Love Starved (9 page)

Angel was already shaking his head. “No, no. Thank you, ma’am, it’s all delicious. I guess I got so focused on the conversation that I forgot to eat. Please forgive me.”

Her worried frown softened. “Are you sure? It’s not a problem.” When Angel nodded, she relaxed and added, “And please call me Helen. ‘Ma’am’ is fine when used by the kids at school, but coming from grown men like you, it makes me feel terribly old.”

Angel assented with a shy smile and then focused on his plate, leaving the five of them to carry the conversation. Micah watched him discreetly, mildly concerned, but soon enough his “boyfriend” finished the last of his portion. He politely refused dessert, though, smiling apologetically.

“I’m so sorry, but I will have to say an early goodnight—I’ve had an insanely busy week at work and I got up at the break of dawn today. If you could just tell me where I could sleep? I want to be rested for the ceremony tomorrow.”

He looked as charming as ever, but Micah could see tension in his features. The conviction that something was off came back with a vengeance. It flew right out of his mind, however, when his mom got up to lead Angel upstairs.

“You’re staying with Micah, of course. Here, let me show you the way.”

“What?” Micah felt his eyes widen to the size of saucers.

“Well, you’re an adult, son,” his dad said. “We really don’t mind the two of you sleeping together. Unless you don’t want to?” He frowned, looking between him and Angel.

“No, of course we want to. I’m just surprised.” Micah hurried to assure him
.
“Thank you.”

Micah stayed in the dining room for another half-hour, talking and joking with everyone, but soon his dad started yawning and everyone decided that going to bed early was a good idea if they were going to party until late tomorrow. Micah’s mom stopped him with a warm hand on his shoulder before he climbed the stairs.

“I like him, honey. And he’s obviously very much into you. I hope it works out.”

His throat tight, Micah nodded. “Me too. Thanks, Mom. Goodnight.”

Micah
braced
himself
for
the
unfamiliar view of a man in his bed, but Angel wasn’t asleep—or even in the room. The light was still on in the en suite bathroom. It seemed strange after Angel insisted he was exhausted, but Micah shrugged it off. Maybe he had a long bedtime routine. Or just hadn’t felt like spending any more time listening to stories of Micah’s childhood. No matter. They’d survived the evening, and tomorrow should be easier. With the vows renewal ceremony and so many people around, any attention they would get was bound to be fleeting.

Of course, there was also the night—two nights—that they’d be spending together in a double bed. Micah briefly considered sleeping on the floor, but that was ridiculous. Not only would he be stiff and uncomfortable in the morning, but it would seem as though he had a problem. Which he didn’t. He could easily sleep next to a man. They were only supposed to share the bed anyway, nothing more. It was like a sleepover.

A strange sound came through the bathroom door and Micah froze. It sounded almost like quiet choking. But he didn’t hear it again, just running water and what was almost certainly an electric toothbrush, and when Angel came out a few minutes later, he was smiling, if noticeably tired.

“Hi. Everything all right?” Micah asked, trying not to stare. Seeing Angel ready for bed in soft gray pajama pants and a black tank top seemed strangely domestic.

“Sure. I’m just exhausted. Do you mind if I go lie down? Should I maybe take the floor or… ? I mean, we haven’t discussed this.”

“Don’t be silly. Just go to bed. I’ll shower and… all that.”

“Okay.” Angel hesitated at the foot of the bed. “Which side should I take?”

Micah shrugged. “Whichever. I don’t have a preference. Goodnight, Angel. And thank you. You were very, very good out there.”

Angel flashed him a quick grin. “I’m a professional, after all.”

Micah took his time showering, letting the hot water dissolve tension in his muscles he hadn’t realized was there. When he finally left the bathroom, wearing a T-shirt and too-short pajama pants he found in his old dresser—he couldn’t sleep naked, the way he usually did, after all—Angel was fast asleep, curled tightly on himself on the left edge of the bed. Micah slipped under the covers next to him and closed his eyes.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

The last time he’d slept with a man was right after that dreadful last fight with Brian, mere weeks before they broke up. Everything between them was frozen and brittle that night, and Micah felt cold and breakable himself, or maybe already broken, and so tense there was no chance of sleeping. He’d much rather have gone home, but he’d promised Daphne she could have the apartment for herself while Danny was staying over. He’d contemplated leaving Brian’s place anyway and just finding a twenty-four-hour diner to sit in until morning. Anything would have been better than that cold bed and the cold, angry silence. But he’d quickly remembered that he had about a dollar in his wallet, and it was too cold outside to just walk the streets until morning; the January wind bit to the bone. So he’d stayed. He’d had no sleep that night.

But even before that, Micah had hated sleeping with other people. Admittedly, it just meant he’d hated sleeping with Brian because he was the only one Micah had ever slept with. Brian had been as demanding in his sleep as he was in everything else—pushing too close into Micah’s personal space; holding onto him, all hard knees and sharp elbows, until Micah was too hot and uncomfortable, barely able to breathe. Brian had been impossible to shake off, even after he’d fallen asleep.

At least with Angel, Micah didn’t have to undergo that. Still, it felt weird to share a bed with another man, and a virtual stranger at that. Micah lay awake in the darkness for a long time, listening to Angel’s even breathing.

He must have fallen asleep at some time because he woke to the sound of birds chirping outside the window. He felt rested and comfortable, snuggled in the cocoon of his comforter, with soft, warm skin under his hand and—

Wait,
what
?

Micah was fully awake within seconds, aware that sometime during the night, he had migrated toward the left side of his bed and taken residence on Angel’s shoulder. What was more embarrassing, his leg was tangled between Angel’s, and his hand had somehow found its way under Angel’s shirt to the warm skin of his stomach where it was resting now, splayed and comfortable. And Micah didn’t even want to think about what was pressed snugly against Angel’s hip.

This was mortifying. It would have been even more so if Angel had not remained blissfully asleep, unaware of the sneaky cuddle attack Micah had initiated during the night.

He stayed asleep, only mumbling sleepily and turning to his side when Micah moved away and out of the bed, and Micah couldn’t help but watch him for a moment—the relaxed, handsome face, the smooth tanned skin of his muscled arm, the mess of his hair on the pillow. He had a gorgeous boyfriend, he had to admit—even if he was fake. No one could look at him today and say Micah Geller didn’t have amazing taste in men.

Micah was sitting at the
kitchen island with coffee and toast when he heard footsteps on the stairs. A moment later a pair of arms slid around his shoulders as Angel kissed his cheek, surrounding him in a warm cloud of spicy scent.

“Morning, love,” Angel’s sleepy voice murmured in his ear. “Did you sleep well?”

A piece of toast seemed to have stuck in Micah’s throat and he had to swallow convulsively to be able to talk. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Did you?”

“Like a baby.” Angel sat down next to him, smiling brightly. He looked radiant in the morning light coming from the open back door, his eyes so light they were almost yellow, with a few brown speckles around the pupils.

“The coffee is made and there’s an array of breakfast food in the fridge. Fix yourself whatever you like,” Micah said, forcing his eyes away.

It was bad enough that he still felt Angel’s warm skin under his fingertips; there was no need to stare, too. Maybe he should have made breakfast for him—he would probably do it for his actual boyfriend in such a situation. But getting too deep into the roles they played seemed dangerous, and there was no one here to watch them. Everyone seemed to be outside.

Angel got up and returned with a cup of black coffee. “I don’t eat breakfast,” he answered Micah’s arched eyebrow.

“That’s not very healthy.”

Angel shrugged. “So they say, but I never liked to eat in the morning. My mother used to force me to eat breakfast before school, and it was a legitimate childhood trauma. I gave it up as soon as I left home.”

Claudia breezed into the kitchen, her high ponytail bouncing with every step. She clapped her hands when she saw the two of them.

“Look who’s up! Took you long enough.”

Micah looked at the clock on the microwave. It was quarter past ten. The whole gathering was to arrive for lunch in less than three hours. He hadn’t slept this late in longer than he could remember.

Claudia looked at the two of them, waggling her eyebrows, a mischievous grin on her face. Micah was about to toss a piece of toast at her when a warm hand wrapped around his forearm and he looked up to see Angel’s devious little smile.

“Oh, you know,” he said, to Micah’s horror, “it’s hard to get out of bed when you have a sexy man in your arms.”

The fact that Claudia squeaked and covered her ears, fleeing out of the kitchen, mollified Micah somewhat. Still, he swatted Angel’s arm as soon as she was out of earshot.

“You can’t say things like that!”

“Well, she won’t ask again,” Angel said, amused. “And I’m pretty sure she won’t even think to question our relationship.”

“Yes, but she will think we’re having sex.”

“And that’s a bad thing how?”

Micah sighed. It was hard to explain to someone who probably saw sex as something as ordinary as food and sleep how different it was for him.

He settled on, “Just please don’t go around giving other people that mental picture.”

Angel nodded. “More subtle then? Okay, I can do that.”

Micah finished his coffee, wondering if it was too early for a drink. He might need one to survive the day.

It was nearly midnight, and
Micah needed a moment to himself. He’d forgotten how long and involved his parents’ social gatherings tended to be. Between the sheer number of people to interact with, pretending to be in a happy relationship and the emotional impact of watching his parents renew their vows, the last ten hours had been exhausting. He’d talked; he’d laughed and cried a little; he’d eaten two meals and drunk a bit more than he probably should have; he’d danced with Angel for half the night, and now he was feeling as though all of his defenses were wearing down. It was a dangerous state, so he’d escaped the party outside and hidden in the house, settling at the top step of the old stairs, where Claudia and he used to sit to eavesdrop on adults’ conversations.

“Here you are,” Angel exclaimed merrily as he plopped down next to him ten minutes later. “I missed you. I think your Aunt Muriel was trying to flirt with me, but I excused myself,” he said, taking the glass of wine from Micah’s hand and finishing it off. He looked tipsy, all flushed and loose-limbed as he perched on the narrow step.

“Hey, I was drinking that,” Micah protested without much fire. He was tipsy, too.

“Naw, I saw you swipe the bottle from the buffet.” Angel grinned. He reached for the half-full wine bottle hidden behind Micah’s back and filled the glass again. “See?” he said happily and reached for Micah’s hand, stroking it absent-mindedly with his thumb in a way that made Micah’s blood simmer. “Have I told you how much I love it here?”

“No?” Micah grabbed the glass before Angel could take hold of it again.

“I really, really do. All those woods around, and the lake and the sky. The stars are
insane
.” He sighed. “Too bad we can’t just run away and watch them.”

“Who says we can’t?” It was out before Micah thought it through, but he discovered he didn’t mind at all. Screw defenses. He took another long swallow of wine and then set the glass down in the nook on top of the stairs, took Angel’s hand and stood up. “Come on. I’ll show you something.”

The party was still going strong in the backyard under the strings of fairy lights, with the open bar in one corner, the band in another and Lake Superior shimmering under the pale moon in the background. Some of the older guests had been escorted back to the hotel, but most were still dancing and drinking with enthusiasm more typical of twenty-year-olds.

Micah didn’t lead Angel that way. He strode out the front door and through the gate, then led him across the gravel road and down the overgrown path he’d been able to follow in his sleep since he was nine. He walked fast, and Angel kept pace easily, holding onto his hand.

“Is it safe here at night?” Angel asked at some point, when the music was no longer audible and the only thing illuminating their path was the moon shining through the branches.

“Yes,” Micah said, and then they pushed through the last thicket of bushes, and the meadow spread before them, empty and quiet. Angel slowed down and walked to the center of the circular opening, still holding Micah’s hand.

“Wow,” he breathed, and then he did what Micah had done so many times in the past: He flopped onto the grass, lying down to look at the starry canvas overhead. Micah followed suit and soon they were both spread on the ground, only their fingers touching as they let go of everything that held them down and focused on the stars.

“Don’t you feel incredibly small when you look up, knowing it’s just a fraction of the universe we can see?” Micah asked quietly an eternity later.

Angel’s voice sounded dreamy, awed. “Yeah. It’s like all our troubles are insignificant. We’re just specks of dust that somehow get to think and feel and decide. That’s pretty amazing, no matter how much crap life throws our way, don’t you think?”

Micah hummed in agreement, feeling more at peace than he had in ages. Here he was, watching stars with this gorgeous man, and at this very moment it didn’t matter if they had a day or a lifetime together, if it was real or fake. Life was good. Problems were far away. He was happy and free and a little horny, and so after another long quiet while, he did just what he felt like doing. Rolling over, he pressed his lips to Angel’s, tasting wine and a hint of chocolate, and boldly sliding his hand between the buttons of Angel’s dress shirt.

The house was quiet by
the time Micah and Angel came back, more sober now, but still holding hands all the way to the house. The bus hired to drive the guests back to the hotel must have come and gone because the yard was empty; the scattered remains of the party waited for the cleaning crew that was coming in the morning. Neither of them had a watch, but it had to be late. Everyone seemed to be asleep.

Micah’s lips tingled as the two of them tiptoed up the stairs to his room and quietly closed the door behind them. He was sure he hadn’t kissed so much in his whole life, and it was the best feeling in the world. Even with the alcohol mostly evaporated from his system, he felt drunk on the sheer pleasure of it—discovering all the ways he could kiss Angel, from innocent to absolutely dirty, from sweet kisses peppered all over his face one minute to desperate sucking on each other’s lips the next, with his hands in Angel’s hair and his hips pressing into the cold ground, desire coursing through every cell of his body. Who would have thought mere kissing could feel like that?

But being back in his room, with his elegant black suitcase on the floor and his laptop on the desk like a reminder of the important, real-life things waiting outside of this momentary bubble, was enough to dampen the happy buzz. Micah let go of Angel’s hand and grabbed his nightwear, heading to the bathroom.

“I’ll be quick.”

Already he felt embarrassed by his bold behavior, and the feeling only grew as he quickly showered and changed. He couldn’t meet Angel’s eyes when he walked out of the bathroom and headed straight to bed. He lay down on his side and closed his eyes, trying not to listen to the sound of running water mere feet away, not to imagine the view behind the wooden door. When the lights clicked off a moment later and the bed dipped behind him, he didn’t move, determined to pretend he was asleep.

Angel was having none of it, though. As soon as he slid under the covers, he pressed close to Micah’s back, his arm winding around his waist and his unfairly addictive lips tracing a slow path up the back of his neck. Micah shivered with how good it felt.

“What are you doing?” he whispered into the darkness, not quite able to pull away, but certain he should.

The tip of Angel’s tongue flickered out, a feather-light brush just under Micah’s ear. “I’m kissing you,” he breathed out, and sucked gently on the same spot.

“Why?”

“Because it feels good?” A nip to the lobe of his ear. “You’re talking too much, sweetheart.”

It took tremendous effort to move away from the pleasure of Angel’s talented mouth, but it had to be done. Micah rolled onto his back and looked up into Angel’s face, barely visible in the moon’s feeble illumination.

“I told you, you don’t need to pretend for me. Get some rest; you must be tired after all this craziness today. We’ll hang around for a few hours tomorrow and then we can go home, and you’ll be free of me.”

He saw Angel tense, his brows knitting into a frown and his mouth opening as if to say something, but then he relaxed again. His hand slid under the hem of Micah’s T-shirt. His tone was different when he spoke, firmer, more seductive.

“You’re paying me big money just to be here with you. Let me at least give you something good for it. I’m
really
good, I promise.”

Micah shook his head. “It’s not necessary, Angel. I’m paying you for exactly what you’ve been doing: pretending to be my boyfriend in front of my family.”

“And showing you what it’s like to feel loved,” Angel added, his thumb drawing maddening little circles just below Micah’s belly button.

“Are we still doing that?”

“Well, I am nothing if not persistent. So…” Angel moved closer, his breath tickling Micah’s neck. Micah shivered, but didn’t move away. “Let me show you—” Angel’s lips touched his sensitive skin, the rest of the sentence whispered softly against it, “what loving touch feels like.”

Then Angel’s lips were on his, and even though it was far from the first time tonight, it hadn’t felt like this before. This wasn’t just kissing for the sake of it—it was the first step into an uncharted territory, an overture to more. It was a kiss full of intent, of soft, unhurried curiosity, and Micah found himself kissing back, pushing his doubts and protests to the back of his mind. He’d stop, he’d say
enough
the second it became too much, but for now, he let himself enjoy the touch of Angel’s talented mouth and the slide of his fingers under the soft worn cotton of Micah’s shirt. It had been years since he was touched like this, and his body soaked it in greedily, arching into Angel’s hand, starved for the contact.

Micah swallowed a soft moan when Angel left his lips to trail heated, wet kisses along his jaw and down the tendons straining in his neck. He pushed his head back and to the side, to expose more, feel more. The realization that he had to be quiet,
so quiet
here, where walls were thin and his family was sleeping so close, didn’t mortify him. On the contrary, heat spiked higher in Micah’s belly: He’d never had to be quiet before. Brian’s apartment, where they used to meet (because “Really, Micah, the tiny hole you share with that loud hag? Not my standards,”) had been spacious and empty save for the two of them, and Brian loved to hear Micah, insisted on him being loud and vocal, and sometimes it was too much, but Micah did it anyway. If he hadn’t, his boyfriend would have just fucked him harder, or spanked him with a hand strong enough to sting, anything to hear him gasp or cry out. So now, swallowing the breathy moans as his cock filled and hardened felt like freedom, not a restriction.

Angel rolled closer, his weight partially on him now, and Micah was sure it would be the moment when he felt the need to say
enough
, but it wasn’t. He was almost pinned to the bed, but he didn’t feel trapped; he knew he could move any time and that made all the difference.

Angel’s hand wandered higher under his shirt. It was warm and soft, confident in a way that betrayed experience but didn’t feel scary or overwhelming, and when his thumb passed a nipple, Micah couldn’t contain a sharp inhalation; his hips bucked.

He
wanted
. He wanted and the red light in his head still wasn’t there, the “too much too fast” mode wasn’t kicking in, and maybe he should just relax, let go, until it was. He could always say
stop
. Angel was a professional, and Micah was in charge, even if he let go.

So he did, hands finally untangled from the blankets to touch Angel’s smooth skin, feel his taut muscles playing underneath. The moment Micah embraced him, Angel hummed appreciatively. His weight shifted entirely on top of Micah, and it felt safe; it felt good. Angel’s cock against Micah’s hip was hard too, and the thought of touching it, feeling it in his hand and… other places, was simultaneously shocking and so hot Micah actually moaned aloud before capturing Angel’s lips again to keep himself quiet.

They kissed and kissed, their hands exploring and teasing, but no clothes were discarded, no fingers dipped below waistbands. They kissed until Micah felt dizzy, until he could barely catch his breath and every touch was like electricity, and he surprised himself, his face hidden in Angel’s warm neck as he whispered, “More.”

It was the first time he ever said anything like that, the first time he initiated anything, always having been the one trailing behind, being told to hurry up, to catch up, to
try, come on, you’ll like it
. There was so much power in this little word, and so many directions they could go, and he wasn’t sure what he wanted—just that he wanted, and
so much
.

That was okay; he didn’t have to know. Angel understood. His quick fingers pushed Micah’s shirt up and off, and there was a brief second of fear because
what if
, but then again.
I can always say
enough
. He’ll stop.

He didn’t know why he trusted Angel so much, why he was so absolutely certain Angel would never cross his boundaries. Perhaps because Angel did this for a living, and Micah had paid. Or maybe because he knew Angel enough to be sure he could be trusted.

Angel’s fingers drew warm paths over Micah’s skin, new trails for his lips to follow, and Micah had to turn his face into his shoulder to muffle his exhalations. But that didn’t stop his hips from moving, demanding, and Micah refused to be ashamed. He was lost now, his only remaining mantra
quiet, quiet, be quiet
as Angel moved his pants out of the way, and then off, and his lips were so fucking good, hot and wet and plump, his tongue’s movements electrifying, and God, his mouth—

Micah came with a shocked cry muffled by shoving his fist against his lips and biting on it; the bright spikes of pain were a wonderful counterpoint to the deep, tight pleasure as Angel swallowed around the head of his cock, which was buried whole in his incredible, talented mouth.

It took a long while before Micah’s ears stopped ringing and his thoughts returned to any coherent pattern. Even then, they were slow and heavy, his body pulled by sleep. The emotions and the nervous tension of the day, the alcohol, the best orgasm he’d had in a very long time—it all combined, turning him into a boneless puddle. He forced his eyes to focus on Angel’s smiling face above him and guilt stirred through the fog of satiated exhaustion.

“Oh,” he whispered, lifting his resistant hand to put it on Angel’s hip. “What about you?” He really should reciprocate—even though he might fall asleep before they got anywhere. Even though he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to. It was only fair.

Angel shook his head, though, and caught Micah’s hand. He kissed Micah’s knuckles and wove their fingers together on Micah’s stomach, lying down next to him.

“You don’t need to. Just sleep.” He pressed a soft, warm kiss to Micah’s lips. “Goodnight, sweet boy.”