best therapists money could buy, so I intended to use that privilege well.
Mostly by living a horny, fabulous life—but also by letting other people like me know they weren’t alone. I figured the more people lived their lives however the bloody hell they wanted, the more it destabilized The Heterosexual Agenda, which could only be a good thing.
So then why, why, why was I still pining—and wanking!—for The Heterosexual Agenda’s poster child? One James Caldron, PM?
Fuck, maybe those therapists hadn’t been the best money could buy, after all.
And so, after two weeks of this, and determined to wipe James and his deliciously cool voice from my memory, I decided to invite a date to my mum’s annual Christmas party.
It was someone I’d met through a mutual friend—the kind of sunny, boozy, regatta-sailing boy whom I typically dated—and I told myself I was going to have a good time with him. I was going to laugh and talk and flirt with him, and then maybe I would invite him to stay in my childhood room instead of the room we let at the village pub, and then I would have sunny, boozy sex and forget all about James.
There was one fatal flaw in my plan, however.
I’d assumed James would be too busy to attend his new stepmother’s Christmas party, especially seeing as it was all the way out in the country. But when Oliver and I walked through the door—we were late on account of a train fuckup near Salisbury—James was the first person I saw, scowling in the hallway with a phone pressed to his ear.
Even scowling, he looked unnervingly handsome, and even worse, he’d dressed down from his usual suit, wearing a pair of trousers that did nothing to hide his narrow hips or his powerful legs. His thin jumper clung to his muscle-clad shoulders and his flat stomach, and with his arm raised to hold the phone to his ear, I could see a large watch glinting on his wrist. The kind of watch that announced power and money—and precisely the kind of watch I could imagine flashing beneath his jacket sleeve as he took me over his knee and punished me for my disrespectful mouth.
Tales of Darkness & Sin: An Anthology Page 37