Stuff (The Bristol Collection) (30 page)

“Ohhhh!” Perry closed his eyes, focusing on the sensations inside him. There was the usual rush of excitement in his testicles, but behind that was an aching need. He could still feel where the douche nozzle had slipped into him, leaving behind an emptiness. He needed more. Fortunately Mas was working on that, slipping a finger down behind Perry’s sac and pressing on his perineum. Perry kicked off the rest of his clothing and rolled onto his back, opening his legs wide to ease Mas’s access.

Pulses of something spine-meltingly good reverberated inside him. Felt like when Mas touched him just there, he was touching deep inside. “Please,” Perry asked. “I want this. Will you? Please?”

He opened his eyes to find Mas crouched over him, eyes shining. “If you’re sure.”

Perry nodded so hard he almost gave himself whiplash. “Absolutely.”

Mas disappeared for a moment, and Perry stared up at the ceiling, arms and legs splayed wide, concentrating on that breathing trick of Lewis’s. But it was hard to relax properly when there was the sound of the drawer opening and closing, and foil tearing, and that delicate whisper of skin on latex. “I am a little nervous,” he admitted when Mas had crawled back over him and was gazing down. “That it will hurt too much.”

“I’ll take care of you.” Mas’s cool hand slipped between Perry’s nether cheeks and began a hypnotic swirl around his hole.

Oh, that was…distracting. And as Perry returned Mas’s gaze, he realised that this was a man he could trust with everything. Had trusted with near enough everything already—his home and livelihood for a start, so what was this last physical bastion against all that? “I trust you,” he said, more to remind himself of the fact than for Mas’s benefit.

Mas grinned, and that helped Perry to sink farther into the mattress. “Do you want to do it like this?”

“I want to be able to see you.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Mas’s fingers began a new dance, with a dip and wiggle against that most sensitive ring of skin that was surely calculated to drive Perry out of his mind. It was simultaneously too much and not enough, and the paradox blew away the awareness of anything else. All except for Mas’s eyes, staring down at him. “Your eyes look as black as the sloes I used to pick every winter.”

“What’s a sloe?”

Of course. Mas was a city boy, born and bred. “Little shiny black berries. From the hedgerows. You put them in gin. With lots of—ooh!” Mas wriggled a finger right inside him then. “Feels so strange.”

“Good strange or bad strange?”

“Good, I think. Yes. Good. Very good. Don’t stop.”

Mas chuckled. “Don’t intend to. So these sloes, are they sweet or sour?”

Sloes? What? Oh yes. Concentrate on the conversation. “Ummm…sweet when the sugar goes in. Never tasted one on its ow-oh-oh!” Was that a second finger? All of a sudden the deliciously slick caress had turned to a burning fullness.

“You’re doing great,” Mas soothed. “And these sloe things. They sound better than the water in the harbour, I reckon.”

What did that have to do with the price of meat? Perry must have looked as puzzled as he felt, because Mas elaborated. “It’s a more romantic line. You’re getting better at them.”

“You inspired me.”

Mas dipped his head down and kissed him fiercely. Any remaining hesitancy between them was burnt away by the heat of their passion. A ball of energy formed around the site of Mas’s fingers, spreading out to the whole of Perry’s body. Now it was easy to rock into Mas’s touch, to urge him to move with his body, desperately wanton.

“I’m going to do this,” Mas said. “Just keep breathing. Try to keep relaxed.”

It was good advice, because everything inside Perry wanted to clamp up the moment the thick pressure made itself felt against his most private area, but he worked on breath after ragged breath. Mas’s erection was so much wider than either the douche nozzle or a couple of fingers, though. Mas pushed inside, and for a moment, it stung so much Perry wanted to wimp out. But he didn’t, because he couldn’t bear the idea of Mas feeling like he’d screwed up again. Fortunately the pain faded away soon enough, and then it was just Mas poised over him on shaky arms, and a peculiar sensation of fullness where there shouldn’t have been anything.

“Oh!”

“You okay?” Mas asked.

“Yes. I think so. Are you?” The way Mas was biting on his lower lip didn’t exactly bode well. “Did that hurt you? Was I too tight?”

“Nah. Nothing like that. Just concentrating. Fuck, you feel so amazing. I’d forgotten how intense this is.”

Intense was the right word. Like his skin was stretched too tight over the swelling pleasure. Perry grunted in response, then tried moving.

A groan shuddered out of Mas. “Fair warning. This might not last all that long.”

“I’m not sure I want it to.”

“Fuck. Is it bad? I’m sorry.” Mas started to pull back, and the sensation was incredible. Perry grabbed on to him, wrapping his legs around Mas’s waist and driving his hips up. “Bloody hell. You’re keen.”

“Feels amazing. So good I don’t think I could cope with too much.”

“Ditto.” Mas chuckled, and they shared a smile, and all of a sudden being joined together like this felt strangely familiar. Almost cosy. Mas thrust gently and Perry urged him on, and they worked up a rhythm that made Perry’s toes curl and his back arch. He grabbed double handfuls of duvet and writhed with the decadent pleasure of it all. There was a spot inside him that positively sang every time Mas moved against it. Who would have known that a man’s body was primed to feel such ecstasy in this manner? It was almost as if it had been designed for the purpose. Or evolved. And thinking about the taxonomy of human beings would really help him resist the urge to let go and give in to the building surge of orgasm. Sapien. Homo—that one made him grin, given what they were doing. Next up was family, which was Hominidae. Then order, Primate. But what was next? So hard to think when Mas was dripping sweat on him and groaning so sensually it seemed calculated to short circuit Perry’s self-control.

“You come first,” Mas panted. “Please. You gotta.”

Now that he was here, Perry wanted to spend forever poised on this knife edge of orgasm. But Mas would feel like he’d failed if Perry didn’t come first, and he’d hate to be responsible for that. He uncurled his fist from the covers and reached down. Just the clasp of his hand was enough to throw him over the edge. He needed an anchor. Mas’s eyes. He stared into them as the force of his orgasm washed away awareness of everything else. Just Mas.

Mas throwing his head back and freezing. Mas pulsing inside him. Mas chuckling joyously and collapsing onto him.

Perry pulled him tight. “Thank you,” he whispered, in lieu of the other little three-word phrase that wanted to push its way out. It was too soon for that. Far too soon.

“Thank
you
,” Mas murmured back, his body relaxing until it was almost too heavy to bear.

Perry lay back, those three short words looming large in his mind. Did they actually bear scrutiny or were they just meaningless sentiment generated by their intense physical passion?

Just what was love, anyway?

Chapter Thirty-Three

The next week passed in a blur. As Mas soon discovered, an official launch party required a huge amount of time and attention to detail, especially as the journalist he’d contacted confirmed that
Bristol Life
would definitely be interested in running a short piece. She’d seemed rather taken with the whole idea, and also suggested Mas contact the local papers and listing magazines—both online and print—emailing him a list of contacts. It was great to have so many people promise they’d either be at the launch or would run a short piece advertising the launch, but with every new person who confirmed came added pressure to perform.

Perry, on the other hand, didn’t seem remotely interested in the plans. “Do I really need to be at the party?” was his most pressing concern.

“Of course you need to bloody well be there!” Mas exploded one morning before he was fully caffeinated. “I don’t care how crap you think you are at that kind of thing. You don’t need to do anything other than stand there looking well turned out, and speak in your plummy accent whenever anyone asks you anything. You can’t fail to make a good impression. And if you get stuck for something to talk about, just start going on about how you make your sculptures. That’ll drive them away soon enough.”

Perry’s expression sank. “Are you insinuating I’m boring?”

Bugger. Mas looked up at the hanging fairies for inspiration. The attic flat was starting to look a bit empty now he’d started moving them downstairs and into the shop. “No, not boring. It’s just, unless the person listening is fascinated by old clocks and the like, same as you, they’re probably not going to understand half of what you’re going on about. That’s all.”

“So, are you saying you don’t understand me when I talk about my art?”

“Not really, but I like listening to your voice anyway. You’re kind of sexy when you go into one about cogs and decoupage and what have you.”

“Oh. I hadn’t realised. I thought you were following what I was saying.” Perry looked like his crest couldn’t have fallen any lower. Time to call on some tact.

“I follow enough to get the gist, and I rely on you to remember the details for me. Now give me a break. I need a latte or something. Long day ahead getting the place up to scratch. I’m going to be doing a heap of hand-lettered signs for the place. And I’ve got to do something with the website, and take photos of all your pieces for it too.” A day of running around like a blue-arsed fly, all the while also trying to man the shop and manage the sensitive soul who owned it was the kind of challenge Mas definitely needed extra coffee to face. “Think I’m going to get some cake too. You want anything?”

“No, thank you. I think I’ll just get on with the new piece.”

“You gonna let me in on the secret yet?”

Perry had been busy the last few days preparing something for the launch, but he point-blank refused to let Mas know what it was. This time he was no more forthcoming, simply tapping the side of his nose and saying, “Patience, my sweet.”

Irritating as a wasp in your undies, but the “sweet” was kind of cute. “You do realise that’s the second time you’ve called me by a pet name, tiger. Ought to watch it or I’ll start getting ideas you’re falling for me.”

Perry blushed and his mouth moved awkwardly. Fuck. Mas hadn’t meant to say any of that. Keep the needy stuff locked away, just like Jasper and Lewis told him to. He forced a brittle-feeling smile and blew Perry a kiss before flouncing out of the room.

He tried the door to Perry’s workroom on the way down, just on the off chance he might have forgotten to lock it and he could get a sneak peek, but Perry just wasn’t the kind of man to forget something like that. Mas swallowed a sigh and headed on down to the shop.

Three days later, and Mas was in the shop—currently without customers—getting off the phone from yet another catering firm who wanted the earth for a bunch of stupid little canapes. Perry chose that exact moment to come downstairs and caught the full force of the glare Mas really wanted to give to the snooty bitch on the other end of the line.

“And there’s no chance I could knock you down a few quid?” he asked, aware it was futile but running out of options. “No? Okay, well, thank you for your time. No, I don’t think I’ll bother getting back in touch. Bye.”

Perry winced as Mas hung up. “Who was that?”

“Another caterer. You know, at this rate I think I’ll have to just make a load of sandwiches myself and hire in the glasses. I reckon I could get some of the boys to serve them. Bernarde would do a good job. Think he used to be a wine waiter before starting at Crowther’s.”

“Is it really necessary to have food? I don’t want people getting greasy fingers on the stock.”

“Chill. It’s not like they’ll be trailing around, dropping crumbs from a Greggs pasty all over the shop. This’ll be proper posh finger food. Or it was supposed to be. If I have to make it, it’ll be more the kind of stuff my mum used to serve up at church parties. What do you reckon to egg sandwiches, sausage rolls, and cheese and pineapple on cocktail sticks stuck into a half grapefruit? Hopelessly out of date, or cheesy enough to be proper retro?”

Perry looked puzzled. “I’m not sure I’ve ever eaten any of those things. Well, perhaps an egg sandwich.”

“Knowing you, it would be a proper posh one from M&S too. You seriously telling me you’ve never had a sausage roll?”

“I don’t think so. Are they nice?”

“Depends on whether they’re properly cooked, but yeah, they can be.” Memories of their meal in Pieminister surfaced, and of Perry’s sheer enjoyment of simple, comfort food. Perhaps exotic and interesting food was just a matter of perspective. Excitement fizzed up inside him like a bottle of shaken-up Lambrini. “You know what, I think I’ve just figured out what I need to do. Screw the olives and the sun-dried thingamajigs. We’re a vintage shop, and we’re going to do this in proper vintage style. Did you say there’s glassware upstairs somewhere?”

“That’s right. But I don’t think there’s more than about five pieces that actually match.”

“Matching? Pfft. Totally overrated. You’re talking to a man who teams tartan with polka dots.” Mas pulled open his jacket to reveal the red braces with white dots currently holding up his yellow-and-black tartan trousers. Perry’s eyes widened. “They really pop against the black shirt, don’t you think?” Mas dropped the jacket to his elbows and twirled on the spot. “Yeah, I can see you’re getting hungry. Can’t wait to get your hands on them, can you? Reckon they’d catch my nipples if you pinged them?”