By CLARE LONDON (15 page)

“Wait!” Seve hurried down the steps to reach me. “Max, for God’s sake, wait.” There was a spark in his eyes, sharp like pain. “I don’t understand you.”

“So you once said.” I sighed.

“Is it to do with this man Peck? I don’t employ everyone personally, you know. They are my uncle’s men.”

“His men?”

Seve shrugged—the graceful, sensual movement that set off warning bells in my damp, shivering body. “They have worked for him for a long time. They are on the central payroll. They look after the family.”

“Shit, Seve, it sounds like the mob.”

He laughed scornfully. “Don’t be so melodramatic! My uncle is just a businessman. It’s necessary security for the club, and I suppose it’s protection for me. Or so my uncle says.” He frowned. “It’s not what I want, Max. I don’t need it and I tell my uncle so. And you should never have been threatened by any employee of ours. It’s unforgivable. It won’t happen again.”

“Too fucking right it won’t.” I wished I sounded more righteous than petulant. “You know what Peck’s into, Seve, back in London—you must do! And it’s a hell of a lot more than security.”

“I don’t know anything about him. This is the only thing I know about.” He waved a hand back toward the entrance to the club. “Compulsion. This is the only thing I do. And it’s just a nightclub. Nothing sinister.”

I looked into his face, blinking against the rain, and for the first time, I saw his confidence waver. That superb, sexy arrogance that had attracted me in the first place. Was that how I wanted to see Seve?

“Why won’t you listen to me, Max? I don’t know anything else about it. What the hell else is bothering you?”

I backed away. I heard the squelch of a shallow puddle as I stepped into it, and Seve put out a hand to hold me, to help me. All I could see were his eyes. Bright and fevered, almost scared. What of? Of what I was saying—what I knew? Or that I was running away from him again? I knew I didn’t want to. I knew I wanted him. So, so much.

“Don’t go, Max. I don’t want you to be scared off. It’s the last thing I want. But I cannot accept your anger toward my family, not without some explanation. You must tell me what’s troubling you.”

“Why should I?”

His hand grasped my arm. Outwardly, I felt the wet fabric of my shirt clinging to my skin, but inside I sensed the heat of his body, flowing into mine.

“You also said once… the trouble you had wasn’t worth it, not even for me. For me.” His voice was low and husky. “No one has ever factored me into any decision like that before. No one has ever weighed me up against anything else.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t understand why he was so taken with a stupid comment of mine. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from his hand on my arm, the skin looking gray under rivulets of rain.

“I want you, Max,” he said. His face was close to me now. “I don’t want any misunderstanding between us. And if you tell me everything, then I can protect you.”

Protect me? The egotism left me speechless. Then I hit him. Or at least, I tried to. I reckoned I was better prepared this time, and Seve and I were more evenly matched. I’d been in fights during my life on the streets, though I doubted I’d ever be able to lay someone flat out. As it was, Seve dodged at the critical moment and his hand came up with astonishing speed to catch mine.

I heard a cry from behind him—probably the Weed, panicking. We leaned into each other, arms straining against each other’s grip. I tried with my other arm to get purchase around Seve’s waist. He gasped because I was obviously stronger than he’d imagined, but he stood firm. His free hand pressed against my shoulder, putting strain on my only recently recovered muscles.

And the rain continued to pour down on us.

It was all I could hear: It won’t happen again. I can protect you. Seve—a pampered nephew, who had obviously never been crossed, never been refused anything. Who had wealth and power and people to watch over him. Who wanted me. Who didn’t want me to leave him this evening. Who had no idea of my life and what I’d lived through in the past year.

“Please. Max!”

I was startled. I didn’t think I’d ever heard Seve use that word in this context. Perhaps when I’d been at my most teasing with sucking him off or when I’d challenged him before he took me—held myself apart from him, even if it was only for brief, charged seconds. It had never been true begging; it was only ever a game. He knew I’d always surrender and be glad to do so. But this didn’t feel like a game anymore. I felt the energy drain from my body. I’d not seen this side of Seve before—the desperate, almost clumsy touch, the plea in his vibrant voice. My face was chilled from the rain, the skin aching with tension, but I felt the soft heat of his mouth even before it touched me. He was damp all over as well, his face shining, his hair flattened to his head, and his beard and mustache slick with the trail of raindrops. I wanted to wipe them all away, and gently. I just wanted to touch him. To hold him that way. I accepted the kiss because—in all truth—it was my dearest wish.

My striking arm relaxed and I let him fold it down to my side. My other hand around his waist became enfolding rather than aggressive. I held him to me, wet cloth against sodden skin. I kissed him back fiercely, our tongues battling inside our mouths, when we’d been almost fighting with fists a moment ago.

“Relax, Max, please. I want you.” We broke the kiss and Seve pressed his forehead against mine, breathing heavily. He didn’t turn away, but I saw him gesture to one side, obviously letting the Weed know any danger was past. If it had ever been there at all. My body was throbbing with the sudden remembrance of what I’d been missing. Of his touch, his smell, his hold.

“Come to my flat.”

“What?” Had I heard right? Was the noise of the hammering rain confusing me?

He scowled. His face was so close to mine that when he licked his tongue out of his mouth to catch the fall of drops from his nose, he licked at my lips as well. “I think there are things we need to talk about, things that don’t need an audience.”

“Just that?”

He grimaced. “And I want you, but this is not the place or time to do it, even I can see that. Even though I want to drop you to the pavement right now and fuck your tight arse into the wet concrete.”

His breath was heavy and hitched. I think I just stared.

“Besides….” His laugh was tight. “I know how you hate the rain! Come with me, Max.”

His voice was insidious, or maybe our short, passionate tussling had exhausted me. He tugged me with him around the corner of the building, where he’d parked his car in a convenient space. Perks of the management, I assumed. He kept his eyes on me all the time, as if he was afraid I’d run in the other direction. The arrogant smile was sliding back, like the first time he led me somewhere, and a possessive spark flared in his eyes. But there was that same hint of nerves that I saw earlier. He wasn’t so sure of me, perhaps.

Was I sure of myself?

“…Max…?”

I realized I was clutching at his jacket, leaving creases that I knew the cleaners would struggle with. “Let’s go,” I said.

No one followed us. Weed must have scuttled back indoors, and I couldn’t see any more of Seve’s uncle’s men to contend with. Seve eased me into the passenger seat, my boots pooling water all over the expensive upholstery. His hands lingered on me before he swung around to the driver’s seat. I could have jumped out then, if I’d wanted to. Made my way home. Broken away from him.

But why the hell would I want to do that?

OF COURSE I knew the area around Sussex Square. I’d just never got a dinner invitation there or, for that matter, any other invitation. It was another world from the cramped but cozy place that Louis and Jack had. Seve told me he had a top floor flat in one of the magnificent Georgian buildings between the Square and Marine Parade—I was sure the estate agents must have had a field day with the “fantastic sea views” and “access to private gardens.” I was gawping from the minute we drew up in front of it. There was a shared entrance hall, and Seve strode through it with easy familiarity. I tagged along, wondering if anyone would ask to search my pockets.

The lift to the third floor was small, and although it was elegantly decorated, it had obviously been part of the original conversion. It shuddered to a slow and shaky start and I caught my balance, moving closer to Seve. His proximity made my skin prickle, and the suspense had been building all the way here. He’d tightened his hand on my leg as he drove, stroking fingertips between my thighs. I hadn’t discouraged him; in fact, I was amazed we made it to his flat at all. I think he would’ve liked to have jumped me at the last set of lights, but they changed too quickly. Or perhaps I was too damn wet for him to get a proper hold.

I was wincing at the piped Muzak in the lift and admiring the carpeting that was better quality than the one in Louis and Jack’s bedroom, when he pushed hard on my shoulders so that I dropped to my knees. I didn’t get the chance to ask how slowly the lift moved because I was distracted by the rasp of his opening zip, and then my mouth was filled with his erect cock. I sucked very eagerly. Even though his trousers were damp from the rain, his skin was dry inside the smooth cloth of his boxers, and the soft, dark hairs at the top of his thighs brushed my chin. I licked fiercely at the ridges along his cock, dragging the sensitive tip in and out of my lips. He gasped and his hands grasped my hair. My knees trembled on the luxurious carpet.

I was surprised at how fast his excitement rose. He’d always shown great self-control, even at his most aroused, even as he fucked me some nights with the groans that told me he just couldn’t wait any longer. But tonight, one hand tight in my hair and the other clamped flat against the velveteen-covered wall, he thrust with complete abandon. As the lift gave a quietly discreet “ping” and ground to a jerky halt on the third floor, his knees buckled slightly, he groaned, and his seed spewed out into my waiting mouth.

The doors opened. Thank God there was no one waiting to go down! And no pun intended. Seve thrust himself back into his trousers, then pulled me to my feet. I was overexcited myself. Threads of him were still in my mouth, and I was hard and aching inside my jeans. He dragged me out of the lift after him, then spun me hard against the wall of the corridor, panting and grinding his hips against my groin. I opened my mouth gladly for his tongue. He sucked on mine in return, tasting every nook and cranny inside my mouth. I was panting too by now, too eager to care about beard burn, and I’d have done it there and then if he’d wanted. Pulled down my jeans and let him fuck me hard against the wall, rocking more than a couple of the tasteful modern prints that hung there. They were looking down, I daresay, with artistic horror on our writhing bodies.

But he broke away at last, holding me at arm’s length. “You’re still wet.”

I knew that. So was he. The dripping had reduced with every step, but our clothes had been soaked through and were clinging to our bodies. My hair wouldn’t win any awards—I could feel the weight of it sticking to my neck and collar—and his suit looked like he’d bathed and then slept in it.

“You need to get your clothes off. You got anything on under those jeans, Max?”

For the last couple of times I’d met him, I’d worn no underwear. It had been both expedient and exciting, and the habit had stuck. He stared at my crotch now, and I knew he knew it too. I was as hard as a rock, my dick chafing against the denim of my jeans, just from a rushed blow-job in a rickety lift and a bruising kiss.

Seve didn’t wait for any answer. He took my arm and tugged me away from the wall and toward a door down the corridor. I didn’t know how many other flats were on this floor—obviously no one was common enough to stick a number on their front door or put their recycling out for collection—but all I’d seen was the lift and what I assumed was his front door. He pulled my head to him and nipped at my mouth, kissing and thrusting his tongue into me. When I grabbed at his shoulders to steady myself, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and started fumbling with the hem of my polo shirt. I bumped off the wall a couple of times, and when his hands slid into the waist of my jeans and started to tug them down, I nearly fell.

“Wait,” I gasped, but then the wet denim had pooled around my ankles and I was hopping out of both boots and jeans, even as we reached the white wooden door. Surely this was his place? Couldn’t he wait until we got inside? He pulled a key out of his trouser pocket and slid it into the lock, but he didn’t immediately open the door. Instead, he turned and faced me, breathing heavily. His tie was crumpled and pulled loose from around his neck. Half his shirt buttons were open, and I could see the dusky skin gleaming with rain droplets.

“Get on your hands and knees, Max. Face back up the corridor.”

And despite the bizarre nature of all this, I did it. I dropped to my knees on the corridor carpet and stared back up the way we’d come, back toward the lift. My arse was naked under my shirt and raised up toward him. My skin was cold and still damp, and I felt every goose bump individually. I cradled my cock for a second, then let it hang loose, heavy and warm between my thighs, throbbing with anticipatory lust. I didn’t look around, but I reckoned I could feel his eyes on me.

There was a click behind me as he opened the door at last, and I heard the soft whisper of well-oiled wood on thick carpet. Now I looked back over my shoulder and saw him stepping back into his darkened hallway. He beckoned me in after him. “Still on your knees. Don’t turn around.”

I felt a fool, but an excited one. I clambered inelegantly back over the doorway, banging one foot on the frame, and then he brought me to a halt with his hand on my buttocks. I crouched there, half in and half out of the flat, seeing nothing except the coordinating carpet at my feet and, in the near distance, a tall terra-cotta pot of dried reeds and grasses placed artfully beside the closed door of the lift. And then Seve’s other hand slipped between my sweaty thighs and tugged them further open. My cock bobbed, startled and dripping—and not with raindrops.