Chapter Four
Eli
Well, if this isn’tserendipity.
The man I’ve been thinking about for weeks on end is here, looking hotter than ever in his cashmere sweater, the sleeves meticulously rolled up to expose the dark hair on his forearms. He looks like he could grace the covers ofGQor an ad forAbercrombie and Fitch. Or the centerfold of Hot Doctors, Inc.
He’s my wet dream in the flesh.
Unfortunately, all the signs I’ve read about Dr. Mark Olsen is that he may not be 100 percent straight, but he’s definitely not out. And that’s a big problem for me.
When I came out in my mid-teens, I wasn’t ashamed of who I was. It never occurred to me to keep my sexuality a secret. That’s not who I am or what I do. Unlike others I’ve been with in the past.
I get it, though. There is a reluctance and fear to be queer by some. Those who are out can face a shitload of contempt from others – including most of the state of Indiana – for being different than everyone else.
That’s where my last relationship ended. He hid me away from his family, the friends he grew up with and anyone outside of our small gay, social circle of friends. I could take it only for so long but decided in the end, I want to be with someone who was mature enough to face bigotry and condemnation head on without hiding like a scared rabbit.
I’m done with that shit now and I’m glad to have this fresh start in Boston, away from all the narrow-minded fucks who think being gay is wrong. Immoral. A sin. Those hypocritical shits can all go fuck themselves. I will never be afraid to be who I am and live the way I want to live.
I need to remind myself to be careful with this one, as I flirt unmercifully with Mark, because I sense he doesn’t share the same ideology. I will not get caught in the same trap I was in with Cody, my last partner.
Sitting next to him now, and speaking to him in the hallway earlier today, my Spidey-sense tells me I’m right about Mark. There are certain “tells” that gay men have that straight men don’t share. Sometimes it’s the glance, the extra second they take to look at you when others would have turned away.
Oftentimes it’s just ingrained in their mannerisms and style that make you take notice in that extra special way. The one that says, “I’m down to fuck if you are.”
And now, with Mark staring at me wide-eyed, his lips curved in a sensual smile, I see a glimpse into my future. Whether it’s just for the night or maybe a little longer, I’m uncertain. But it’s there, nonetheless. Just as we know the sun will rise each day, I know that Mark is attracted to me and I want to see how far to push to make it happen.
“I’m no stranger to getting what I want,” I finally reply to his pointed statement. “If I want something, I take it. I learned a long time ago it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than not get what you want. It’s a sad existence if you only play it safe and live with regret.”
Mark nods, his eyes drifting over me, the heat in his gaze starting a fire in my crotch. His jaw clenches and I notice his Adam’s Apple bobs when he swallows. The dark shadows of his cleanly shaven jawline, dark and thick, the beard quickly returning with his sexy five o’clock shadow.
I wonder what he would do if I ran my fingers over his stubbled cheek, starting at the base of his ear and ending at the pout of his bottom lip?
His voice is low and heavy with arousal, as if he read my inner thoughts just now. The sound swirls between us like a hint of Kentucky Bourbon. Warm and sensuous.
“What exactly do you want, Eli?”
My pulse skyrockets because I’m not about to sugarcoat this. That’s not my style. I lean in close to his shoulder so that my chin hits the top of his soft sweater.
“You.”
It’s all I say as I wait for his response, scanning his features to determine if I’ve missed the mark.
Ha.Missed the mark.
He shifts in his bar stool, a flush painting a swatch of color across his neck and face. I wonder if he wears that same color when he comes.
When Imakehim come.
The silence between us stretches on, leaving me worried that I’ve misread things. Leaning away just slightly to give the air of propriety, I place my palm over his exposed forearm. The connection causes a multitude of sparks to zip through my veins; sharp, sensual and downright serendipitous.
His arm is warm and the soft wispy hairs covering his flesh make we want to bury my nose in it. Place open mouth kisses across his forearm, removing his clothing along the way to uncover whether the hair on his arm is the same thickness and shade as the rest of his body.
Hairy men are my thing. I love the texture of a guy’s hairy chest and the swatches of hair between their legs. Their pubes. Over their ass. All of it.
My erection comes to life like a beast in need of food.
In for a penny in for a pound, they say. I’ve already started on this excursion, I might as well see about closing the deal.
