Passing Time (5 page)

The intoxicating scent of Jake’s arousal flooded Louis’s nostrils. He closed his eyes and shuddered, surrendering to the sweet fire surging the length of his shaft. His orgasm exploded from his body. Shot after shot of pure white heat poured out of him in a long, heady wave of relief and regret. Regret it was over, and relief because he’d not shamed himself too badly in the process. Afterward, when Louis had withdrawn from Jake’s body and dealt with the condom, Jake wiped his chest with the sheet, then brought it up to cover them. He made as if he wanted to snuggle, so Louis rolled over and searched for the cigarettes he kept on the bedside table.

“That was pretty good once we got going,” Jake said, taking the hint and settling over on his own side of the bed.

“It wasn’t bad.” Louis lit up a cigarette. Good, he supposed, was a stronger adjective than nice.

“I haven’t tried that position before. Not as bottom. I didn’t think I could take so much…penetration.” He yawned. “Thanks, Louis.”

“For what?”

“For taking your time. For making it good for me.” He gazed at Louis as if waiting for a reply.

“You’re welcome,” Louis said before closing his eyes. He hoped Jake was done talking, because he’d much rather enjoy his cigarette in silence.

“How long has it been since you were last with someone?” Jake asked, shattering any possibility of a quiet few minutes.

Louis opened his eyes and exhaled a stream of smoke. “About a year.” He couldn’t tell Jake that the last time he shared his bed, the guy took his payment in cash. Jake wouldn’t understand.

“A year?” Jake peered up at Louis as if searching for the lie. He wouldn’t find one. “I couldn’t imagine going without for that long.”

“You’re young yet.”
Give it a few years and the loss of the one man who’d ever have meaning in your life.

“So are you. You’re no more than forty.” He sounded as though his intention was to flatter.

Louis stared at the tip of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “I’m thirty-five.”

Silence. Then, “See, like I said. No more than forty.”

Louis gave a dry laugh, impressed Jake hadn’t tried to bluff his way through a bumbling apology. He slipped the ashtray onto the bedside table and eased himself down into the bed. “Where did you learn those massage techniques?” he asked, the imprints of Jake’s hands still tingling his flesh.

“At uni. I did a module on sports injuries,” Jake said through a half yawn. “I adapted what I’d learned. Effective, though.” He grinned, and Louis found himself doing the same.

Louis tucked an arm around Jake’s shoulder and pulled him close.

“I’m glad we got together tonight,” Jake said, settling against Louis’s chest. “Aren’t you?”

“Hmm.”

Thankfully Jake didn’t demand more. Instead, his breaths gradually deepened and evened out, and Louis realized he was getting a little too comfortable lying in his bed with a virtual stranger in his arms. He did indeed reek like a fast-food outlet. He should get up, shower in the guest bathroom, and spend the night on the couch, seeing as the sheets were stained with vegetable oil and sweat and other bodily fluids.

“Where are you going?” Jake mumbled as Louis slipped out of his embrace.

“Thought I’d take a shower.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m covered in oil.”

“Shower in the morning. Don’t be so uptight, and come back to bed.”

Uptight? Was that fair? Probably. He didn’t take offense. Instead, his dick began to nag at him in a change from its previous reluctance. When he glanced down, it stared back with a hopeful slant to the right, in the direction of the bed.

He’d enjoyed the first round. Who said he had to play the thirty-five-year-old relic and fall into a coma so soon after he’d spent?

“I’ll switch out the light.” He did so and returned to bed, listening to Jake breathe, waiting for him to make a move. When nothing happened, Louis reached out with the intention of giving Jake’s cock an encouraging stroke. As his hand made contact with a warm thigh, Jake grunted and rolled toward him. Louis prepared to reciprocate when Jake’s arm landed across his stomach and a deep snore rippled into his ear.

Louis woke the following morning, rising through the various degrees of an oncoming headache, to the sensual heat of another body wrapped around his own. In his head it was May. The sixth to be exact. The location, Venice. They were celebrating Carter’s twenty-fifth birthday by spending the day in bed.

Carter’s illness was years away. Now, they were luxuriating in the bubble of perfectly preserved memory. He ran his hands over Carter’s unblemished skin and pressed his mouth to his lover’s throat. The skin tasted perfumed, a vague, sweet tang that he found quite appealing. Not as appealing as having his lover in his arms again, though, warm and alive. Carter felt more muscular than he remembered, but if he didn’t open his eyes, he could sustain the fantasy. As long as he didn’t start thinking on those quietly forming doubts and instead poured all his concentration into Carter’s body, into Carter’s cock, already thickening in his grip.

“Honey.” He squeezed gently. “You’ve got no idea how much I’ve missed this.”

“It’s okay, Louis,” an amused voice replied. “We can do this all day if you like.”

Louis opened his eyes. It wasn’t Carter’s wide blue gaze peering up into his own. No, Carter’s eyes were gray. Neither was Carter’s hot, trembling breath blasting against his face or Carter’s grip pinching the skin of his backside. There wasn’t a hope of it ever being Carter. Without a word he untangled himself from Jake and padded through to the en suite bathroom. He stepped into the shower cubicle to wash the remains of the dream, not to mention last night’s cooking oil from his body.

Was it possible to wash away Jake too? A faint trace of his scent lingered on Louis’s skin beneath the greasy stench of the oil. He quickly switched on the shower. A jet of cold water smacked him clean in the face. He ducked out of its way and waited for the water to heat. In a moment, he’d have that rogue fragrance lathered away on a sea of citrus-scented soap. His memories of last night, however, might prove more of a challenge.

He was in the midst of soaping his hair when he heard the shower door click open behind him. A cool breeze wafted into the cubicle and shivered against his backside. Louis angled closer to the water, silently cursing himself for not locking the bathroom door. He’d just begun to ease himself into believing last night held no more meaning than a few hours spent with a prostitute, and now Jake was here to undermine that belief. No prostitute had ever jumped into the shower with him before. They always seemed keen to get out of the door.

The gushing water above his head changed pitch as Louis sensed rather than felt the hard, muscled body at his back. He didn’t move except to draw in a sharp, tight breath as Jake reached around his hip and curled a hand around his limp cock. Louis lowered his head. He wouldn’t allow himself to get hard. That way Jake might tire of him all the faster and leave both shower and apartment. Louis wouldn’t see him again, of course.

All he had to do was not get excited by Jake’s firm, practiced touch. All he had to do was convince himself his skin tingled due to the force of the water cascading over his chest and not the soothing sensation of Jake’s steady hand working his cock. Louis stared at the while tiled wall swirling with steam and tried to lose his mind in the haze.

When the fat, ripe head of Jake’s cock nudged between his cheeks, Louis grabbed the water dial and flipped it to cold, dousing both himself and Jake in a rapid burst of icy spray. Jake yelped and released Louis’s cock.

Louis readjusted the temperature before turning around.

“Sorry,” he said, not really meaning it.

Jake stared hard at him. He didn’t say anything. He just moved in to slip both arms around Louis’s shoulders, enfolding him into a hug. Jake’s flagging but still-covered penis pressed against his own. Louis didn’t relax into him this time. He wasn’t sure what the hug was about. Jake didn’t seem in the slightest pissed off. That was the problem. It was as though Jake was offering comfort, although Louis was sure he’d given no indication of requiring any such thing. All he’d wanted was some quiet time to shower alone, and with no chance of that happening now, he gently but firmly pushed Jake away.

“Breakfast!” Louis announced, though his voice barely registered over the noise of the shower. Stepping out of the cubicle, he hoped Jake wouldn’t follow. He dressed in armor of sweater and jeans. To help take his mind off letting Jake Harvey finger his ass, he moved out into the kitchen, whipped up a few eggs, and shoved the bowl into the microwave. He set about cleaning up yesterday’s cartons and plates full of barely touched food.

“He’s still here,” Carter said from somewhere behind him as Louis swept a cloth across the breakfast bar. “You can’t scrub him into nonexistence with that grubby piece of rag.”

“I’m just cleaning.” Louis scoured until his arm ached and the microwave’s metallic ting alerted him the eggs were cooked. He moved to the sink and wrung the cloth tight in both hands to draw out the water. “Needs doing.”

“Presumably the airhead needs strangling too?”

The cloth fell from Louis reddening fingers into the sink. He turned slowly to face his beloved perched on the coffee table, one slender leg hitched elegantly over the other.

“He troubles me,” Louis said.

“He disturbs you.”

Louis lifted a shoulder. “Maybe.”

“I’ve looked deep into his soul. I like what I see.”

Something about the tone of Carter’s voice and his self-satisfied smirk led Louis to ask, “Were you watching us last night?”

“I confess I might’ve peeked.” Carter set a cigarette to his lips.

Louis tried to restrain his anger, but his tone betrayed him. “I’d rather you kept out of my bedroom in future.” Louis gestured to the cigarette. “That’s my last one.”

Carter blew a long thin breath of smoke into the air and set the lighter back on top of the empty cigarette pack. “I thought you had no plans to see him again.”

“I don’t. Surely I don’t need to explain to you the workings of a one-night stand?”

“Doesn’t feel like just one night to me, my love. If you asked him nicely, he’d—”

“I’m not going to ask him anything. Nicely or otherwise. In case you need reminding, my mother’s in the hospital. That’s the only reason I’m here. There’s no way I’m going to put—”

Jake breezed out of the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. “Put what where? Are you talking to yourself again?”

“It’s a family trait.” Louis returned to the kitchen to take the eggs from the microwave.

“Seriously?” Jake joined him and peered into the bowl. “Is that like an American thing?”

“Guess so,” Louis said, leaving the eggs a moment to fetch some plates.

“Cool. So, why did you leave England?”

“I got bored of picking up my mother’s empty vodka bottles.”

“Who have you got to pick up yours?”

Louis looked up. Jake gazed back from over the breakfast bar, reminding him this was only some guy who worked in a pub. Yet, every time he asked a question, Louis answered. He wasn’t sure why that was, but still, there were some things yet untouched on he wouldn’t discuss. Not even with Jake.

“I don’t drink vodka,” he said, a little more terse than planned.

Jake rolled his eyes. “Only bourbon. I know.”

Eager to change the subject, Louis peered into the bowl of rubbery-looking eggs on the counter. “I’ve made a bit of a mess of breakfast.”

“Never mind. I’m not exactly hungry for food right now, anyway.” Jake pressed a hand over Louis’s resting on the counter and stroked a finger across the knuckles. Such a tender caress had him drifting back to the sensation of Jake’s hands on his body the night before.

“Would you like a coffee?” Louis pulled his hand free. No point getting sentimental about a simple fuck. “I’ve only got instant, I’m afraid.”

“Instant’s fine,” Jake said as Louis took up the kettle. “But I don’t really care about eggs or coffee.”