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Oh thank God.
“Yeah, duh,” I said, trying to play it cool.
“Just saw you going pale there for a second.”
“Oh please,” I said, slapping at his chest but also knowing I must have looked like Casper the Gay Ghost. “Anyway, you were saying.”
With a low laugh, he continued. “I was saying, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been constantly wondering what the hell was in that bloody letter my father left me.” He looked away from me, almost as if he were searching for the letter right now, even though there was zero chance it would be sitting somewhere in my living room.
My heart cracked, the split running down the middle like an earthquake had just torn it down the fault line. “There’s still a chance you’re going to find it.” I always liked to err on the hopeful side, even with it seemed like all the odds were stacked against me. “Lost things have a way of being found at just the right time.”
“Tell that to the signed photo of Kylie Minogue I lost fifteen years ago. I think the time’s been right for that to show up by now.”
“Oh honey, we all know Ms. Minogue works on the goddess clock. Fifteen years to her is like fifteen minutes to us. Give her at least twenty-five years to show up again.”
Beckham laughed again. His eyes came back to mine. “How do you do that? You turn some of my hardest moments into times I never want to forget.”
“I’m just returning the favor.”
The smile grew on both our faces as we leaned in, our lips meeting for a soft moment.
“You’re going to find that letter,” I said, getting lost in his eyes, feeling his breath tickle the tip of my nose. “You will.”
“I don’t know why I even care so much. He was never a good father to me, even before he knew I was gay. He was always more interested in going to the pub than being at home with me and mum.”
“It still doesn’t take away the fact that he had a message and you deserve to read it. Maybe he was apologizing for all the things he did. Maybe this is closure.”
“I doubt it. He never apologized for a damn thing.” Beckham sighed and sat back on the couch, hands on his legs. “Doesn’t matter anyway—the letter’s gone. I’ll probably never know.”
“Nope, I don’t believe that. I’m going over to your place this weekend and we’re turning it upside down. And if we still can’t find it, then we’re going to retrace every single step you’ve taken.” Determination filled me. I wasn’t going to let Beckham give up on this. It was clear how badly he was affected by this, and I was going to do everything in my power to make it better.
“You really don’t have to go out of your way, Oliver. Thank you, though. I appreciate it. A lot.”
I sat cross-legged on the couch, my knee sitting on Beckham’s thigh. “Okay, I know I don’t have to. But I want to. So I will.” I cocked my head and smiled. As if life were always that easy.
“Come here, you cheeky bastard,” Beckham said, pulling me in for a kiss. “You’re something else, you know that?”
I kissed him again before answering. It felt like a chorus of freaking angels entered the room every time our lips touched. This kiss didn’t stop, though. Words were swallowed and moans were offered as my tongue tasted Beckham, glided over his teeth. My hands moved up to his head. I couldn’t sit cross-legged anymore. Instead, I shifted over so that I straddled Beckham as the kiss grew into something uncontrollable. A runaway train that was headed straight for Passionville.
Too bad I had no idea the train had other plans.
The night wasn’t going anywhere in the direction I was expecting it to.
17 Beckham Noble
Oliver’s weight on me had me hard in seconds. His kiss made my balls ache. My hands went to his hips before slipping under his shirt, feeling the soft, warm skin, gliding up to his chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath my palm. It was exactly what I needed to get my mind off the letter. Oliver had the antidote to all my problems, and he administered it with a kiss.
“You’re so sexy,” he said during a break for air. He was looking down at me, his lips gleaming in the soft light of his living room.
I answered with a growl and another kiss. I thrust up, rubbing myself on Oliver, letting him know how hard he made me. The moan I drank from him let me know he liked that.
I did it again. He started to grind his hips, pushing down on my cock, his tongue exploring every inch of my mouth.
That’s it. I had to have him. No more games, no more fucking around out in the dark ocean. I wanted to lay him out on the couch naked and devour him with my eyes before I went in with my mouth, tasting every inch of him.
