Playing With Fire (Glasgow Lads Book 3) (28 page)

“I was fucking you,” Liam said. “With my hand.”

“What about this cock?” Robert parted his shining-wet lips against the tip, breathing warmth upon it. “Did you want to fuck me with this?”

“I did,” Liam gasped, transfixed by that dark-blue gaze.
I still do.

Robert pulled him forward. “Then fuck my mouth.” His tongue flicked beneath Liam’s foreskin, circling the head. “Fuck my mouth like you’d fuck my arse. Close your eyes and pretend.”

With a helpless moan, Liam obeyed, moving between Robert’s lips carefully, as if sliding inside his hole for the first time. “I’d start like this, slow and all.” He went back half an inch, then forward an inch. Robert pushed his tongue against the underside of Liam’s cock, simulating the pressure he’d feel down there.

Liam planted his hands on the wall to stabilize himself, then eased out and in again, this time a bit deeper. He followed Robert’s lead, letting his mate’s hands signal when and how far to move.

For a while, the only sound was Liam’s ragged breath and the soft pop and slide of his cock in and out of Robert’s wetness. He considered having a peek, knowing the sight must be pure hot, but wanted to maintain the illusion.

When he’d finally sunk himself all the way inside, he felt Robert suck in his cheeks, creating a firm hold on his shaft.

“Ahh…” Liam began to work his hips in small circles. “Then I’d rock your body like this.” He held the back of Robert’s head, gently, angling back and forth without moving in or out. “I’d find every inch inside until it feels like I’m part of you. Like I was always part of you.”

He had no idea where these words were coming from. Unlike his real-life blether, Liam’s sex talk usually consisted of random grunting, with variations on the word
och
thrown in for good measure. But Robert made him want to say everything.

He waited for Robert’s grip to loosen, and when it did, he slid back with an aching slowness, nearly all the way out. “Are you ready for more?”

Robert nodded, his jaw relaxing.

“Then I’d go like this.” Liam thrust forward hard, taking care not to push all the way. After hearing more sounds of encouragement, he continued with a steady rhythm. “I’d slide in and out, filling you up, stroking your arse until you screamed my name.”

“Mmph,” Robert said, his lips vibrating against Liam’s cock.

Liam pumped again and again. The feel of Robert’s tight, slick mouth combined with the image in Liam’s head made the pressure build inside, stealing his sentences and leaving him with nothing but, “God…Rabbie, you’re so…so good, I’m—I’m fucking you…I’m fucking you…I’m fucking you and I never want to stop.”

Robert gripped his arse harder, making what Liam hoped were affirmative noises.

“I’m gonnae come soon.” Liam pulled out quickly, intending to move back so he wouldn’t soak Robert’s face.

“Wait.” Robert held him fast, gazing up at him with a paralyzing force. “Come inside me.”

“In your mouth?” Liam panted hard. “You sure?”

“Aye, I want it all.” Robert drew him forward, enveloping him once again in succulent heat.

Liam’s neck arched at the intensity, made all the greater after their brief pause. His hands formed fists as he raced up the peak. Soon Robert met Liam’s thrusts with his own, moving his head back and forth, driving him all the way inside until Liam felt the smooth, warm surface of his throat.

“Fuck!” Liam slammed his fist against the wall. “Rab, you’re—” He slammed again, raging at himself for denying them this for three weeks. “Fuck!”

Another slam, and then he was catapulting over the edge, body convulsing as he shot everything he had into Robert’s mouth. His hands scrabbled at the wall, searching for something to grip so he wouldn’t topple over. But Robert held him up with his immense strength, so all Liam had to do was come and come and come and come.

When it was over, he collapsed to the side, one trembling leg still draped over his lover.

Beside him, Robert swallowed, then coughed twice. “All right?”

“Mm.” Liam tried to make his mouth work for words. “Sofkngoo,” he said, which meant
That was so fucking good.
As his eyes drifted shut, he heard Robert take a tissue from the box on the bedside table and wipe his own chest.

Then Robert rolled over to face him, shifting Liam’s leg so as not to get kneed in the balls. “Your ears get all red when you come. It’s the coolest thing.”

Liam gave a dreamy chuckle and touched one of his ears, which did feel warm and flushed. Then he dropped his hand on the bed with a thump. He could stay like this forever.

Suddenly the bedside table phone bleated, snapping Liam out of his stupor. “What the fuck?”

Clearing his throat again, Robert reached over and picked up the receiver. “Hello?” He listened for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Oh. Sorry. Okay, we’ll try our best. Cheers.” He hung up. “That was the front desk. There’s been a complaint about the noise.”

“
Our
noise?” Liam asked with mock shock, heart still racing from the rude awakening.

“
Your
noise, mostly. What with all the shouting and wall punching.”

“Couldn’t help it.” Liam curled his leg over Robert’s and shifted closer, now able to form complete sentences and having one in particular he needed to share. “I was getting the blowjob of a lifetime.”

Robert pulled his head back. “Of a lifetime? Pish.”

“It’s true.”

“I’m not that experienced, and besides, there’s not much technique involved in getting one’s face fucked.”

“It was the blowjob of a lifetime…” Liam trailed the backs of his fingers over Robert’s ribs, wondering if he should finish his disgustingly romantic but dead honest sentence. “…cos it was you.”

Robert’s face went soft. “Liam, I—”

“Also cos of the deep throating. That was fucking intense.”

Robert laughed. “For a minute I thought your cock was gonnae poke out the back of my skull.”

“Imagine explaining that at the A&E. ‘Doctor, I’ve got this odd puncture wound, see. No, I’m not a sword swallower, why?’”

They started cackling together like weans at a sleepover. Robert put a finger to Liam’s lips to shush him, but the harder they tried to stay quiet, the louder they got.

Finally Robert pushed him away. “I’m starving. Let’s order pizza.”

= = =

Robert returned from the bathroom to find Liam standing naked before the wide window, drinking a bottle of Tennent’s and looking out over Glasgow, his pale form an anti-silhouette against the night.

He came up behind his friend and slipped his arms about his waist, knowing there was a small chance he’d pull away. Instead Liam leaned back against him, and when Robert rested his chin on his shoulder, he turned his head to kiss Robert’s ear.

“Pizza’s on its way,” Liam whispered.

Robert tightened his embrace. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Sorry we missed our posh dinner. I wanted to wine and dine you.”

“I’m not sorry. I got free drinks and appetizers—and then you for a second course.”

“True.” Liam gave a brief hip wiggle. “We do excel at improvisation.”

Gazing out over the River Clyde, Robert took in a deep breath to draw Liam’s warm, sharp scent into his lungs, hoping it would spread to every cell.

Liam tapped his bottle’s cold bottom against Robert’s arm. “It’s beautiful out there, aye? Though it’d be better without Ibrox.” He lifted his fist, extending his thumb to blot out the Rangers home stadium. “Yeah, massive improvement.”

From here they could see all of South Side, the lights of the riverside buildings reflected in the water, from the pale-orange, armadillo-shaped Clyde Auditorium to the round, ice-blue Hydro Arena, which from above looked like a festive spaceship. The towering Finnieston crane was dark at night, as always, but the Clyde Arc Bridge glowed red, its graceful curve looping over the river, which shimmered in the light of another full moon.

Had it been only a month since they’d first kissed in that tent at Loch Lomond? Their time apart had seemed an eternity to Robert.

Liam softly crooned the chorus to Passenger’s “Feather on the Clyde,” swaying a bit in Robert’s arms. Like every sad song, it sounded better with a Scottish accent.

When he was finished Liam said, “It’s nice being naked—having enough heat not to need clothes, I mean. At home this time of year I’m always wearing a tracksuit over a long-sleeved T-shirt and sometimes an extra hoodie over that. And when it gets really cold, I have to wear that stupid knit cap and those fingerless gloves, even to sleep.”

Robert pressed his cheek to Liam’s shoulder, wishing he could save him—save all the folk in Glasgow—from shivering away the winter nights, forced to choose among gas, electric, and food.

But he couldn’t, so he just said, “I like that stupid knit cap.”

“Then I’ll wear it for you. Not tonight, though. Tonight I’ll enjoy the luxury of sleeping in nothing.”

“Me too. Eventually.” Though he was tired from today’s match and all they’d done in the Designated Sex Bed, Robert didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to stay awake to savor the time they had here in this place where they could pretend they were like the people they saw on TV. Or even like Fergus, who was by no means rich but who’d thought nothing of giving them this room.

Maybe one day, if Robert got a good job after graduation, he could meet all of Liam’s needs. He could see to it his best mate never went another night without heat.

One day, his money would keep Liam warm. Until then, his body would have to do.

L
IAM
WOKE
WHEN
he felt Robert’s weight leave the bed beside him. He rolled over into the warm spot left behind, then cracked his lids to peer at the hotel clock’s glowing blue digits. It was only eight, still dim outside since the sun wouldn’t rise for nearly an hour, so he closed his eyes.

They opened again when he heard Robert turn the shower taps. Liam was sorely tempted to invite himself into the bathroom so they could start their day with a pair of soaking wet orgasms. But something held him back, just as it had at Loch Lomond. Morning-after awkwardness could spell doom if one wasn’t careful.

So Liam just lay there, watching the hotel room’s features reappear in a paling gray glow as his corner of the earth turned its face to the sun, slowly, almost shyly. He waited for that sickening sensation in his stomach, that beginning-of-the-end feeling.

This would be the worst kick in the teeth yet, losing Robert—to another man, to a woman, to a faraway job. It would be so much easier if he could tell a convincing lie, make Robert believe he didn’t care about him, so they could both escape now before the inevitable catastrophe.

But it was already too late. It wasn’t the sex that had cemented him to Robert so much as the falling asleep in each other’s arms, and the heartfelt karaoke serenade, and the fact Robert hadn’t minded Liam destroying his boxers to make Ned Kilts. At every turn, they were proving themselves the real thing.

He reached for his phone and brought up the game Robert had made for him earlier this year. The objective of
Tom’s Tower
was to imprison one’s nemesis in the Tower of London as long as possible, by any means necessary. As the animated Tom Hannigan—complete with tousled dark curls and matching goatee—tried to escape his cell, Liam had to construct increasingly complex barriers to keep him inside. At each level, he earned new ways to torment his prisoner.

Tom’s Tower
was just a prototype, of course. Robert had later repackaged the game under a new name for public sale.
Tower of Spite
let players customize prisoners to resemble their own real-life enemies. It had sold disturbingly well, proving there was a market for cutely animated vengeance games.

Liam watched his ex-boyfriend disassemble the prison cell wall, faster and faster. When Tom was nearly through to freedom, Liam summoned his favorite weapon—the ghost of Anne Boleyn. She swept through the wall in a rage, teeth gnashing in her decapitated head. The ghost brandished her head at Tom, then rolled it at him like a bowling ball, knocking the man unconscious.

Liam took the opportunity to reconstruct the prison wall, undoing Tom’s efforts. “So sorry,” he whispered, “but that’s a life sentence for you.”

Robert came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist.

Liam saved his game’s progress and set down the phone. “Afraid I’ll see you naked?”

“No, I was just cold. And I never imagined you’d be awake so early.” He stuffed his toiletry kit back into his bag. “By the way, I need underwear, seeing as mine have been converted.”

“Take my spare briefs.”

“Thanks.” Robert rummaged in Liam’s bag for a moment. “What the—” He stepped over to the bed holding something in crinkly plastic wrapping. “Why the fuck do you have cigarettes?”

“They’re not mine.” Liam knew he should have hidden them better—or not brought them at all. “I mean, they’re mine now, but I took them from Ma so she wouldn’t hurt the baby.”

“But why did you keep them?” Robert’s voice rose. “Why did you bring them here?”

“It’s nothing to do with you.” Liam sat up and rubbed his face, trying to wake his drowsy brain enough to explain. “They’re not there to be smoked. They’re there to keep me from wanting to smoke.”

“That makes nae sense.”

“If they’re always on hand, then I can stop thinking about them because they’re not some distant lost prize.” He yawned. “Makes me feel less desperate.”

Robert stared at him. “You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met.”

“That’s not news.” He pointed to his bag. “Gonnae put them back where you found them?”

Robert took a deep whiff of the cigarettes. “Oh my God, they smell amazing.”

“No, they smell awful. They’re not even our brand—our
ex
-brand.”

“I don’t care.” Robert squeezed the pack, crackling the plastic.

“This is a nonsmoking hotel.”

“I could go outside.”