Make Me Soar (12 page)

Alan became aware of how silent the flat had become.

Dorian was staring at him, his brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”

Alan smiled. “Never better.” He placed his hands on Dorian’s shoulders and took a deep breath. “What would you say if I told you I can make you fly?”

D
ORIAN
STARED
at him, openmouthed. “What… what are you talking about?” His brain couldn’t compute what his ears were hearing.

Alan grasped his arm. “Come and sit down.”

Dorian allowed himself to be led over to the couch, his thoughts chaotic. Alan’s words were burning into his brain. He sat down carefully, unable to take his gaze off the Dom. Alan’s eyes were bright, his body almost vibrating.

“What did you mean?”

Alan regarded him intently. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to think carefully before you answer it.”

Dorian’s heartbeat raced as he contemplated whatever Alan was about to say. “Okay.”

“Why do you think Andrew Barrett got you so close?”

Dorian’s stomach churned. “I’ve thought about this, and the truth is, I don’t know. The scenes were so different, nothing like my usual scenes. Maybe that’s all it was, just that difference, and I reacted to it.”

Alan smiled, and Dorian tilted his head.

“You think you know why, don’t you?”

Alan nodded. “Reaching subspace through sensuality is very powerful. I happen to think it’s much more powerful than when you achieve it via pain. Andrew gave you a glimpse of what sensuality can do, and I think it scared the shit out of you.” He studied Dorian for a moment. “Am I right?”

Dorian’s mouth went dry. “Yes,” he whispered. He could still feel those banjo picks trailing gently over his balls and dick, feel that ice as Andrew slid it over his skin and pushed it into his hole.

Alan nodded, his eyes never leaving Dorian. “I guess what I am trying to say is that I can show you a different way to fly, if you’re interested.”

Dorian let the words sink into his consciousness. It was clear from Alan’s confident expression that he really believed he could do this. What wasn’t clear was how he intended to go about it.

Alan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “In case you were wondering, I am suggesting that we do a scene together. If all goes well, then we can think about a contract. I’d say three months to start with, but unless my instincts are way off—and I don’t believe they are—we will be renegotiating after that for a longer period.” Those blue eyes were mesmerizing. “I think we could be a good fit.”

Dorian couldn’t speak. He
daren’t
. Alan’s quiet proposal had lit a fire in him, and part of him already wanted to say
yes, God, yes
. But he’d been in this place too many times in the past. Hope was a luxury he didn’t allow himself. All too often, his hopes had been dashed.

Alan rose to his feet. “I don’t expect an answer right away. You need to think about it. But I
will
say this. You need to look at where you are headed right now and ask yourself if you want to continue in that direction.” He gazed at Dorian, his eyes kind. “I think you’re at a crossroads, Dorian Forrester, and the way forward is up to you. All I’m doing is pointing out another route for you to consider.” Then he smiled. “But right now I need a shower, so I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” He stepped past Dorian and crossed the room into the bathroom, then closed the door behind him.

Dorian stared at it, heart pounding. Beyond it, he could hear the water running.

What the fuck?

He took several deep breaths in an effort to quell the thoughts that were colliding in his head. He couldn’t deny the proposition was pulling him strongly. He’d wanted to do a scene with Alan for so long, and now here was Alan, offering him that and much, much more than he’d ever hoped for. The temptation to leap in with both feet was enormous, even if the logical part of his brain kept telling him to steer clear.

The speed at which events were taking place scared him to death. Things were happening so fast that Dorian couldn’t keep up. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Alan that, but something held him back.

I need this
.

Then he reflected on Alan’s words. Where
was
he headed? He’d been down the pain route, and it had gotten him nowhere. So what avenues did that leave open to him? From what he’d read online, he knew that substance abuse was one way to go, but Dorian had seen and heard enough to know he wouldn’t go down that particular road. He had more sense.

He’d been ready to leave the club. Berlin had been an attempt to get out of that environment where he’d felt safe—
too
safe—and experience something different. Well, he’d experienced
that
, all right. Until it healed, his damaged hole was a daily reminder, and he didn’t need to see that hateful word on his back to know it was there. Within a week or two, it would be healed, but Dorian knew the brand would be with him for the rest of his life.

His throat tightened as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He clenched his fists, the nails digging into his palms, as the image arose in his head, the letters burned deep.

I am
more
than that
.

He
had
to be.

Dorian leaned forward, head in his hands, fighting back the tears of anger, lost in his painful memories. When Alan touched his shoulder, he almost leaped out of his skin.

Alan knelt in front of him, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Hey, you were miles away.” His voice was soft.

Dorian gazed at the man before him. It was no use denying that he found Alan attractive. That had been a given ever since the Dom had joined the club. He’d admired Alan’s wide chest and toned physique from across the club many times, watching his scenes with longing. But here was Alan offering him what he’d sought for so long. Being attracted to him was a bonus, as far as Dorian was concerned.

And just like that, he realized he’d come to a decision.

“Yes.” He lifted his chin and looked Alan in the eye.

Alan became still. “You’ve thought about this? Because I didn’t expect an answer immediately.”

Dorian nodded. “I want this. And I think you’re right. We might be a good fit.” His heart raced as he uttered the words.

Alan’s slow smile lit up his face. “I’m sure of it.” He rose to his feet, and Dorian had to force himself to look down when he was suddenly confronted with Alan’s obvious erection behind the towel. The realization that he turned Alan on sent a rush of heat surging through his body. His cheeks burned when Alan didn’t move but stood there, his groin in direct line with Dorian’s face.

His hole clenched, and a spasm of pain shot through him. It was as if a flood of ice water spread through his veins, and any desire he might have felt became dust.

Dorian swallowed and looked up at Alan. “So what next?”

“I need to go home. I need fresh clothes, for one thing. How about you come with me and stay for a day or two? A change of environment would be good for you.” Alan cocked his head. “Have a think while I get dressed in your room, yeah?” He picked up his bag and exited the lounge.

Alan’s attitude made it clear he wasn’t about to waste time. That appealed to Dorian, but still, the speed at which events were taking place scared him to death. He felt pulled along by the relentless tide that was Alan Marchant, and part of him was glad to have someone else taking control. Maybe it was better to go with the flow than sit and reflect too much on recent events.

Then he thought about it. Having Alan in such close proximity those last few days might have irritated him at first, but there had been times when Dorian had been grateful for the Dom’s presence. He’d acted as a buffer to the turmoil raging inside Dorian, giving him something else to focus upon. The idea of sitting around in his flat with only his memories for comfort struck him forcibly.

That pretty much decided it for him.

Time to pack a bag
.

A few more days of Alan wouldn’t hurt. And if he were honest, Dorian was glad of the company.

A
LAN
PAID
the taxi driver and then gestured toward the red brick house. “Welcome. It’s not much, but it’s home.” He pushed open the small front gate and led the way along a neat little path to the front door.

Dorian studied the frontage as he followed him. It was a thirties-style detached house in a quiet corner of Gatley. The front garden contained only a few shrubs, their branches stark and bare. He shivered as the wind picked up. The temperature had plummeted, and the clouds had a strange, almost beige color to them. Snow was on the way.

Alan glanced at him. “The house will be a little cool, seeing as I’ve not had the heating going for long during the past five days. I’ll click it on, and then I’ll light a fire.”

Dorian stared. “You have a fireplace?” It was one of the few things he missed from his parents’ home. He’d spent many a winter’s evening as a child sitting on the rug in front of the fire, staring into its flames—until one of his parents had spotted him and told him to move away from it. It was something that had been drummed into him; fires were dangerous. One didn’t take risks with them.

His heart sank. Not that his parents had let him take
any
risks.

Alan smiled as he stepped into the hallway. “I love real fires. When I bought the house, the fireplace was boarded up and there was a hideous sixties marble monstrosity of a mantelpiece. I soon got rid of that.” He stood to one side to let Dorian enter and then took his bag from him, placing it at the foot of the stairs. He pointed to the first door. “Go in there and sit down. I’ll be in with some logs. Thankfully I had a delivery a month ago. I think I’m going to need them. The central heating needs overhauling. The radiators don’t give out much heat, I’m afraid. I was going to have a new heating system put in this spring, once the weather warmed up.”

Dorian entered the lounge and glanced around. It was a square room, dominated by a brick fireplace, in front of which was a tiled hearth and a thick rug in shades of brown and bronze. Two armchairs sat on either side of the chimney breast, and facing it was a large sofa in a deep brown fabric. It looked comfortable, with wide, deep seat cushions. The fireplace contained the evidence of its last fire, chunks of blackened wood amid the ash.

Alan had been right; the house felt cold. Dorian shivered and hugged himself, rubbing his arms briskly, just as Alan walked into the room carrying a holdall full of logs.

“I’ll soon have it warm in here,” he assured Dorian.

Dorian watched him screw up sheets of newspaper into balls, then layer kindling on top of them, finally adding logs. Alan lit the paper with a long-nosed gas lighter, and it only took a short time before the kindling had caught. Alan turned his head to look at him.

“Come and sit in front of the fire while I make us some coffee.” He walked out of the lounge.

Dorian nodded eagerly and went to kneel before the fire, feeling the heat blossom and expand into the room. He stretched out his hands toward the welcoming flames and let out a sigh. This was wonderful.

Alan came into the room with two mugs. He handed him a mug, and then to Dorian’s surprise, he sat down next to him on the rug. His face glowed in the firelight.

“I always loved fires as a kid,” he said quietly.

“Me too.” Dorian wrapped his hands around the hot mug, gazing at Alan. “My parents’ house has a few working fireplaces, but only one is in use nowadays. Not that they use it that often.” The flames danced, and the logs hissed and crackled. Dorian stared into the depths of the fire, watching the logs catch and burn, glowing red.

After a moment he realized Alan had stopped talking. He turned to face him. Alan was looking at him quizzically. “You refer to it as your parents’ house. It’s no longer home for you?”

Dorian lowered his gaze to peer into his coffee. “It was never a home, as far as I was concerned.” It had always lacked one vital ingredient, in his opinion. He cleared his throat. “And besides, I left there, yeah? My home is the flat.” Not that it felt like his. He’d often thought about stripping it of everything that reminded him of his parents. It wasn’t as if they’d ever visit him to notice the change. Yet he felt unable to do this one thing.

Alan put down his mug. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

Dorian’s breathing quickened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Alan shook his head. “I’m not buying it. Every time you mention your parents or your home life, it’s as if a mask slips into place. I can’t see what you’re really feeling, but my instincts tell me there’s a lot going on underneath the surface.” He stared intently at Dorian, studying him with such careful scrutiny that Dorian felt his heart beat faster. “If we are to make any progress, you need to be honest with me.”

Dorian swallowed. What Alan was saying made sense. It just wasn’t that easy. Dorian had never been one to share himself with others. He’d spent all his life keeping everything locked up inside him. The only times he let himself go were when he was being fucked in a scene. It was usually fast, hard, and intense. Dorian could yell and cry out, giving voice to the frustration and aching inside. It wasn’t that he liked it like that; it was only that he knew no other way.