Innocence (28 page)

And all at once I don’t need him to speak. His mouth against mine is answer enough, our lips crushing wetly.

I’m not imagining it, I think as I pull back a little, seeing his eyes blink open and then close as his hand cups the back of my head and draws me down. I’m not imagining his tongue against mine, I couldn’t. He tastes of whisky, all sharp and smoky. He feels like the rough side of velvet. I drop my head to the side to give him better access and feel his chest vibrate as he moans. Kissing him is like nothing else—I am at once grounded to the earth and soaring above it. Lost, and most definitely found.

I pin the arm that’s not holding me above his head, the knowledge that he is giving in to me turning me on more than anything. He digs his fingers into my scalp and I want to be rough with him in return. I want him to want me so much, it hurts.

With my free hand I lift his top, running my fingers across his stomach and chest, tracing the contours of his muscles, feeling his breath coming hard and heavy.

“Not here,” he pants breathlessly, breaking the kiss.

“Yes, here.” I nip his ear and hear him hiss in response. “I’m not giving you the chance to have second thoughts about this.”

I press my leg between his thighs, spreading them apart, searching for the heat of his erection, needing this to be real. The heel of my hand finds the heavy length of him, crushed within the tight vee of his trousers. He moans as I stroke him free, his head slamming back against the tree trunk. It’s so dark, and I desperately want to see him, but this moment may never come again and I can’t let it go.

As I drop down in front of him, overripe cherries burst apart beneath my knees. My fingers work the button and zip of his trousers, and I press my face into his stomach, inhaling the secret scent of him, intense and earthy and very, very male. I’m longing to taste him, feel the smooth silky skin of his rock-hard cock against my tongue.

“
Christopher,
” he groans, his hands scrabbling at my top, trying to haul me up.

Doubt suddenly stills me. He’s drunk, I’m taking advantage. He doesn’t want this.

I let him drag me to my feet, but instead of pushing me away, he pulls me into his arms, holding me so tight it’s hard to breathe.

“You’re drunk,” I whisper. “You don’t want this.”

His lips find mine in a desperate, wordless answer. And I no longer know if I’m drowning or being brought to life.

V
OICES
FILL
the void behind us, people coming to sit in the pub garden. His mouth stops against mine as if the need to go, leave, run, is vibrating through him, but still he doesn’t push me away.

His warmth, the night, the way he feels pressed against me, the scent of his arousal—it all makes my head spin. I’m more turned-on than I’ve ever been, and we’re just standing here, hearts hammering, gulping each other’s air, leaning against a tree.

Almost imperceptibly I move my hips against his, trapping his cock against my hip bone. He chokes.

“
Please
, Christopher, I don’t want to do this with you in the dark.”

It’s the plea in his voice that does it. Closing my eyes, I shrug out of his grasp and step away, holding my arms out wide. I can’t keep him here, I don’t even want to, not if he doesn’t want me to. But I’m not going to watch him walk away either.

“Aren’t you coming with me, then?” Malachi asks.

I hear him swallow, uncertainty in his tone, my eyes opening only when I feel his fingers curl round my fist.

The pub lights glow warmly in the distance. Somewhere there’s a jasmine, the drowsy nighttime scent heavy in the air.

“Three shots do not make me drunk, but you’re going to have to drive, I think.” He tries to smile, his face half lit, eyes like glowing coals. “I’ve held back from you for so long.” A sigh shudders through him. “I’m not straight, okay.”

“You’ve gone quiet,” he adds a little accusingly.

I can’t help the wry smile that threatens to turn into a relieved chuckle, and not just at the honesty of his admission, which has somehow reassured me that my instincts are not as fucked as I thought.

“If I’d have known shutting up made you talk, I’d have shut up long ago,” I reply.

Not letting go of my hand, he leads me through the undergrowth and out into the wince-inducing brightness outside the pub, linking our fingers as we pass by the group of young men sitting at the garden tables.

Surprisingly, all we get are a few wolf whistles before we reach the road. Glancing down at the stained knees of my trousers, I feel blood rush to my face.

“Where are we going?” I ask, fastening myself into the driving seat of his car. I’m not up to driving a great distance. My hands still shake with echoes of everything I felt with him back there, heat still pooled like a summer sun in my groin.

“There was a hotel above the diner we went to yesterday.”

“Okay.”

His hand covers mine on the gear stick.

“I can’t drive if you do that,” I say, as the need to be connected with him burns through me, screwing with my concentration.

“Sorry,” he mutters, swallowing.

And I wonder if he feels it too.

It’s only a few miles, but I drive slowly, focusing on the road unfurling in the headlights, or trying to. Carefully, I pull over onto the gravel car park outside the diner. A few of the windows above are lit, but it’s mostly dark.

Neither of us makes a move to get out of the car.

He’s having second thoughts. I knew he would.

“Am I the only guy you’ve ever fancied?” I say into the silence, not really expecting him to answer me. Maybe these are just stray feelings he wants to rid himself of, maybe he’s experimenting.

“The fact that you’re a guy doesn’t really come into it….”

Oh.

I don’t really get it. I can’t ever imagine feeling this way for a girl, but then if Malachi was female rather than male…. I don’t know, I can’t imagine not feeling this way about him.

He takes a deep, shaky breath.

“I don’t know why you’re here with me, Christopher, why you like me. I’ve never known. I’ve got
nothing
. I’m an alcoholic, and I always will be. I’ve fucked up everything I’ve ever done.”

He doesn’t talk like this often, but when he does I can’t help getting the sense that these feelings underlie everything. And I can’t stand him thinking like that about himself. I want to touch him, but he’s shut down, hunched over.

“It feels like I’ve been in love with you my whole life.”

The words just come out, shining so bright and truthful, I can’t believe I’ve just said them. Fleetingly I’m mortified and regret it, but only for half a second, only until I see the way he’s looking at me, dark eyebrows drawn together all puzzled and astonished and stunned.

“I love you,” I repeat, just in case he didn’t get it the first time. Saying it to him makes me feel as light as air, makes me wide open and fearless. I want to say it all day just to see his reaction.

Shakily he cups my cheek. “Christopher, I fell for you a long time ago.”

But then he looks away out the window and says in a funny voice, “I need to tell you something.”

Dread begins to worm its way into my heart.

“I was scared it was because you were like her. That I felt like I did because of her, that she was never going to let me go.”

Hearing him talk about this is hard. But we need to, because it was my greatest fear too, that Isabella would always overshadow me in his feelings.

My eyes fill. I try and blink the tears away, but however hard I try to hold myself together, I know I’m breaking apart inside like shattering glass. I feel defenseless and exposed.

Gently he brings his fingers up to my cheek and whispers, “Please don’t cry.”

When he looks into my eyes now, he is the one who is fearless, the one facing the demons inside himself. “But you’re not. Deep down I’ve always known, but when I saw her today, I knew for absolutely certain. You’re nothing like her. Yeah, you may look like she used to, a bit, but you’re far more the boy who shone his light on me so brightly all those years ago.”

God, I’m so cold I’m shaking, my teeth chattering together.

“Christopher?” he whispers gently. “I did love her, it’s true, but I was sixteen and she was the first person who’d ever shown me any affection. That love died a long time ago. When I first saw you again sat outside Finn’s caravan, my feelings scared me, and I admit I tried to run away from them, but they’re the only thing I’ve never felt unsure about in my whole life. When I’m with you, it just feels pure and right and true.”

His fingers still against my cheek, and he leans over and kisses the corner of my mouth, the tip of his tongue touching my lip. The contact is like an electric shock shooting right through my core to the tip of my cock, leaving me raw and aching.

“I’m fucking terrified, Christopher. I don’t know how I can ever be worthy of this. I don’t even know how we do
this
,” he whispers.

“Do what?” I murmur, catching hold of his hand, bringing those fingers up to my lips, tasting the wetness of my tears there. I’m turned-on, but I still feel so uncertain.

Malachi actually blushes, dark eyes catching mine and skittering. “I’m fine with the theory, but I’ve only ever been with women before. I’ve never been with a… man… and the things I want make no sense to me.”

“Like what?” Does he mean kinks? Has he got some sort of fetish?

I’m not stupid enough to expect an answer. The leather of the steering wheel is soft beneath my stroking fingers.

He gets out of the car, walking round to open the door for me, and leads me up a staircase to the reception.

Our room is at the end of the block. Small and damp smelling and not at all as nice as my room in the hotel back home.

“At least the bedding and the towels in the bathroom look clean,” Malachi says, catching my eye.

I nod, feeling weak, wanting to close the distance between us.

“Want to take a shower?”

Shaking my head, I sink down on one of the two single beds. The walls are blue, the carpet dark gray and stained. After waiting so long to be with him, suddenly I am overcome. I drop forward, my head resting against my knees, completely shell-shocked. I want him to love me, and I’m not sure he does, not in the way I want. Despite what he says, I’m not sure about anything. I need reassurance.

“Christopher?” Warmth encircles my skull. Arms, hands, pull me into his lap.

“I don’t think I can do this,” I murmur.

His forehead presses against mine. “Talk to me?
Please
.”

“I remind you of her. I do. You can’t deny it,” I choke out.

“No.” He shakes his head, hurt darkening his eyes more than desire. “No. Did you listen to anything I said to you downstairs?”

My vision swims with tears.

Soft fingers trace the shape of my lips. Wetly he kisses me, and I can’t help but respond, can’t help the desperation rushing through me, my fingers gripping his skull, tangling in the soft waves of his hair, drowning.

I am drowning.

“I never felt like this about her,” he breathes, pausing so his tongue can brush against mine. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone.”

I need him to say it. I don’t know why.

“I love you,” he whispers, his hand stroking down my throat, his thumb tracing the contours, feeling the way I swallow as I strain to kiss him. “I love the way you look at me when you say my name. I love the way we fit together like this. I love everything about you. I always have.”

Maybe I am drowning, but if I am, it’s beautiful, and I’m full of light.

I push him backwards on the bed, knocking the wind out of him. Breathlessly he wrestles me, but my strength surprises me, and I lock his hands with mine above his head, shifting so that I can spread his thighs with my knee and feel the heat of him straining to meet me.

“Come in the shower with me,” he moans, arching up farther.

“I don’t want to come in the shower,” I mouth.

Malachi rolls his eyes. “Smile at me like that again,” he whispers.

Truth is, this all feels too momentous for smiling. Relinquishing my hold, I collapse down and let his arms wrap around me, his mouth find mine. I don’t want to think, I just want to lose myself in him, my tongue against the hard planes of his stomach, exploring the tightening skin of his balls. And why on earth would I want him to shower and wash away his glorious scent?

The bed is tiny. A couple of moves, and we end up on the floor, Malachi cushioning my head with his hand as we crash down, looking at me so protectively the rest of the world is forgotten. As if I’m made of something far more fragile than skin and bone, he pulls off my T-shirt, fingers tracing my ribs, and watches reverently as my nipples tighten at the touch of cool air.

“Different?” I ask quietly. Wondering exactly how different this dance would be if I were a girl, or he was.

Glancing down at the way my erection is straining the fabric of my jeans, he mutters, “Very.”

I slip my hand down between us and unbutton my jeans, intending to leave it at that, but going slow is not an option right now, I realize, and instead push my underwear down and grip my shaft in my hand.

Swallowing, Malachi sits back. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes taking in the whole of me. “Can I see you properly?”

With his help I kick off my trousers, smiling again as he leans over my stomach, seeming to need to see my cock from every angle possible, so close I can feel his breath on my skin. The way he’s looking, I’m not expecting him to touch me, and I near shoot through the roof when his tongue licks warmly across the slit. He grins, and I drag him up to kiss him.

“Strip for me,” I breathe across the tender shell of his ear.

“Believe it or not, I’m quite shy,” he replies quietly, sitting up and pulling his shirt off over his head.

His breathing deepens as my hand runs through the curls of dark hair across his chest, his sensitive, dusky nipples almost hidden beneath.

“What does the tattoo mean?”