“Definitely. Gay. Oh God, I’m gonna…don’t…”
He flicked his wrist in a way that made my breath catch and trailed the tip of his tongue up the side of my neck, along my jaw, to my mouth. “Fuck, you look—”
“Don’t.” I clutched the hair at the nape of his neck, pulled him towards me, dipped my head, anything to stop him.
“Kit—”
“Don’t. Don’t look at me. Don’t. Don’t stop—” I grabbed his arm with my other hand, tried to force it to move faster, but realised I was only letting him guide me. I couldn’t force his hand; his arm was only there to give me something to hold on to. And I gritted my teeth to stop myself biting his neck. When I got this close…
“Is there something wrong with me wanting to see what you look like when you come?”
“Don’t—”
“You say that word a lot,” he taunted. “Let me hear it, then. Let me hear you come.”
“No. Not here. Can’t.”
“Can’t let yourself go?” Steven’s palm fit perfectly against the underside of my cock, then with a flick of his wrist, over the head, spreading the pre-cum over me with every stroke. “Yes you can. I know you want to come.” The gentleness, the quietude, of his voice goaded me. “I know you need to.”
“He might—we could…”
“Kit.”
My fingers tightened in his hair, my other hand digging so deeply into his arm I’d leave bruises. Not that I cared.
“Kit.”
That got my attention but even though I was so far gone, I still couldn’t look him in the eye. I lifted my face away from the curve of Steven’s neck to show I was listening, but there was nothing to hear. He merely nudged me until his mouth was against mine again and his tongue ran along the underside of mine at the exact moment I came, choking off any sounds I might have made above a grunt of shock and relief.
A combination of coming that hard and lack of oxygen had just begun to make my head spin when he broke off the kiss and gasped. “Oh yes. “ His voice was so thick with arousal I’d have thought he was the one who’d just had an almost-complete-stranger wank him off up against the wall. “Fuck. I needed that.”
“You…?” I croaked. “Steven, you…” My chest heaved as I forced oxygen back into my lungs.
“Are you kidding me?” Again, our foreheads touched and his was misted with perspiration. Or maybe that was mine. “Ever since I saw you with your shirt off I needed to know what it felt like when you came.” And he hadn’t yet lifted his hand off my cock. Every so often he stroked it again as if willing it back to life. Ordinarily there was no way I’d get hard again after mere minutes, but with Steven Kenton, who knew what could happen? Even the sensation of my dick going soft and his spunk-covered hand spreading the love sent a faint tingle of arousal to the base of my spine.
“Oh. Oh God. Shit, sorry, I…”
“You’re apologising for coming all over my hand?” His hand slowed to a stop but still he didn’t let go. “Where else was it gonna go?”
“You really want an answer to that?”
“I could think of a few places. Plenty of other chances anyway.” Steven paused, inclined his head, dropped his gaze to my mouth, which wasn’t so bad. It was being looked in the eyes I couldn’t handle. “Will you be all right if I let you go?”
“Yeah, of course I—” But my knees shook as he stood back, laughing.
“Sure? Right, I had a box of tissues here somewhere.”
“You too?” I muttered, tucking myself in and reaching for my zip.
“What?” But he didn’t look over his shoulder at me, busying himself with wiping my jizz off his hand and arm with a handful of paper tissues.
“Nothing.” Again I craned my neck, looked up, and couldn’t stop my knees trembling.
Yeah. Nothing like a Kenton hand-job, is there, Blackman? It’d look comedic, I knew, but I let myself slide down the wall to a crouch before sitting on the floor.
Steven tossed the tissues into a bag used as a bin and turned to face me again, laughing at the sight of me. “That bad?”
I tried to smile but had to look away.
“Or that good, I’d prefer to think. How’s the head?”
“Which one?”
“I meant the migraine, Kit.”
“Oh. That. Yeah.” I waved a hand before resting my elbow on a bent knee and cupping my head. “It’s fine.”
“A Kenton hand-job. The stuff of legend and the kind of migraine cure your GP would never prescribe.”
“I don’t think I could stand it if he did, especially with the number of migraines I get.”
“And now you see why I never fall for the ‘not tonight, dear, I’ve got a headache’
excuse.”
“Yeah. Your hand is living, breathing Migraleve.”
“One does one’s best.” He grinned and let himself fall back on the bed, one arm thrown over his face as if he was the exhausted one. Well, he had moved house that day, been shifting boxes and bags. Giving me a monumental hand-job was probably just something to pass the time. Absolutely nothing to him.
Just like it meant nothing to me.
Maybe if I said that often enough I’d start to believe it.
Chapter Five
“Well.” Steven parted the blinds with the tips of his fingers and peered out as if expecting to see something interesting across the street. He exhaled sharply, let the blinds fall back into place and turned around again, to face the living room.
I, slouched on the settee only half paying attention to the DVD I wasn’t watching, shoved another handful of jelly beans into my mouth. The bowl, balanced on my lap, was nearly empty. God knew what I’d done with them all. Eaten them, probably. I’d gone into that DVD-and-junk-food fugue again, only woken up by Steven’s movements and single word.
“Tell me about you.”
Coughing back the last of the
