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His eyes narrowed, and he pulled on his bottom lip with a finger and thumb. I nearly smacked his hand away. The only person doing that should have been me. He hazarded a guess. “Not many?”
“No, I shouldn’t think many do, either.”
His left eye had more gold in it than the right, but you had to study them both quite closely to notice. A tiny scar hid above his right eyebrow too. I wanted to know how he got it. I wanted to know a lot of things about him.
His lips parted on a hitch in his breath. “What are you saying?”
I raised my arm to attract the waitress’s attention. Despite the enormity of the moment, a moment I had been building up for nigh on the last fifteen to twenty years, I felt quite calm. “I’m saying your gaydar needs some fine-tuning. Mind you, I do fool most people.”
CHAPTER 7
Except for a handful of staff, we were the last to leave, so the pub car park was virtually empty. My truck stood alone at the far end, and we strolled over to it as nonchalantly as possible, side by side, our shoulders bumping, our footfall on dry tarmac filling the void neither of us could with words. As we reached the truck, I fished out my keys, then halted and clenched my jaw. It was now or never.
Instead of opening the door for my overnight bag, I circled his wrist. “Evan.” Less a query, more an expression of intent, conveyed in a low growly warning. Because once I started, I didn’t think I’d be able to stop, and if he didn’t want this, I was giving him the barest of seconds to make that clear. His eyes darted to where I held him and back up to my face. “Yeah?”
My hand slid from his wrist to his fingers, interlinking them with mine. “Is this what you want?”
“Yeah,” he breathed again. “Just…yeah.”
Pushing on his chest, I walked him backwards until he connected with the truck. We shared a split second of sizing each other up, my eyes lasering in on the magnet of his mouth. His hooded gaze, more warily, followed the direction of mine. As his breath quickened, his lips parted. If he wanted to pull away, he’d missed his chance.
Kissing Evan was light years away from kissing strangers on my trips to Bristol. Like the long-forgotten hayloft kisses with Freddie, our tongues shared an unspoken, pent-up desire. A neediness turning my knees soft and sending my mind into freefall, jettisoning every other sensation on the way down, so the only things left in the parachute were his mouth on mine, the scratch of his jaw, the fucking desperate sounds coming from both of us, the heavenly press of his heaving chest. The intoxicating taste of red wine, new beginnings, and the brisk night air.
I pulled away first, but only because I couldn’t handle much more. Swaying slightly, Evan’s eyes fluttered open. He stared at me in undisguised shock, before letting out an incredulous, high-pitched laugh. “Shit, I was so not expecting this when I left work this evening.”
A lock of silky black hair hung damply across his forehead, and I swept it back. Inches apart, all I could see, smell, hear and touch was him. I could still taste him, too. He was panting, out of breath like me. “I hope you still think you’re fucking gay, Mr Christopher E. Richardson. Otherwise, I’ve messed up big time.”
He laughed, a more normal one this time, relieved. “Yeah. Rob, yeah. I do. You’ve convinced me. But I…I had no fucking idea about you. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because…because…” The million-dollar question. “Because I wanted to show you instead.”
He kissed me again, hard on the mouth. “I never asked. Is this all new for you, too?”
Wanting to fuck a bloke? Not new. Going out to dinner with one, hoping to spend the night with him, exploring his body and his mind, taking it slow, and probably not getting a proper shag out of it? As brand-spanking-new for me as it was for him.
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s not new. I’ve never been into women. I’ve been this way forever.”
I dipped down for another go, but his hand over my chest held me back. A car engine revved; twin LED headlights illuminated the hedgerow a few feet from us.
“Not here. Someone might see.”
“Where, then?”
The car reversed, then drove off, the sound receding until only the darkness and the two of us remained. Neither of us moved. “Did I tell you how glad I am we came across each other again?” He kissed me once more. Leaving my shoulder, his hand curled around the back of my neck, tugging me closer. Not quite as needy as the first kiss but not far off. He kissed like he talked: determined, deliberate, and fucking wonderfully.
Cupping his arse, I pushed my hardened cock against his and grinned. “I’m getting the message. How close is your flat?”
If it lay on the other side of the car park, it still wouldn’t be close enough. I needed him now, to strip him of his uptight pink shirt and his beautifully pressed grey chinos, then run my chapped lips and my rough farmer's hands over every perfectly smooth fucking inch of him. Until he dripped sweat and begged me for more. Until he came. And then I’d mess him up all over again.
“Five minutes’ walk. Three if we run.”
More kissing, not ready to tear ourselves away. I ground up against him, a meaty arse cheek filling each of my hands. From the sounds, he was fucking loving it, as hard as me under that buttoned-up outfit, gagging for me as much as I gagged for him. A bubble of hysteria welled up from my belly. The lovely Christopher E. Richardson with all those clever initials after his name, rutting like a pig in a pub car park.
With a groan, I pulled away and wiped my mouth. Any more of that and we’d have our dicks out, and we were both getting a bit long in the tooth for that. He did the same, then stopped abruptly. “Shit. Rob,” he panted. “Listen. We can’t do this. Shit.”
It was as if he’d slapped me. “What? Why?” Blood chilled in my veins, plummeting from volcanic lava to arctic frost. I gripped his wrist hard enough he winced. “Have you changed your mind?”
“No. God no. No! But you’re…fucking hell, Rob. I saw you in clinic last week as a bloody patient! I could get struck off!” Reeling, I stepped back, and he walked away a few paces, running a hand through his hair. “Shit, shit, shit. I can’t do this. I’ll get struck off!”
