Half Moon Chambers (12 page)

"I bet you're spectacular now, once you're
warmed
up."

"No, I'm really not. And it's all my own fault.
I could have surgery to fix all this
--
climb stairs
and
run around and... do sex, but I'm too bloody
scared
."

"What, you? Hardarse Carr, the terror
of
Mansion Street? There must be some big risks
involved
."

"Yeah. Fifty-fifty odds on paraplegia."

His reaction was an odd relief to me. My
doctors related this statistic with bland professional
cheer, and everyone else I'd spoken to
about
it seemed to have instructions to keep me
positive
too. Rowan just looked horrified, and for
the
first time my own horror became less of a
shame
to me, less of a brand of cowardice. Every
morning
I asked myself why the hell I didn't just go
ahead
--
what kind of life I had now. "Jesus," he
said
. "How are you meant to make that decision?"

"I don't know. Been trying for six months."

"Okay. Do you have to... Do you have to
make
it right now?"

I frowned. "No, of course not. Why
--
"

"And have you got anywhere you have to be
dashing
off to?"

The distress in his eyes was kindling to a
benign
mischief. "No," I said cautiously. "You've
seen
what happens when I try to dash."

"Good. Because there's just no hurry, Vince.
You're wired with stress and nerves and wanting
to
dive in and show me you're still up for this,
or
..." He pressed his fingers to my mouth to stop
my
protest. "Or to show yourself, but if you can
stay
--
well, we've got all night if you want it. We
can
take all night."

He lifted his hand, but whatever I'd been
going
to say had dissolved from my overloaded
brain
. He got up, leaving me lying there. I watched
while
he went to the bedroom window, another of
the
strange fish-eye portholes, and drew a gauzy
curtain
across it. That one opened onto the lower
slate
rooftop next door, and the thin cloth, rippled
through
with bronze threads, transformed the
streetlight
to gleaming shadows. Then he went and
opened
the top drawer of a cabinet on the far side
of
the room. He was giving me time to study him, I
realised
--
moving slowly, unashamedly turning
so
I could get the full picture of his narrow hips, his
smooth
-skinned backside. He touched buttons on a
music
player I couldn't see, and the room filled
with
a low, pulsating beat.

That was a step too far. Whatever the forces
that
had tugged me into his bed, they weren't
romantic
ones. I pushed up onto one elbow, as
best
I could. "Er, Rowan..."

"What's the matter?"

"Don't worry about the music. I
--
I'm not sure
we
should take this too seriously."

Once more I'd flattered myself. He came back
to
the bed with a half-hitched grin that clearly told
me
so. "Who said anything about serious?" he
asked
, straddling me once more. "I just said we
could
take it slow."

I fell back onto the pillow, chuckling in spite
of
myself. The music slipped into the background
and
I forgot about it, except that it was deep, low,
a
half-felt vibration that took the edge off silence
and
eased movement. All right
--
if I didn't have to
perform
, taking it slow was good for me. I got the
feeling
--
a first for me
--
that the end result might
mean
less than the process, with Rowan at least.

He'd started to work on my zip, then apparently
changed
his mind. He was stroking his palms over
my
belly, pressing my erection through the denim. I
turned
my head aside, not wanting him to see how
good
that felt to me, and I raised my arms so I
could
grasp at the bars of the bed-head. I pushed
my
face against my own bicep, hiding, and in a
surge
of pleasure nipped and tugged at my own
skin
. It had been so long since I'd experienced
anything
but anxious disgust for my body's
workings
. For weeks there had been nothing but
bedpans
and pain, and the daily discovery of what
no
longer worked. "Rowan..."

"Yes, handsome?"

"Touch me."

He'd got some kind of oil from his cabinet
drawer
, and his palms were slick and warm when
they
closed on me. There was that newfound
erogenous
patch again, the hollow at the base of
my
ribs. He started there, a circling caress, his
thumbs
dipping into my navel then pushing down
firmly
an inch or so below it, a pressure that made
me
moan and get harder still. I gasped as he slid
quickly
up and covered my nipples, a part of
me
Jack had always bypassed in favour of more
relevant
biology. I'd never known till now that I
was
pierced through there with delicate, tight
-
strung
nerves, and I was glad I didn't have to
articulate
for Rowan my desire to be squeezed,
caught
between fingertip and thumb, and then when
the
rich leafy scent of the oil was making me float,
gently
sucked and bitten. My breath came and went
in
tides. "Please," I managed. "Please go back
down
."

"Ready for me now?"

"Yes." What was I ready for? I tried to pick
one
thread out of the fabric we were weaving, the
shifting
gold and bronze. "I've been scared I can't
do
it any more, can't just get turned on and come."

He kissed the base of my throat, pressed his
tongue
into the hollow. "Was there that kind of
damage
?"

"I don't know. Don't think so, but..."

"You haven't tried
--
not even by yourself?"

I shook my head. There'd been a few
occasions
, but I'd always felt so cold, my own
hand
rough and out of practice. "I'm not sure why.
Maybe I wanted to..."

"Give yourself the benefit of the doubt?"

That was exactly it. I couldn't have finished
the
thought for myself, but this was the exact
equivalent
of that terrifying second op. If I didn't
try
, I didn't have to know. Maybe my failure
with
Jack had been down to more than shock and
morphine
. I squeezed my eyes shut. Landing in this
stranger
's bed was bad enough. How was I going
to
feel if the excitement coursing through me died
away
to nothing, leaving me beached and useless?

As if the fear had been enough, my hard-on
flagged
. "Oh, God."

"You know what?" Rowan sat up. He
crouched
over my thighs, and before I had time to
draw
another breath, unfastened my jeans. "The
brain
and the cock
--
two separate organs. Don't try
to
run them at the same time, DS Carr."

Every time I got close to a wallow in my
misfortunes
, the bastard made me laugh. That
distracted
me while he eased the denim down, and
the
boxers underneath, exposing my half-quelled
erection
. "You'll be fine," he told me, rubbing
more
of the warm oil onto that sweet spot just
below
my navel. "Just leave it all to me. Wait a
sec
--
sorry about the mechanics..."

I didn't mind. A packet of condoms and a tube
of
KY had always signalled something hot and
good
about to happen. I was glad somebody was
prepared
--
not part of my standard interview kit
--
and
their prosaic packaging lent reality to
Rowan
Clyde's exotic scene. I put out a hand for the
condoms
. "Let me do that for you."

"I won't need one, not for this round."

"Oh." I tried to readjust my ideas. I hadn't got
as
far as a vision of how this was going to play
out
, but I'd thought he was going to fuck me. I was
the
semi-helpless one. I'd assumed he would
maybe
lift my legs and... "Oh, right." His fingers
were
trailing up and down my shaft. When he
stopped
that and popped open one of the rubbers,
fitted
it over my tip, a hot surge ran through me
and
I swelled up stiff and straight to meet him. I
chuckled
helplessly, relieved and embarrassed by
my
resurrection.

"There you go. Told you
--
cock, not brain."

He rolled the condom deftly down into place, then
uncapped
the KY. "Let's get you lubed up."

I couldn't let him. The channels had cleared,
but
my control over them was minimal. If he
touched
me much more with those beautiful hands I
would
come. "Let me do this part," I whispered,
and
he smiled as if he understood, surrendering the
tube
. I attended to myself in light, brisk strokes,
then
looked up at him. "Now you. Let me do it for
you
."

For the first time I saw a crack in his poise.

So far he'd been in perfect charge of these
proceedings
. But when he leaned forward, taking
his
weight on his arms so I could reach round him,
his
face altered, as if he hadn't expected to be on
the
receiving end of much attention or tenderness.

Well, I could still manage those. I hadn't been shot
in
the heart. I slipped my lube-soaked fingers
between
his buttocks, gently seeking target. There
it
was
--
tight and small, but quivering open at my
touch
. His dark fringe fell forward so I couldn't
see
his face, and a low moan broke from him. I
squeezed
out more KY and rubbed it round his
hole
, gasping and sliding a finger inside him at the
muscle
's sudden welcoming gape. "Oh, stop," he
grated
out. "You're too bloody much, you are."

I'd been so afraid of being much too little. I
caressed
him, withdrawing the finger but stroking
firmly
at his muscle ring. "Am I?"