By CLARE LONDON (4 page)

But tonight I gazed at him. I don’t think I could have said exactly what caught my attention, but I was suddenly, startlingly hooked. His face was in profile, but I could see slightly more than half, and he was very striking. Way beyond striking. His eyes were shadowed by heavy lids, and he had a strong jaw and a slightly hooked nose. He wasn’t one of the cute twink dancers or muscled beach boys that clustered in here over the summer months; his features were more mature than that. I wondered how much older than me he was—probably only a couple of years. He had night-black hair cut very close to a well-shaped head, a neat mustache, and a trimmed beard framing his jaw line.

As I watched, he sipped at his drink. Slowly and deliberately, like he wasn’t particularly thirsty but wanted to be doing something with it. His mouth was wide, though the lips were pursed together. Even at this distance and under the fitful light, I could see them glistening with the liquid. I found myself wondering what they’d taste like: how rich they’d be, how responsive. I recognized the feeling, of course, deep in the pit of my stomach, perhaps a little lower. Long time no see. But I was just as sure that it wasn’t going to get a hold of me, not like it used to.

And then he turned his head and looked straight at me.

His eyes glittered; he blinked slowly. I told myself he couldn’t have known for definite I’d been watching him. It was too dark and busy at the counter, and we were too far apart for that. Bartenders darted back and forth, sweating and grinning and shouting out orders; beer bottles chinked together and shot glasses lined up, sparkling with weird layered concoctions. But the man’s eyes stayed on me—wide and deep colored, reflecting the glint from the optics on the wall and absorbing it at the same time. The effect was hypnotic. Things stood like that for all of ten, maybe twenty seconds. Then he lifted his glass very gently, saluting me, and his mouth twisted into a slow, encouraging smile.

No, I thought.

His head inclined a little, as if he were calling me over. He didn’t say anything, though there was no way we could have heard any words over that din.

No, I thought again. I knew that game too well to want to play it, right? But my feet moved instinctively. A group of men in matching leather shorts, braces, and firemen helmets had just arrived at the bar beside me. They were shouting and laughing as they handed out bottled beers among their group. I pushed right past them, and walked over to the mystery man.

I stopped close enough so no one else would force their way between us but far enough apart that we wouldn’t touch accidentally. His eyes were still on me, but he’d put the glass back down on the bar. I don’t know whether it was the fact I’d been drinking or the astonishing glow in those fabulous eyes, but an aura sparked off him like electricity. I didn’t even have to touch him to feel it. The current ran through my whole body.

I knew this was a really bad idea. I didn’t have the time or appetite for strange fascinations or lustful hookups, not even with a man whose grip around a plain glass made my nerves shudder with the anticipation of feeling that grip on me. No, I wasn’t into the party and club life anymore; I didn’t want to catch anyone’s attention. I wanted to keep myself to myself and try to get things straight in my life. Definitely.

So what the hell was the matter with me tonight? I was staring quite openly at him. Bloody rude of me. Maybe he reminded me of Stewart. The same shade of black hair, the same lean face, maybe a similar determined look in his eye. By the time I got closer to him, I saw they actually looked nothing alike. But perhaps that was why I was drawn to him, who knows? It wasn’t enough to explain the thrill inside me.

I was struggling to speak—my throat was as tight as a fist. My nerves were strung as tightly as a guitar string and hummed excitement about as tunefully. Inside my jeans, I felt my balls shift and lift with physical need.

A really bad idea.

“…drink?”

It was still difficult to make out speech, but I got the word from the movement of his lips. He was watching my mouth, maybe for my reply, maybe just for the hell of it. All I knew was, it was very arousing. His eyelids slid down over dark-bright eyes and back up again. It was as if he wanted to take full measure of me in those brief moments.

I shook my head.

He frowned. “You look like you could use—”

“I’ve had enough tonight—”

We spoke together, then both laughed. I’d tuned into his voice, or maybe we were both speaking louder to be heard over the music.

“I look like I need a drink?” I asked.

“Like you need something,” he said, his voice deep. He leaned into me and I smelled him—slight sweat from the damp skin around his throat, the tantalizing trail of an unknown but probably expensive cologne. It wrapped itself around me as strongly as a real and irresistible binding.

“You were watching me,” he said.

I blinked hard, trying to think of something cool to say. “Just watching. That’s all.”

“It’s okay. It’s good.” His eyes were still on me, a smile teasing the edges of his mouth. “I was watching too.”

“Me? I didn’t notice.”

He nodded and shrugged. “You weren’t meant to.”

“Why?”

He frowned again. “Why? Because it doesn’t matter. Because I wasn’t….” He never finished the sentence.

“You didn’t want me to notice?”

His shrug was almost imperceptible. “I said it doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe it does.” I didn’t know what had got into me, challenging him like this. It felt weird and confusing, and I wasn’t in any mood for stupid pickup games. But something warm and irresistible crept along my veins, and I knew the seductive feeling had nothing to do with the mass of bodies around us. “Tell me.”

He frowned as if puzzled. “I’m not here for anything in particular. For anyone.”

“Me neither.” We both stared each other down for a few more seconds, our concentration giving that whole exchange the lie.

“Okay.” His smile was slow, and I felt stupidly pleased to take it as the first climbdown. “I know somewhere we can go. Want to come with me?”

Did I? Hell, yeah.

I FOLLOWED him, never more than a foot behind, as he cut his way through the gyrating bodies on the dance floor toward the back of the room. We still hadn’t touched in any way. I probably looked calm, but I felt like a lamb to the slaughter, and I knew in my heart that was exactly what I was. I told myself we were going to find a quieter room and talk, we were going to share a joint, or maybe I’d take him up on that offer of a drink. After all, we couldn’t do much of that over the noise and scramble in this place. And then I’d get that taxi, go home, make strong coffee, and write the whole damned evening off to a moment’s madness.

He stopped at the far wall in front of a door. It was flush against the dark paintwork and wouldn’t have been noticed by most of the clients there tonight. There were no signs on it, nor a strip handle like the usual fire exit. A member of security stood nearby, and as we approached, she turned as if to stop us. But she stepped back when the man from the bar made a slight gesture with his hand. Then he pushed the door as if he knew it’d be open, it slid outward easily, and I followed him through.

It closed behind us with a heavy clunk, and the sudden drop in noise was a shock. I could only hear the beat of the music now, a regular throbbing bass that seemed to make the whole wall shudder. We’d stepped right outside of the building, and the chilly night air sent goose bumps along my skin after the heat of the dance floor. I took a quick glance around, wondering if this had been the most deceptive throwing-out I’d ever encountered, but I wasn’t back out on the street. It was an enclosed space like a backyard, with brick walls of head height and rubbish bins full of plastic bags and packaging over in one corner. A couple of security bulbs were placed high on the back wall of the club, giving a pale, misty arc of light across the area in front of the doorway. Something moved behind the bins—maybe an urban fox. I heard the sudden rustle of dislodged cardboard and saw tiny eyes glinting warily in case we threatened its territory.

And then a hand landed heavily on my shoulder, I was spun around so my back hit the cold bricks of the nearest wall, and the mystery guy’s mouth was on mine. Not a word, not a request, just hard, wet lips crushing mine and a fierce tongue pushing for admittance. My palms were flat against the wall, but he didn’t try to hold me there. It was enough that his mouth claimed me. I surrendered immediately and willingly and damn, damn eagerly!

I’d always had a healthy libido. At least, that’s what I called it, if and when I felt I should be kind to myself. I liked to touch, I liked to kiss—I liked sex. At least… I used to. But it hadn’t always gone well. Jack joked about it with me earlier, but that had been one of the reasons I left Uni so easily. I’d been both excited and confused at the freedom I had there, almost scared to realize how quickly I could get carried away with it all. But I rarely held back. Within a few months of moving into the student flats, I gathered a complex and varied sexual history. I don’t think I was indiscriminate—just hungry. And I’d always been attracted to the person, not just the body. Or so I justified it, until I reckoned I needed a wider and more exotic playground, and I moved out at the first tempting offer.

Like I said before: a case of jumping before I was pushed.

But I could genuinely say I’d rarely felt this rush of consuming, desperate lust—not since I was a teenager, first discovering I liked men and all their strong, sweaty, solid sexuality. Tonight I felt swamped by a terrible need, just like this guy had said. A purely physical reaction that made my head spin and my heart tighten in my chest. A deep desire to touch—to grab—to possess. I didn’t know if the urgency was coming from him or from inside myself. His hands roamed over me as greedily and fiercely as if he were afraid I’d escape, so it seemed he felt the same way. Harsh breaths escaped him like gasps, as if he was startled or angry about it. I was too consumed by my own desire to ask which it was. How long had it been since I’d had a fuck? I genuinely couldn’t remember. Something strange had happened tonight, from the minute I saw him. Something had loosened all my bonds.

We never spoke a word, though I’d have found it difficult with his probing tongue inside my mouth. I opened up even faster than he asked of me and I sucked him in, rolling my own tongue against him, tasting the hot skin and the cool taint of iced vodka in his mouth. He was panting, and I knew damn well that I was.

We broke apart from the kiss and his hands landed back on my shoulders like a blow, pressing me down the wall. I struggled for a minute, not sure what game we were playing. I clapped my hands onto his shoulders, acting instinctively, seeking to restrain him in return. I tried the same pressure myself, seeing if he would buckle instead. To see who’d surrender first.

Something flared in his eyes, but they were too close to me and he was too much of a stranger for me to understand it. But there was excitement there, and a challenge that I’d never had before.

“Get down,” he growled. Out here in the fresh air, his voice reverberated in my ear. It was richer than I’d heard in the club, a match to his dark good looks. I slid, less than elegantly, down onto my arse.

When I glanced back up, I saw tall, shadowed buildings looming above my head from over the wall. Nothing but the featureless rear view of converted flats, where no one would venture out again until the brighter morning. This yard was obviously private. It was quiet except for the beat from the club behind us and the occasional wailing siren from the direction of the marina. It was a pregnant quiet, as we waited for each other’s next move. I was fleetingly thankful the night was dry; I knew we weren’t going back inside for a while yet.

His gaze had followed my path—my surrender—and now he reached for my hair, tangling it between his fingers. “I like this,” he said.

I’d been white-blond as a child, or so the care system told me. There were no photos I ever saw, and over the years it turned a darker shade. Sometimes, covered in brick dust, it looked gray. But boyfriends had told me about the glint under certain lights, gold like an old sovereign. I wore it to my shoulders and never even tried to tame the curls.

“You got a name?” I struggled back up onto my knees. He’d turned around so his back was against the brick wall now. He was fumbling with the button of his jeans with one hand, his other grasping the back of my neck. And I was letting him. “Any name?”

He glared at me like he might tell me to mind my own business, but something in my face must have caught his attention. He hesitated and then smiled. “Severino. Seve.” He pronounced it with a lilt on “Seve” that caught in his throat. A gentle accent, probably Spanish, only obvious on particular vowel sounds. Pretty damn sexy.

“I’m Max,” I replied, but he didn’t look as if he was listening. He tightened his grip on me, and his eyes glinted in the dim light, his gaze fixed on my mouth. Night shadows skimmed across the left side of his body, but under the open collar of his shirt, I could clearly see the olive tint of his skin, the muscles tensing in his sinewy neck. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. I watched the throb in his throat as he swallowed.

“This isn’t….”

What? Was he having second thoughts? I wasn’t in the mood for indecision. Every animalistic feeling I’d bred over the years surged to the surface, and I knew this had to be. “You want this?” I said roughly.

His eyes narrowed. “Of course.”

We’d asked and accepted the terms. I grasped his thighs, leaned forward, and shamelessly mouthed the bulge in his jeans.

SEVE groaned aloud and his hand slid up the back of my head, pushing me against his groin. I could feel the heat on my cheeks even before I reached my hand up and tugged down the zip. He hissed and his hips jerked. My nose rubbed against warm cotton briefs, the smell of skin and arousal like nectar.

No hesitation: the need in both of us was implicit. No “please.” No “thank you.” I grasped the thick cock as if it were the Holy Grail, peeled it out of its swaddling fabric, and took it fully into my mouth.