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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
No Fear in Love
Copyright © 2008 by Jamie Craig
ISBN: 1-60504-202-1
Edited by Sasha Knight
Cover by Anne Cain
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First
electronic publication: September 2008
No Fear in Love
Jamie Craig
Dedication
To our beloveds.
No Fear in Love
Chapter One
Father Weston Scott wasn’t sure if this was his fourth or fifth pint. He wasn’t quite
tipsy, but his friend, Mark Goudy, didn’t let even a minute pass between rounds. Before
the amber liquid was gone from his glass, Mark was on his feet and waving down another
two pints. Weston probably should have put a stop to it—or at least insisted that he pay
for a few—but he was having too much fun. He didn’t get a chance to see his friend
often, and he was determined to simply enjoy himself and the memories between them.
The heavy ring he wore on his right hand clinked against the glass as he accepted the
fresh beer from Mark, and it was audible even in the dull roar of the pub. Mark’s eyes
were drawn to Weston’s finger, and he frowned slightly.
“I can’t believe you still wear that thing.”
Weston smiled, amused at Mark’s tone of disbelief. The cheap ring had certainly
seen better days. Sometimes he thought he should get the emerald reset in real gold or
silver, or maybe even replace it altogether, but that ring had seen him through some very
difficult times. He didn’t want to let it go.
“There’s nothing wrong with this ring.”
“It’s rubbish. Tell me you don’t still believe in that stupid superstition.”
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Weston did believe in that so-called stupid superstition. Of course, he couldn’t admit
as much to Mark. Their friendship stretched back many years—since they were boys—
but there were certain things Mark never understood, or tried to understand. The strength
Weston drew from the ring was one of those things. When Mark looked at Weston’s
hand, he saw a “gaudy piece of costume jewelry”. But Weston saw an expensive emerald,
his lucky charm, a secret shield.
He bought the emerald ring the day he became a priest in the Anglican Church. He
had heard that emeralds were traditionally used to ward off demons and preserve chastity.
Weston couldn’t say he didn’t believe in the devil, or in the devil’s work, but he had
different holy objects to deal with that evil. Sometimes he needed reinforcement. A solid
link to all he had lost and gained by entering the priesthood. Weston hadn’t taken a vow
of chastity, but he was a representative of Christ on Earth, and the ring reminded him of
that. He needed that reminder the most when he drank with Mark.
“Right. Like you don’t have any superstitions? I saw you throw salt over your
shoulder earlier tonight.”
“Habit, mate. Which is the only reason you haven’t tossed the trinket yet.”
“No.” He spun the ring on his finger. “I haven’t tossed it yet because it works. I
haven’t been…tempted…once since I started wearing it.”
The cock of Mark’s brow was a slash across his forehead. He leaned forward, his
dark blue eyes searching Weston’s. His eyes were as riveting and intense as they had
been since they were children; Mark had been the only one to break Wes into reluctant
confessions.
“Not once?” he dared. “Are you telling me the bloke who couldn’t even look at mag
covers without getting a hard-on doesn’t ever wonder what it would be like to sink into
hot, tight flesh and shag until your eyes pop?”
Weston swallowed. The uncomfortably direct question didn’t surprise him. Not
coming from Mark. “I may have wondered occasionally. But I’ve never crossed the line.”
His mouth twisted in a smirk that seemed to grow sharper the longer he looked at it.
“Just toed it a little then, yeah?”
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If it had been anybody else in the world, Weston would have shut the discussion
down as completely inappropriate. But it was Mark. So he merely offered a sheepish grin
and nodded. “A little. But never crossed it.”
Anybody else would have settled back in his chair. Confession made. Discussion
over.
Not Mark.
Mark had never been the type to back off anything. He had been the one to dare to go
to London, to leave their quiet village life in search of something grander. When Mark
saw something he wanted, he took it. It was why he had an arrest record as a juvenile,
and a well-deserved reputation for raising hell. Weston had always secretly admired that
about his lifelong friend. People often questioned how two such disparate people could be
so close, even after all these years, but Wes never gave them the straight answer. He
never mentioned that he wished he could be Mark.
“I always thought it was a shame, you and the priesthood,” Mark mused. His voice
was low and thoughtful, rich with warmth. “Such a waste.”
“It’s not a waste to devote your life to God, Mark.” Weston sipped his beer, not
willing to have this argument again. “I have a calling.”
Mark didn’t look away. “You’re not lonely?”
Weston couldn’t hold Mark’s gaze. He studied his half-empty glass, instead. An
objective observer would never characterize his life as lonely. How could one ever be
lonely when surrounded by the majesty of God? How could one ever wish for company
when there were so many people in that little village who needed his comfort and aid?
Those questions were moot, and even a bit tedious, when he was staring at the ceiling in
the middle of the night, wondering who would be there to comfort him when he needed
it.
“Who has time to be lonely? This is my first night off in weeks.”
“And you’re spending it with me? I think I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be.” Weston smiled. “Nobody else around here is willing to pay for a few
rounds.”
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“Speaking of paying…” Mark peered into his empty pint glass. “We could always
grab some Guinness from the shops before we get too pissed to drive home. We can take
it back to your place and you can tell me everything about who’s gotten old and fat since
I’ve been gone.”
Weston knew if he agreed, they would spend all night getting caught up. A night’s
worth of sleep was worth sacrificing. Mark didn’t come back to town often. “That sounds
like one of your few brilliant plans.”
“Oh, you can admit it.” He winked. “You even like my non-brilliant plans.”
Weston snorted and stood. “Considering how much trouble I get into with your non-
brilliant plans, not likely.”
Weston waited outside while Mark went through his regular ritual at the pub—settle
the tab, fall into a few conversations with people he used to know, run to the loo. The
fresh air seemed to clear Weston’s head, but he knew if Mark had any say in the matter,
he’d be feeling a bit tipsy again, soon.
Mark had the tendency to get him more than a bit tipsy. The first time Weston ever
got truly pissed had been courtesy of Mark and his illegally obtained Guinness. Weston
had been a lightweight, even for a fourteen-year-old, and it only took two bottles before
he puked all over his shoes. Mark had laughed until his face was bright purple, then
slapped him on the back and helped him clean off his shoes. Weston wasn’t in the habit
of drinking until he puked now, but he knew if he did make it that far, Mark would be
there to help him clean up again.
Mark emerged from the pub in a halo of smoke and laughter and shouts for him to
come back. He waved, yelled, “Settle down, you lot!” and put his arm around Weston’s
`shoulders. They leaned on each other as they walked down the street, silent until they
reached the car. After a short argument, Weston conceded to letting Mark drive. He
didn’t go far before stopping for Guinness and a pack of smokes, and then they were on
their way, Mark chattering the whole time about whatever subject came to his head. It felt
good riding with Mark like this. Familiar. A part of him wished the other man didn’t plan
to head back to London the following week.
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But Mark could never stay in the village. They both knew it, so Weston didn’t
consider bringing it up. Not seriously. Mark enjoyed the occasional visit, and sometimes
he showed up around the holiday season, but the day he moved to London, he had vowed
he wouldn’t return. When Mark left, it had felt like he had moved to another planet. A
part of Weston never quite got over that hurt. Or entirely forgave it. The rest of Weston
couldn’t have been more proud of his friend.
Mark carried the case of beer once they exited the car, so Weston was forced to rely
on his own powers to make it up the walk. He ignored the vague disappointment, as well
as the temptation to at least hold Mark’s shoulder.
“Welcome to my humble home,” Weston announced, flinging the door of his cottage
open and turning on the light.
It wasn’t large, but it served him well, the lounge close and cozy, the narrow hall
leading back to the kitchen that took up the rear of the house. The cottage had served as
residence for the church’s ministry for over two centuries. At one point there had been
two bedrooms, but someone in the fifties had knocked out the wall separating the two
tiny rooms so that there was one large space, more than adequate for a single man’s
sleeping quarters. That’s all Weston ever did there.
Mark sprawled on his tiny couch, taking most of it and forcing Weston to stand there
awkwardly as he debated where to sit now.
“You’ve got pint glasses, right?”
“Sure do.” When Weston returned with two full glasses, Mark was in the exact same
place. “Just don’t try smoking in here. That’s frowned upon.”
Their fingers grazed each other when Mark took the pint. “I don’t know how you do
it. What do you do for fun, Wes?”
“There’s bingo on Thursday nights.” The joke fell flat, and Weston shrugged. “I
didn’t sign up for this gig because I thought it would be fun.” He hoped Mark didn’t ask
why Weston had made this decision, because he wasn’t sure he could articulate it.
Especially since it had something to do with Mark. “You just learn to make adjustments
for the things you can’t have or do.”
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“Still sounds lonely.” There was something wistful in Mark’s voice, a softness that
didn’t usually color his words, but it was gone by the time he gestured in annoyance
toward the empty space next to him, splashing a little of his Guinness against the back of
the couch.
“I suppose I could get married. Nothing stopping me, after all.”
“Right. That’d solve all your problems.”
“It’d solve a few, I imagine.”
“Are you really standing there telling me you’d get married? Have you ever even
touched a woman, Wes?”
“No.” Or a man, for that matter, but he didn’t need to elaborate. Mark knew why the
suggestion of marriage was ridiculous on its face. He’d be miserable. He’d make his
potential wife miserable—not that he knew any women who would be remotely
interested in marrying a gay priest.
“You can bloody sit down, you know. This hovering makes me nervous.”
“Sorry.” He settled on the couch and sipped his drink. “Enough about my boring life,
anyway. What do you do for fun in London?”
Mark shrugged. The cotton stretched over his shoulders, highlighting how much
broader they were now than when they’d been younger. “Oh, you know. Pull gorgeous
blokes. Take ’em home. Shag their brains out.” He took a long swallow, his gaze
unwavering. “Wish they were you.”
Weston coughed violently as a mouthful of beer went down his windpipe. He
doubled over, working to clear his lungs and try to make sense of what Mark had just
said. The individual words were understood, but the gist of Mark’s statement was a
mystery.
“What?” he finally gasped once he could breathe.
A strong hand clapped down between his shoulder blades, knocking more of the air
back into his lungs. “You heard me.” How could Mark sound so calm about it? “It’s not
like you didn’t know I was gay, Wes.”
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He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “It’s not that. It’s the other thing. The
part where you wish they were me.”
“You’ve looked in a mirror lately, right? Wearing a cassock hasn’t made you blind?”
“What? No. But, Mark…” Weston floundered for words, wishing he hadn’t had so
much to drink. Maybe he could think of something to say if his brain wasn’t clouded.
“We’re friends. We’re just friends. That’s all. Just good friends.” If the insistence
sounded a bit too desperate, it was only because it had been Weston’s mantra since they
were both fifteen.
Slowly, Mark drained the rest of his Guinness and set aside his empty glass.
Reaching forward, he closed his cool, damp fingers over Weston’s where they curled into
his pint, holding him for what felt like seconds soaked in molasses before prying his hand
away from the glass.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate how gorgeous you are,” Mark said, placing
Weston’s Guinness out of the way with his own. His hands were mercifully gone then,
leaving Wes to stare at him, dumbfounded. “Is it such a bad thing? I mean, everybody
fantasizes. Wondered. Even you do, remember?”
“Yeah. But…” They shouldn’t even be having this conversation. His tongue was
thick, his mind slow, and he knew that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He should be
sending Mark on his way. Letting the conversation continue was so bad. It was very, very
bad. Was Mark closer now, or was that just his imagination? Weston opened his mouth
and you should leave became, “What do you wonder about?”
A warm weight settled on his thigh. Wes glanced down, and the same long fingers
that had just held his were stroking his leg.
“All sorts of things.” Mark’s voice was huskier than normal, low enough to
reverberate through skin and sink straight into muscle. “I wonder…if your cock still does
that little bend to the right when you get hard. Didn’t know I noticed that, did you? And I
wonder…what it would feel like to have all of you covering all of me so that I can’t move
and I can barely breathe except to breathe in you. Sometimes, I just wonder what it would
be like to finally kiss you.”
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A cacophony of alarms and warnings sounded in Weston’s head. But he seemed
powerless to do anything about it. He had thought of Mark in that way many times,
before and after entering the priesthood. And he didn’t want Mark to stop touching him.
It felt so good, and unlike anything he had ever experienced. Nobody had ever touched
him with such deliberation.
“I’ve…wondered what it would be like if you did kiss me.” It might not have been
wise to admit as much, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—lie to Mark.
Mark slowly tilted his head. His gaze dropped from where it had been locked with
Weston’s, and it lingered on Weston’s mouth.
“Shame for both of us to be left in the dark, don’t you think?” He leaned closer, his
hand moving along Weston’s thigh until his fingers grazed the edge of Weston’s growing
erection and his lips hovered a breath away. “Can’t count how many times I’ve come,
wishing I was with you.”
He should be praying. He should be praying to God for strength. He should be
praying to God for forgiveness for going as far as they had. It wouldn’t be the first time
he had sought forgiveness because of Mark, but it would be the first time his sinful
thoughts had crossed into reality. Weston couldn’t think of the words. People had tried to
pull him before—being a priest seemed to encourage as many people as it discouraged.
Weston had always been able to neatly and politely sidestep their advances. None of
them had Mark’s piercing eyes. None of them smelled as good as Mark did in that
moment. None of them knew him, could see through him, like Mark.
When their lips finally touched, Weston sighed. Mark’s mouth was warm and soft,
and at first, he didn’t seem to want anything more than to press his lips to Weston’s. His
body flooded with warmth. He cradled the back of Mark’s head with one hand and
gripped his shirt with the other. A groan escaped Mark. It wasn’t until the sound died
away that he seemed to find the strength to part his lips, to let his tongue slip out and
trace along Weston’s, to seek out one corner before sweeping again to the other side. His
fingers continued to flex, blunt nails nudging against Weston’s cock, as he gently
massaged the hard line of Weston’s hip.
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He tried to withstand the coaxing of Mark’s tongue, but he couldn’t do it. He parted
his lips, the simple gesture an invitation to deepen the caress. He couldn’t take that back,
couldn’t just calmly deny it happened. As Mark deepened the kiss, Wes realized he didn’t
want to deny that moment. Weston’s experience was limited, to say the least, but he knew
enough to know that Mark’s mouth was amazing. Dizzying.
Even after they both had to finally part to pant for air.
“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for that,” Mark rasped.
“Mark…we can’t do that again.” The protest might have sounded stronger if Weston
had pushed Mark’s hand away from his thigh, and if Mark’s mouth wasn’t so close to his.
Mark licked a path across Weston’s lower lip. “But you want me to.” He licked
again, this time tracing along Weston’s trembling upper lip. “And I want to.” His teeth
caught the wet corner of Weston’s mouth, just for a second, just long enough to send a
jolt straight to Weston’s cock. “Don’t tell me this isn’t the best thing you’ve ever felt,
mate. Because it is for me. I can only think of one thing that might feel better.”
It was the best thing he had ever felt, in every sense of the word. This simple contact
was almost enough to make him delirious. “What?”
The hand that had been teasing along Weston’s arousal curled deliberately over his
aching shaft. “Letting me suck you.”
Mark’s words sliced through him. But the voice in the back of his head was getting
quieter and quieter, easier to ignore, as Mark squeezed him. It hurt, having Mark touch
him like this, but it wasn’t like any sort of pain he had ever experienced before. All he
could think about was Mark’s wet, hot mouth closing around his cock. Denying Mark
now seemed like a physical impossibility.
Weston knew he should try. This wasn’t a thoughtless sin of omission, or an
accident, or a mistake. Booze wasn’t the culprit. Not for the first time, he felt bereft of the
guiding spirit. He felt bereft of everything except the lust licking through his veins. And
the truth. The weight of the truth forced his mouth open.
“I…want that.”
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The slow curve of Mark’s lips was matched only by the delighted gleam in his eyes.
“Let’s do this properly, then.” His hand snaked around Weston’s waist, pulling him
upright at the same time he stood up. It aligned their bodies, and though Weston had a
good five inches on Mark, there was no mistaking the press of his erection against
Weston’s thigh. “Not on the couch like a couple of teenagers. In your room.”
Weston was pretty sure he had never been so aroused in his life. Everything in him
was tight, even his throat. He could only nod, and let Mark lead him into his modest
bedroom. The bed was narrow, and Weston doubted it could fit two people comfortably,
though that hardly seemed to matter now. He bypassed the light switch on the wall. Mark
didn’t. His whole life was laid bare to Mark’s inquisitive gaze. Not that there was much
to see, which seemed more damning than anything Mark could have found. Weston
wanted to protest—it felt like they should do this in the dark—but the words were
silenced when Mark claimed his mouth again and his hands went to Weston’s zipper.
The metal teeth scraped down the entire length of his cock. There wasn’t even time
to truly savor the growing hunger in Mark’s kiss before a strong, hot hand reached into
his briefs and fisted his erection. Weston stumbled backward from the sudden shock, and
Mark pinned him to the closed door, keeping him upright as he continued to devour him.
Weston did not move for several long seconds. He didn’t know how. It was easier to
remain still, pliant, passive. Instinct took over when his brain refused to operate, and he
thrust into Mark’s hand, his body seeking out more warmth, more friction, more
everything. Mark broke away from Weston’s lips, his mouth eager and hungry on
Weston’s jaw, his neck, his throat. Weston smoothed his hands down Mark’s back,
pulling him closer as each lick, nibble and kiss sent sparks through his body.
Mark’s hand never stopped moving as he sank to his knees. From his new angle, all
Weston could see was Mark’s blond hair, the long slope of his nose, then the distinct way
his lips parted as Mark angled Weston’s cock further away from his body.
“There’s the cock I’ve been dreaming about,” he murmured. His tongue flicked out
and caught the drop of pre-come gathering at the slit, and both of them sighed at the same
time. “Oh, bloody hell, Wes. You taste even better than I thought you would.”
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Weston smoothed his fingers through Mark’s hair, desperate to touch him, but
unsure how. He had gone his entire life without ever being in this position, and now he
needed to turn himself over, follow Mark’s lead without question. He had dedicated his
life to submission, but it had never felt more real than this moment. The second Mark
wrapped his lips around the head of his cock, Weston’s knees nearly buckled. The air
rushed out of his lungs, carrying several words with it.
“Oh, please…Mark…oh…God…”
Mark glanced up, a familiar twinkle in his eye. It was the same look he used to get
when they were up to a spot of no good, when both of them knew it might be better to
just chuck it in and call it a night. Deliberately, he sucked down the shaft, not slowing,
not hesitating, not stopping even when Weston felt the tip push against the back of
Mark’s throat. It opened almost immediately, and the next thing he felt was the brush of
Mark’s chin against his balls.
Weston had never felt anything like Mark’s mouth. He never even knew anything
could feel like Mark’s mouth. When he swallowed, his throat squeezed around Weston’s
sensitive head, and it was almost enough to make him cry out. He already felt like he was
standing right on the edge of unbelievable pleasure, but when Mark began to move,
began to slide his lips up and down his shaft, everything spun out of control.
His fingers tightened against Mark’s skull, molding his hand into the curvature in a
desperate attempt to hold onto something as everything else careened this way and that.
How it could be possible, Wes didn’t know, but with each pass along his cock, from the
tip to his balls, Mark’s mouth tightened until it felt like the suction would make his head
explode.
The graze of fingernails between his thighs, stroking the soft skin behind his sac, did
him in.
Wes clutched at Mark, his hips jerking as he instinctively forced his friend to take in
his whole length one more time. His skin scorched as the rest of him erupted, and the
squeeze of Mark’s throat as he drank down every shot of come only intensified it.
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Weston was trembling by the time Mark pulled his mouth away, and he was startled
to see his cock was still hard. He had jerked himself off before—usually it was a fevered
attempt soaked with guilt. Like if he could do it fast enough, it didn’t count. Those
orgasms were always weak, a tired relief more than anything. Nothing that could prepare
him for this, for the way he felt now.
Mark curled a hand around the base of Weston’s cock, drawing lazy circles over the
wet tip with his tongue. “I think I could do that all night.”
Wes thought he could let him. But they could do more. More than just standing
against the wall with his pants around his ankles. He wanted that too. He could admit that
much to himself.
“I think…we should try for the bed again.”
Mark let him go, dragging his hot palms over the twitching muscles of Weston’s
stomach as he slowly straightened. His irises had been devoured in black, and his breath
quickened enough to be hot and heavy against Weston’s neck. But it was the hunger that
gleamed in the depths, the need that kept him pinned to the wall, that left him speechless.
“I get in that bed, and there won’t be any kicking me out tonight,” Mark warned.
“But I promise you, Wes. It’ll be the best bloody night of your life.”
Weston appreciated that Mark was still giving him the chance to end this before it
went any further. His orgasm hadn’t dampened his desire. If anything, it was sharper
now, more demanding. He wasn’t perfect. He was mere flesh and blood, prone to
mistakes. His catalogue of sins flashed through his mind, great and small. He had done
many things he hadn’t been proud of. He had lied to his parents, he had taken the Lord’s
name in vain, and some days he was crippled with envy over a life he could never have.
He had been spiteful and petty. He had been thoughtless. He knew about mistakes. This
didn’t feel like a mistake. He didn’t know what it felt like, exactly, but it didn’t feel
wrong. Not anymore.
This time he instigated the kiss, drawing Mark closer even as he shuffled to the bed.
Mark wrapped his arms around Weston’s back the second before they toppled onto
the mattress, legs tangled for the few moments it took Wes to kick off his pants. Mark’s
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hands traced over the muscles, down his spine until they cupped Weston’s ass, grinding
their groins together with a desperation that had been missing in their earlier groping. Not
once did their mouths part. Each time Wes thought he would need to gasp for air, Mark
would tilt his lips at a slightly different angle, affording just the faintest of cracks for
breath to rush into his lungs. It left no doubts as to what he wanted. It only cemented
what Wes did.
Weston tore at Mark’s shirt, desperate to push it out of his way. Mark’s muscles
twitched as soon as Wes touched his bare skin, and a thrill raced from his fingertips to the
base of his spine. He had seen Mark in various states of undress over the years. He had
never been a shy or modest person. Weston had always forced himself to be satisfied with
casual, friendly gestures—a tap on the back, a handshake, a steadying arm around his
narrow shoulders. He had been tempted to prolong the contact a few times. Now he could
touch as much as he wanted. Weston rolled without breaking the kiss until Mark was
settled on top of him, and he could free him of his clothes without hindrance.
The first touch of his trembling fingers on Mark’s cock made both of them jump.
“You see what you do to me?” Mark propped himself up on his knuckles, powerful
biceps taut, and rocked his hips back and forth so that he left a slick trail of pre-come
along Weston’s stomach. “You’ve got no idea how much I’m holding back from just
pounding into you, Wes.”
It took a moment for Weston to find his voice, and when he did, the words were
hoarse. “Don’t hold back. We might…I don’t know if this can happen again. So don’t
hold yourself back.”
For a moment, Mark’s eyes darkened, but almost as quickly as it occurred, the
familiar spark returned. The wicked smile that had led several men astray trained on Wes
now, Mark’s intent clear.
“You want me to bury my cock in you, is that it?” Mark tilted his body even more,
allowing the wet tip to drag down Weston’s shaft. At the base, he shifted upward again,
keeping the friction slow and even. “I don’t hold back, and you’re going to be screaming
my name.”
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Weston had no idea what it would feel like to be fucked, and a part of him was more
than a little worried that it would hurt. He didn’t care. He wanted it. His whole body
wanted it. He wanted to fold his arms and legs around Mark and let the other man fill
him.
He nodded. “Yes. That’s what I want.”
Without lowering his chest again, Mark bowed his head to seek out Weston’s mouth.
His teeth caught the lower lip, and he sucked at it as their cocks continued to rub against
each other.
“Turnabout’s fair play,” he whispered. “If all I get is tonight, I want you in me too. I
won’t have to wonder anymore what you feel like smothering me into a bed, then.”
Weston tried to imagine what it would be like to do exactly what Mark was
suggesting…demanding. Maybe it would be like his mouth, except tighter and hotter, and
Mark’s whole body would be flexing beneath his, rising to meet him, holding him. The
two of them joined, sharing the same passion and ecstasy. Sharing everything between
their bodies. The sort of union that shouldn’t have been possible for him. The sort of
union he should not have needed. Or wanted.
The sort of union he had always known was possible with his best friend.
“Anything you want.”
Mark stilled. Weston tore his attention away from the succulent mouth that was now
depriving him of kisses to see Mark’s eyes boring into his.
“No.” His voice was surprisingly firm. “Anything we want. I’m not just taking here,
Wes. I won’t do that. Not to you.”
Weston ran his knuckles over Mark’s cheek. “I know. I just meant that tonight…I
want what you want.”
A groan escaped before Mark’s mouth came crashing back down. This time, he
didn’t bother with niceties such as nibbling. He pushed straight past Weston’s
nonexistent defenses, his tongue hot and hungry as he reached between their bodies and
fisted their cocks together.
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Weston closed his eyes at the new pressure around his shaft. Mark’s cock was hot
and smooth and hard. He wanted to taste it, the way Mark had tasted him. But that could
wait until later. For now, he couldn’t think of anything except Mark’s demanding caress,
and the sharp shards of desire piercing him each time Mark stroked their shafts.
Gradually, Mark’s lips slid sideways, tasting the corner of his mouth, his jaw, biting
at his neck. He had to let go of their cocks as he moved lower and lower, and Weston’s
thundering heart beat even harder the closer Mark got to his cock. He fully expected to
feel that warm suction around the tip again; he even thrust his hips up a little in
anticipation when Mark licked a path along his side.
Disappointment arced through him when Mark bypassed his erection completely.
Instead, he felt a hot, wet glide down the seam where leg met hip. Clutching the sheets at
his side, he spread his legs a little further, giving Mark room, only to gasp out loud when
he sucked Weston’s tender balls into his mouth.
Weston didn’t know what to do with his hands. He gripped the bed. He clutched
them at his side. He covered his face. He reached for Mark, running his fingers through
his short hair, caressing his cheek as he rolled his tongue around Weston’s balls.
Occasionally, he would have a flash of guilt, or a moment of panic, but before real
understanding could penetrate the fog around his mind, the suction around his sac would
increase.
Soft sighs fluttered across Weston’s cock. Then he felt the firm flex of Mark’s
fingers as he gripped his thighs, pushing them up, apart, until his heels were flat on the
bed and his ass felt uncomfortably open. Nobody had ever exposed him like this, in spite
of dark dreams he pretended he hadn’t had once dawn broke. When Mark finally let his
balls go, the tip of his tongue tickling over his perineum, Weston clenched instinctively.
“Relax,” Mark breathed. “I’m going to make this so good for you, Wes. I won’t
make it hurt until you beg me to.”
“Okay. Okay.” He concentrated on doing what Mark instructed, unclenching his
muscles and easing back against the mattress. Mark seemed content to focus on the small,
sensitive patch of skin until Weston stopped twitching and jerking in response. Once he
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became accustomed to the pressure and rough texture of Mark’s tongue, Mark moved
again. Weston moaned and writhed at the first swipe of the flat of his tongue over his
tight hole.
“Oh, yeah…”
The words sank into him as much as they drifted up to his ears, and Mark tightened
his fingers around Weston’s legs, pushing Wes a little wider. Another lick followed,
enough to make his muscles feel like water, while the next followed a circular path,
tracing the circumference as Mark moaned in delight.
Mark moved his tongue in the same circular motion, over and over and over.
Weston’s body throbbed, and he lifted his hips off the bed, pushing against Mark’s
mouth. Mark moaned again, his grip almost bruising. The second time Wes shifted
against Mark’s mouth, he thrust the tip of his tongue into Weston’s body. Weston
squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the ceiling and concentrating entirely on the
sensations rolling through him.
The barest hint of teeth scraped across Weston’s sensitive flesh as Mark rolled his
tongue inside the tight passage. Wes felt every movement, every flutter, every breath, and
when Mark pulled out, he almost grabbed his neck to yank Mark back. More, he wanted
to say. It was as if Mark read his mind, because his mouth returned, this time his tongue
sinking in even deeper.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
The words thrummed in rhythm with his rapid heartbeat. His cock jerked with each
stroke of Mark’s tongue. He didn’t know how long Mark could keep this up, but Weston
thought he could happily stay under Mark’s mouth for the rest of the night. Every inch of
his body was so sensitive, and he thought Mark would have him screaming before long.
He didn’t know how he would be able to tolerate Mark’s cock when his tongue was
enough to make his head spin.
His eyes flew open when Mark’s weight vanished. Weston looked down the bed to
see Mark sitting back on his heels, twisted to grab his jeans where they’d landed on the
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floor. He pulled something out of the pocket, then tossed them back, straightening as he
dropped a small foil packet onto the sheets.
The world narrowed down to Mark’s blunt hands and what he still held. A small
tube. As Wes watched, Mark opened it and squeezed something clear and shiny onto his
fingers.
“Has anybody ever fucked you before?”
Of course not. It’s a sin. It had always been a sin. Sodomy. An ugly word. Even if he
thought about it occasionally. Even if he wondered about it. Weston shook his head.
Mark didn’t look away as he set aside the tube. “Then I’ll make sure you’re more
than ready for me.” His slick fingers took the place his tongue had at Weston’s ass,
tracing around the clenching muscle with the same, deliberate rhythm. “That way, the
screaming’ll only happen because it feels so bloody good.”
Weston nodded, not trusting his voice. The sudden pressure of Mark’s finger pushing
into his tight body stalled his breath. It was uncomfortable at first, and Weston clenched,
resisting the invasion. Mark responded by reaching for Weston’s cock, smoothing his
palm up and down the shaft until Weston began to relax again. He pushed his finger up to
his third knuckle then paused as Wes fluttered around him.
“You know what kills me?” Mark’s voice sounded as rough as Weston’s felt.
“Thinking about what this is going to feel like when it’s my cock in you instead.”
A second finger joined the first. Again, Weston tried to resist the intrusion, but Mark
waited until Wes relaxed. Weston was very close to utter incoherence, but he couldn’t
help but be struck by Mark’s patience. Mark was not a patient man. Life never seemed to
happen fast enough for him—which, no doubt, was why he had opted to move to London.
Despite the obvious desire in his voice, Mark didn’t give any indication of how difficult it
was to work slowly.
“This will be easier for you if you’re on your hands and knees.” A third finger joined
the two, twisting together as he pushed them past the tight muscle. The nails scraped
across the inner walls, and Wes clamped down around the knuckles, holding Mark
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motionless for long seconds. “But I’d rather see your face, Wes. I don’t want you to think
I’m just shagging you because I’ve wanted you for so long.”
It took a few seconds for Mark’s words to untangle themselves in his mind. “Why
are you shagging me, then?”
Though he held Mark’s fingers tight inside his ass, Mark still stroked along the
walls. His gaze burned when it locked with Weston’s, and any taunting had vanished
from his sensual mouth.
“You’re the best mate I’ve ever had,” he said softly. “Last thing I ever want is for
you not to know how important you are to me.”
“Mark…” He cupped the back of Mark’s head and drew him down to his mouth.
Weston controlled the kiss, refusing to let it grow out of control with passion. He wanted
the kiss to be slow and thorough. Mark didn’t try to wrest control from him. He let
Weston caress him with his mouth until they were both breathless. “I think I’m ready for
you now.”
He felt empty when Mark pulled his fingers out, and cold when Mark sat back. The
separation was temporary, though, as Mark ripped open the wrapper and rolled the
condom quickly down his shaft. He was back over Wes in a flash, his chest rubbing
against his, their mouths fused together, as he dragged the tip of his cock down Weston.
His heart leapt into his throat when he felt Mark’s cock nudge against his hole. It was
thicker than the fingers had been, much thicker, and he tightened on reflex when Mark
pushed closer.
“Don’t,” Mark breathed against his mouth. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”
Weston believed Mark. He trusted him. More than that, he wanted him. Now that
Mark was so close, it seemed like he could feel the other man through his whole body,
down to his bones. He took several deep breaths, forcing himself to relax. As soon as
Mark felt the shift in his body, he eased forward again. The blunt tip pressed past
Weston’s slick muscle, and his nerves seemed to flare to life, his skin and flesh too hot.
Instead of resisting, he entwined his legs around Mark’s, encouraging more.
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It burned as Mark pushed the first inch of his thick cock into Weston’s ass, but the
second Wes thought it was painful, Mark stopped, always without being told, as if he felt
the effects through the contact of their skin. He held that position as he devoured
Weston’s mouth, and as soon as Wes flexed his legs, Mark thrust a little bit more.
They repeated this pattern—in, hold, drown in delicious kisses, relax—until it felt
like something gave inside Wes. He gasped against Mark’s lips, and in the next breath,
felt the soft slap of balls against his flesh.
Weston had never been this close to another person, this connected with another
body. He wanted to close his eyes, but he didn’t want to look away from Mark’s face. He
touched Mark everywhere he could reach, his fingers dancing over Mark’s shoulders,
down his back, on his chest, neck, face. Mark eased back slowly then rocked forward
again. Each inch was startling and exquisite.
Mark turned his head and caught Weston’s hand, sinking his teeth into the fleshy part
of his palm. Sharp lust shot through Weston’s veins, the world a blur around them. His
cock throbbed between their bodies, but he resisted the urge to reach down and grasp it.
He couldn’t anyway. He was trapped by Mark’s mouth, hands, legs, all weighing him
down as they set a slow, head-spinning rhythm.
It was so easy to follow Mark’s lead. The rhythm he set seemed like the most natural
thing in the world. Mark’s muscles flexed with each push of his hips, and Weston didn’t
think Mark could touch his body enough. Ever. The realization almost made him panic.
This wasn’t supposed to happen again. This couldn’t happen again. But the thought of
denying Mark tore at him.
“Mark…oh, Mark…my God…”
“Ssshhh…”
He soothed Weston’s words with another kiss, this one slow to counter the tempo of
their snapping hips. Mark might have claimed to want to hear Weston scream, but he
seemed content swallowing his breath until his lungs burned and his ears pounded. Every
time he pulled back and Weston’s lips would tighten with more pleas, Mark returned to
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kiss them away, until all that remained was the sensation of his cock dragging along hard
flesh, his ass quivering as Mark filled him over and over again.
One of Weston’s hands went down Mark’s body to grip his ass. The other went to
Mark’s chest, his fingertips scraping across his nipple, drawing a sharp hiss from Mark.
He dug his nails into Mark’s hard muscles, silently spurring him to move a little harder, a
little faster. He already thought he could fly apart from the weight and pressure of Mark’s
cock buried deep in his body. His pleas turned into louder and louder moans against
Mark’s mouth.
“Like that?” Finally, Mark was breaking his silence. His tongue ran over his swollen
mouth as he gazed down at Wes, but his body never broke its rhythm. “Tell me you love
this, Wes.”
“Yes.” The barest whisper. He swallowed hard, trying to moisten his dry throat. “I
love this…love being with you like this.”
The next stroke was harder, splitting him open. The one after that, harder still.
“We have the whole night, yeah?”
“Yes.” He couldn’t make Mark leave. “All night.”
“So…” Thick lashes ducked, masking emotion that came through in his words. “You
can be mine for the next few hours?”
No. I’ve got obligations. I took vows. I can’t be anybody’s, Mark.
Mark buried himself in Weston with another hard thrust, and the protest was driven
from his mind.
“Yes. Yours for a few hours.”
It seemed to be the only concession Mark needed. An arm slipped beneath Weston’s
shoulders, holding them together, as his hand found the aching length of Weston’s cock.
He began stroking him with the same intense rhythm he ploughed into his ass, the sound
of skin slapping against skin oddly comforting.
“Show you,” Mark murmured in between kisses. It was a fragment of a thought, that
much was clear, but that was going to be all Mark allowed, apparently. “So good.”
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So good. So wrong, and he knew it. But it was so good. He wrapped his arms around
Mark and buried his face in his neck. Wes took a deep breath, detecting the smell of
sweat and leather, smoke, sharp aftershave, peppermint candy. He sampled Mark’s skin
with the tip of his tongue, wondering if he would taste the way he smelled. Wondering if
he could brand the smell and taste of him to his memory permanently.
Mark moved faster, stroked Weston harder. His mind emptied of everything except
the pleasure racing through him. Mark’s fingers were so hard around his cock, and it only
took one soft squeeze, a flexing of his hand, to pull the orgasm from him. He shouted into
Mark’s skin, his come warm and sticky on his stomach as Mark continued to fist his
length.
“That’s it,” Mark coaxed. He was breathless, panting, each word harsh where it
landed on Weston’s skin. “Feel so fucking good. Don’t want to stop, don’t want, don’t
want…”
It ended in a sharp groan as Mark slammed into his ass, throwing his head back as
the muscles stood out in his neck. The hand on Weston’s cock squeezed painfully,
milking the last few drops of fluid, and he felt the thick length inside him jerk as Mark
shot into the condom.
Mark was quivering by the time he began to relax. The mouth that bent to meet
Weston’s was even more so.
Weston couldn’t stand even an inch separating them, so he kept his arms and legs
tight around Mark’s body. Mark didn’t seem in any hurry to move away from him. They
kissed until he was breathless again. Gradually, Mark eased out of Weston’s tender ass,
and Wes felt oddly empty. Cut off. Now that he knew how close he could be to
somebody, he didn’t want to lose the connection.
Mark managed to break the hold Wes had on him and sat up long enough to peel the
condom away and toss it in the nearby bin. He didn’t waste any time in settling on the
bed beside Wes again, wrapping himself around Weston’s body. He felt thick. And tired.
He didn’t want to lose a second with Mark, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He
struggled against the pull of sleep, but Mark kept running his fingers through his hair in a
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slow, hypnotizing gesture. He pressed his lips to Weston’s forehead, as though giving
him permission to finally give in to exhaustion.
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Chapter Two
Weston woke an hour before dawn out of habit; however, he wasn’t in the habit of
waking up in the tight ring of another man’s arms. He wasn’t in the habit of waking up
sore in the strangest places, and sticky, and hard. His cock was fully erect, waiting for
attention. Waiting for Mark. And Mark was a solid wall of warm flesh behind him, his
chest pressed against Weston’s back, his mouth on Weston’s neck.
“Are you awake?” Weston asked softly.
No response.
Weston turned around, and Mark stirred, but he only tightened his hold. It was still
dark, the sky outside his window black with no stars and no moon. It was difficult to see
Mark’s face in the dim light, but his eyes adjusted until he could pick out the familiar
details. He knew Mark’s face so well. Had known it all his life, but it felt like he had
never really seen it before now.
When they first met, Mark hadn’t yet grown into his features. He had been planes
and sharp angles—too skinny, too pinched, too much trouble. His eyes had been sly. He
had made Weston laugh. Each moment with Mark had been carefully catalogued, and he
had a mental file full of expressions, pouts, frowns, smiles. So many smiles. Mark loved
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being alive. He loved the pleasures life had to offer him. Now Weston had a new memory
to file away. One that he knew he would revisit, one way or the other.
The first time Weston had wanted to kiss Mark, they were both fourteen. It was on
Boxing Day, and Mark had spent the morning eating leftover sweets. Weston had been
nursing a sore stomach, so he just watched Mark’s delight over gorging himself. Weston
wanted to taste the chocolate on his lips and tongue. The desire had smacked into him
with the suddenness of a truck. He never forgot the way fear and lust entwined in that
moment, tightening around his stomach until he thought he would vomit.
He cupped Mark’s cheek and brushed his lips across his smooth brow. Mark wasn’t
sharp angles and planes now. He had grown into one of the most beautiful men Weston
had ever known. If they had lived in Florence four hundred years earlier, Mark would
have been a perfect model for the Renaissance. Just looking at him was enough to make
Wes throb. What if Mark had told him he was gay before Weston resolved to become a
priest? Would anything be different? Probably not. Weston wouldn’t have assumed that
Mark being gay would mean they had a chance together.
He reached between their bodies and gripped his shaft, guiding the tip over Mark’s
balls. The other man stirred again, his cock hardening against Weston’s thigh.
“Are you awake?” This time, the question was asked with his lips against Mark’s
skin.
“Mmmmm…” Mark turned his head so that their noses nudged, his lax mouth
skimming along Weston’s jaw. “I am now.”
Weston’s eyelids fell shut again as Mark nuzzled him. He never imagined Mark
could be so…affectionate. But he was. For a man who had gone through life with the
barest sort of contact, it was addicting.
“I suppose I could have let you sleep a bit longer.”
“What time is it?”
“Fourish. Somewhere around there.”
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The muttered curse that fell from Mark’s lips was nothing he hadn’t heard before,
but it lacked any sort of vehemence. “This is usually the time I drag my ass into my flat.
Why are you so awake?”
“Because this is the time I usually wake up. Listen.” The alarm went off then, on
cue, and Weston disentangled an arm to shut it off.
Mark parted his lips to allow the tip of his tongue to skate over the rough stubble on
Weston’s cheek, making the inside of his mouth prickle and water with the contact.
“Don’t get up. You feel too bloody good right here.”
Weston didn’t want to get up. The sooner he crawled out of bed, the sooner he’d
have to deal with what he had done. It was too easy to push that aside and focus on
Mark’s tongue, and the way his breath cooled Weston’s damp skin.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.” Mark’s voice had a dreamy sound of satisfaction in it, mirrored in the way
he nipped down Weston’s neck. “You taste like heaven.”
Weston winced. “Don’t say things like that, Mark.”
Mark lifted his head, his thick lashes moving in slow motion as they opened to gaze
at him. The muted light made it impossible to read Mark’s intention, but the arms that
held him had stiffened as well.
“Why? It’s true.”
“No. It’s not. It’s…it’s wrong.”
He didn’t have to elaborate. He knew Mark understood what he meant.
“You’re not going to tell me love is wrong, Wes. It’s not. And not even your God
can try telling me it is.”
Weston tried to push away, not eager to have this conversation while his naked body
was pressed against Mark’s. But Mark was strong, and refused to let him go.
“That may be.” Weston tried to use the voice he used when counseling one of the
parishioners. Maybe if he sounded calm, he would be calm. “But my God has made it
pretty clear where He stands on this issue and… What do you mean love?”
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“Exactly what it sounds like, if it sounds like I’ve loved you since we were
teenagers. Or that I’ve looked for you in every guy I’ve ever dated. Or that every time I
meet someone tall, dark and wearing glasses that makes them look bloody irresistible, I
fall head over heels. And then I fall out of love just as soon as I realize…none of them are
you.”
It made a strange sort of sense. They had become unlikely friends because they were
both outsiders, shunned by their peers, who had just known they were different. Even
before Weston knew how to name those differences. Weston had turned to the church,
because he was safe there. Protected by God from his unnameable urges, and protected
from a community that otherwise didn’t want anything to do with him.
Mark had chosen to cloak himself in anonymity, moving to a city that was too big for
anybody to care about what he did or who he did it with.
When had Mark decided he was merely settling for friendship? What had been the
defining moment? Weston could have simply attributed Mark’s feelings to nostalgia.
They used to have a good time together. They learned how to smoke together. They
learned how to drive together. Weston had been the one Mark came to the night he lost
his virginity with a girl, and the first time he had been to bed with a bloke. Every
milestone, great or small, they had faced together.
The only problem with that theory was that Mark didn’t live in the past. Whatever he
felt, or whatever he thought he felt, wouldn’t have been based on cloudy memories of a
past once shared.
Weston couldn’t explain Mark’s declaration. Nobody had ever said anything like that
to him.
“Mark…” He did manage to break away from Mark’s embrace now, and rolled out
of bed, reaching for the blanket to wrap around his hips. “I…I can’t…I can’t be what you
want me to be. Or who you want me to be.”
Mark sat up, fully alert now. The sheets fell down to drape over his legs, and the
definite shadow of his erection had Weston blushing in the darkness.
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“You think I want you to change? I love you, you git. I love that you’re the smartest
bloke I know and not once have you ever made me feel lesser for not being as quick as
you. I love that you give and give and give of yourself, never once asking for anything in
return, even when others treat you like shit and don’t deserve a tenth of your grace. And I
love that you can make me forget that this is a bloody awful world sometimes just by
smiling at one of my terrible jokes.” Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he
reached down and scooped up his pants, fumbling in his pockets before pulling out his
pack of cigarettes. “You’re the best person I’ve ever known. I’m not asking you to
change a bloody thing.”
Weston didn’t know what to think, or what to say. It was like he had awakened into a
strange world, and he didn’t know any of the rules or laws now governing his life.
Running his hand through his hair, he frowned. Something was…off.
His ring was gone.
The emerald was gone. Of course. His ring fell off the night before and he was in this
impossible situation because his lucky charm, his last, best defense, had disappeared.
“Where’s my ring?”
After sticking a cigarette between his lips, Mark waved a hand dismissively toward
the door. “Got rid of that when I took your glass away from you last night,” he said, then
cupped his hands out of habit around the cigarette as he lit it. The end glowed red as he
inhaled, momentarily casting a crimson sheen over his face. “You were using it as an
excuse. I wasn’t going to give that to you.”
“An excuse…” Weston’s eyes widened. The beers that kept coming. The initial kiss.
The lube and condom in Mark’s pocket. Who brought lube and condoms to meet a priest?
“You planned all of this. Then you stole my ring.”
“I didn’t steal it. It’s on your table. In plain sight.”
“Why bother taking it from me at all if you think it’s just a load of rubbish?”
Having Mark in his bedroom, casually naked, declaring his love, was far, far too
dangerous. He hurried out of the door and into the living room, scooping his ring off the
table. He’d wear it. And his cross. And he’d grab his Bible. Then he could pretend none
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of this ever happened because he didn’t know how to deal with the fact that it had
happened.
What had happened? How had he lost so much of himself? He had never broken his
vows. Was he so corrupted, so sinful, that Mark barely needed to lift a finger to trick him
into bed? God had been his rock, the one being in his life who would not hurt him with
casual cruelty, or turn away from Weston’s pain and confusion. Weston had turned his
back on God, and now his fingers were shaking, and the rules he needed had been swept
away. Mark had swept them all away. Flooded Weston’s body with passion until he
forgot everything. Shown Weston what he meant by love.
When he straightened with the ring in hand, he turned to see Mark had followed him
as far as the doorway. Now he leaned against the jamb, smoke curling around his head,
his eyes dark and hooded as he watched Weston panic.
“I can prove to you it’s rubbish,” Mark said. “Put it on and come back to bed.”
“Mark, what do you want me to do? Ignore my calling? Leave all the good I’ve done
here? Turn my back on my faith?” His voice rose with each question, and he was afraid
of Mark’s answers.
“You don’t need to be a clergyman to believe in God. Or a congregation to prove
you’re a good man. Those of us who know you, Wes, know that already.” He held his
hand out. “Come back to bed.”
Weston slid the ring on his finger, waiting for its comforting weight to push away
any desire he had to take Mark’s hand. He had only given in to Mark because the ring
was gone. Yes, it was a silly superstition. Yes, Mark had been right all those years and
the ring’s power had only been symbolic. But he couldn’t go back to bed with it on. How
could he turn his body over to Mark with the constant, undeniable reminder that what he
was doing was wrong?
Weston just wanted everything to stop hurting. Just for a few moments. Nothing hurt
when he woke up, surrounded by Mark’s warmth. Nothing hurt when they were children,
playing together. Nothing hurt when they were sharing a pint and laughing over
something stupid. Nothing hurt when they were just together.
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Neither of them moved. The red tip of Mark’s cigarette flared when he tightened his
mouth and sucked at the nicotine, reminding Weston all too clearly what that mouth had
looked like stretched around his cock. Wes tore his gaze away and stared at the ring,
willing for it to work.
“There’s one thing wearing that won’t change.”
A floorboard creaked. Weston glanced up in time to see Mark slowly advancing. His
heart leapt into his throat.
“You can put that on,” Mark continued. “And you can put on your collar, and you
can stand at the front of your church and pray to God to forgive you for having the nerve
to enjoy the attention of your oldest friend.” He came to a halt in front of Wes, reaching
sideways to drop his cigarette into the half-filled pint glass. Wes felt the sound of it
sizzling as it went out in the warm Guinness across every inch of his skin. “But I’m still
going to love you. And nothing anybody is ever going to say to me will convince me that
that’s wrong.”
Weston bit his lip. It hadn’t felt wrong the night before, when Weston had said that
he was Mark’s—if only for a few hours. Mark had been so pleased by that qualified
announcement. Like Weston had promised him his life’s wish. It hadn’t felt wrong when
he woke up, wrapped securely in Mark’s arms.
He took a step forward, closing the space between them, instead of a step back. His
hand itched to forget about the sheet he was still gripping tightly and touch Mark.
The emerald seemed to sparkle in the growing light as he ran his fingers over Mark’s
shoulder in a hesitant but hungry caress.
He saw Mark’s gasp as a hitch in his chest.
“You promised me all night,” Mark whispered. A tentative hand reached forward
and curled around Weston’s waist, drawing them even closer. “And the sun won’t be up
for an hour yet. Don’t take that away from me. Please. Let me love you the way you
deserve, Wes.”
As soon as Mark’s chest touched his, Weston could feel his defenses melting. His
skin was hungry for more. His ass clenched with the memory of Mark inside of him. He
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wanted to fling everything away and simply revel in the simplicity of Mark’s mouth, and
fingers, and cock. Why did his body override his mind? Where was his heart? Where did
it reside? In the primal instinct of touch, or in the whispered warnings he chose not to
heed?
“One more hour.” Weston’s lips felt numb. He didn’t know the answer to his
question. He didn’t know the answer to anything, but Mark seemed to. “Like I promised.
I can be yours for one more hour.”
The last word was barely out of his mouth before Mark’s hands cupped his face,
drawing him down until their lips came together. He expected the same hunger that had
exemplified their earlier coupling, but what Wes got was a slow search, Mark’s mouth
trembling against his as he tasted every warm recess he could reach. What he got was
almost delicate, an ache in every caress, and the sheet fell to the floor as he wrapped his
arms around Mark’s back.
At first, Weston tried to resist. Or he hoped the ring would help him resist. But he
couldn’t. It seemed like he could feel the kiss all the way down to his toes, and nothing
they had done before compared to this caress. Had Mark wanted to kiss him like this the
night before, only to pull back because he didn’t want to reveal the depth of his
emotions? Weston thought so.
Weston had no choice but to respond in kind, to follow Mark’s lead exactly. To kiss
him like they had more than just an hour between them.
Mark’s thumbs caressed the hollows of his cheeks, matching the same rhythm he set
with their tongues. The tenderness reminded him of those first few seconds after they’d
awoken, before reality had come crashing around his ears, before Mark had obviously
resurrected his careful guards and touched Wes the way he truly desired. Wes felt mildly
foolish for not having recognized it sooner, but now, with nothing more between them, he
drank it in like he’d just stumbled upon an oasis in the middle of the desert.
When Mark took a small step back, Wes followed. When he took another, Wes
followed again. Neither was willing to break the seal of their mouths, not until they
passed over the threshold again into the cool darkness of his bedroom.
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“Nobody has ever felt as right as you,” Mark murmured against his skin. “Even if I
only get another hour, it’ll all be worth it.”
The problem was, Weston thought he could be right. Was it worth the risk of losing
everything he had ever cherished? Everything he had ever identified with? As Mark
pushed him back to the mattress, Weston couldn’t help but think that maybe—maybe—it
was.
“Show me.” It was almost a plea.
Mark propped himself up on his knuckles. Weston had seen his friend look angry,
mocking, amused, derisive. He had seen him respond to every fathomable situation under
the sun and always come out stronger on the other side. He had never seen the naked
emotion that now glimmered in Mark’s eyes.
Slowly, he began to rock along Weston’s body, his focus never leaving Weston’s
face. The heat transferred from cock to cock, skin to skin, but he suspected much of that
was due to the intensity of the moment rather than the mild friction Mark created.
“You want me inside you?” Mark asked.
Weston couldn’t answer immediately. He thought about how amazing it felt to have
Mark’s mouth wrapped around his cock, but even the brilliance of that memory was
dampened by the sensations that rolled through him at just the thought of Mark inside of
him.
“Yes. I do. I want that so much.”
Mark dropped his brow to rest on Weston’s, lips soft against his, breath even softer.
“If I asked you to get me ready for you, to slick me up with your mouth, to put the
condom on so that I can feel your hands on me, would you want that too?”
“Yes.”
Mark released his breath in a long sigh, like he wasn’t sure Weston would answer in
the affirmative. He rolled onto his back, pulling Wes on top of him. Weston glanced up.
Five minutes were already gone from their hour. He couldn’t afford to waste time, and a
pang of regret went through him at the thought of the night they had slept away.
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Wes dipped his head and found Mark’s mouth, trying to show how much he wanted
him, how much he wanted to taste him and feel him. The kiss stretched on for several
precious seconds, but Weston couldn’t force himself to pull away until his lungs were
burning.
With a deep breath, he slid down Mark’s body, mouthing a trail of long kisses down
his chest and stomach until he reached Mark’s erection. It jerked when Wes blew a
stream of warm air across its wet tip. Feeling a little heady, he ran the tip of his tongue
over Mark’s velvety head. Weston didn’t know quite what he expected, but it wasn’t the
overwhelming desire to taste more and more of him, to swallow his length.
Fingertips skimmed over his nape, not quite tickling as Mark caressed him. “Almost
doesn’t feel real,” Mark confessed. “I’ve wanted this for so long…” He cleared his throat,
spreading his legs to hook one around Weston’s back to keep him in place. “I’ll probably
come like a schoolboy if you do anything more than lick me.”
Weston looked up, wondering if Mark was joking, but he seemed completely serious.
How could he have that sort of power over the other man? How could somebody,
anybody, especially Mark, want him so much?
He slid the flat of his tongue from Mark’s balls, up his shaft to his head. They both
moaned, and Weston wanted to see if he could pull that sound from Mark again. He
mimicked the move, but this time, once he reached the tip, he didn’t stop. He swirled his
tongue around the slick skin, then pulled it between his lips. As soon as his mouth closed
around Mark’s cock, his muscles tightened, and his balls began to ache.
Mark jerked his hips, and though the movement drove more of his length past
Weston’s lips, he suspected it wasn’t meant to force anything more than he was already
giving. Mark settled too soon back into the bed, and the hand he kept on Weston’s neck
never pushed, continuing those gentle strokes that went straight down his spine and made
his ass clench.
“I know what I said, but don’t do this for too long.” Mark was breathless, and a
single glance up through his lashes was all it took to see the quick rise and fall of Mark’s
muscular chest. “I want to feel that tight ass around me when I come.”
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Weston nodded, in understanding and agreement. He wanted to spend more time
exploring Mark’s body, but more than that, he wanted Mark’s thick cock buried deep
inside him. He sank his mouth further down Mark’s shaft, relaxing his jaw to
accommodate the other man’s length. As Mark’s head brushed his throat, Weston felt
another pang of regret. Why did he have to choose between pleasuring Mark this way and
letting Mark fuck him?
He could still see the digital face of the clock. Forty-five minutes. He dragged his
mouth back up the smooth skin, teasing Mark with his tongue, then sank back down. He
repeated the motion several times, and Mark tensed with each thrust, moaned louder each
time Weston collected pre-come from his tip. When Mark’s fingers tightened on the back
of his neck, he finally lifted his head.
“Condom?”
Mark waved a feeble hand toward the floor. “Jeans. Pocket. I think we kicked the
lube off the bed too.”
Weston fished a condom from the pocket without trouble, but it seemed to take
forever to find the lube. He snatched it from beneath the bed, then tore the foil wrapper
open with shaking fingers. The closer they got, the more he wanted it. Once the latex was
free of the wrapper, he positioned it over Mark’s cock and carefully unrolled it down his
shaft. As soon as he had it on, he covered Mark’s length with the lubricant.
Reaching down, Mark covered the hand on his cock with his own, his eyes heavy on
Weston as he helped him coat every visible inch. When Wes tried to pull away, though,
ready to get onto his back, Mark grabbed his fingers and tugged, forcing him to sprawl
atop Mark’s body.
“You be on top this time,” he said. The bed shifted as Mark bent his knees, his thighs
pushing against Weston’s legs as a makeshift seat. “I’m getting the feel of you weighing
me down, one way or another.”
Weston didn’t know how he felt about the unexpected position, but he knew he’d do
it for Mark. And for himself, because he didn’t want to wait any longer. He reached
behind him to grab Mark’s cock, then paused, remembering what Mark had done earlier.
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Weston’s fingers were still covered with lube, and he sought out his hole. The first touch
with his fingertips told him he was still sensitive—maybe even too sensitive. Even as he
slicked himself up, he knew this time he would be screaming.
Once he was done, he bent low enough to kiss Mark as he grasped Mark’s cock. He
guided the head to his ass, felt it press into the muscle, the first nudge of the blunt tip,
then paused.
“Help me.”
He felt Mark’s smile. “In this together, aren’t we?”
One hand curled around Weston’s nape, while the other smoothed down his back to
cup a single ass cheek. Mark tensed and shifted, hips pressing upward, and as he
deepened the kiss Wes had started, he eased more of his thick length into the tight
passage. Though he took his time, he moved faster than he had hours before, keeping the
stroke smooth and even. By the time he stopped, Weston felt like his entire body was on
fire, from the burn of Mark’s continued kiss to the stretch of Weston’s ass.
Weston didn’t move for a long moment as he adjusted around Mark, and then he
realized Mark was waiting for him to set the rhythm this time. He braced himself on
Mark’s chest and rocked forward, until only the tip was left in his passage, then he eased
himself back. Everything felt different. The new angle, the speed, the body beneath him.
He had thought the first time would be the best thing he would ever experience, but as he
slid forward against Mark’s chest again, he realized he was wrong. Very wrong.
Mark trailed his fingertips over Weston’s face, along his brow, cheekbone, lower lip.
He seemed fascinated by the texture of his stubble, stroking it over and over and over
again before finally reaching up and running his tongue along it as well. All the while, he
never loosened his grip on Weston’s ass, thrusting upward to meet the pushes down.
“Love you so much,” Mark said softly. “You’ll always be the most beautiful thing in
the world to me.”
Weston closed his eyes, an indefinable sadness rolling through him. Why now? Why
do this now and not, say, five years ago? But Mark had already answered that question,
in a way. Because he had been looking for a substitute. As had Weston.
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He blindly sought out Mark’s mouth with his own. It would be easier that way.
Easier if he didn’t have to talk. He wanted to say something. Words clawed at his throat.
He couldn’t be sure what those words were, and each time he sank back on Mark’s cock,
his control slipped a bit.
Mark moaned into the kisses, his tongue deliberate and strong as it tangled with
Weston’s. He reached between their stomachs, avoiding contact with Weston’s cock, to
find and cup Weston’s balls instead. Calluses caught on the tender skin, and each time he
tightened his hold just a little bit more, Weston gasped with delight he’d never known.
Heat built between them, and Mark’s skin glistened with sweat, despite the predawn
chill. Weston could feel each muscle tense, felt each shiver and tremor in the body
beneath him. A question wormed its way through his mind. What would it be like to love
Mark? He had a feeling if he let himself, and he admitted as much, Mark would spend the
length of his days doing everything in his power to make Weston happy. Wes didn’t
doubt it at all.
Weston didn’t want to think anymore. With his mouth sealed against Mark’s, he
began to move his hips faster. The added speed and friction sent a hot flare through his
body. He didn’t want to go too fast, but every doubt and question was driven from his
mind with each solid thrust.
An odd shift in Mark’s body changed the angle of penetration, and the next stroke
slammed his cock against a fresh spot inside Weston’s ass. Electricity shot straight up his
spine, burning, curling, winding fresh trails through veins he’d long thought already fried.
The hitch in his rhythm made Mark pull back, and a pleased smile curved across that
swollen mouth.
“Found it, did I?” he said in a husky rasp. Deliberately, Mark thrust again, watching
Weston’s every reaction. “Oh yeah. Feels good, doesn’t it? Like nothing else you’ve ever
felt before.”
“Yes…yes…yes…” Weston dropped his head to Mark’s shoulder. He didn’t even
have the concentration necessary for kissing. Each thrust drew a surprised shout from
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Wes, and when Mark began moving faster, hitting that spot more and more, the shouts
blended into one long moan of satisfaction.
“That’s it. Don’t think. Don’t fuss. Just let it go…”
Mark kept speaking, though how he was capable of anything remotely resembling
the encouraging words, Weston had no idea. He only knew that everything was both
expanding and shrinking, his flesh pulsing until it felt like he was going to fly apart, his
world compressing to Mark and his cock and those exquisite strokes into his body. All
the while, Mark continued to caress his balls, never straying for his shaft. Touch me, Wes
wanted to beg. He knew if Mark did, everything would be over.
Mark’s breathing grew harsher, any niceties of their lovemaking taken over by the
growing need of his body. “Going to come, mate,” he rasped. “Want to feel you shoot all
over me.”
Weston didn’t know how he could do that if Mark refused to touch him. He tried to
ask as much, but before he could say anything, Mark slammed into him with more force
than Wes expected. Everything froze for a single, perfect second and then Weston’s cock
jerked and pleasure exploded beneath his skin. Warm strings of come were trapped
between their stomachs, but Mark didn’t stop moving, even as Weston trembled and
panted for breath.
Mark groaned, fingers digging painfully into Weston’s flesh. He dropped his head to
Weston’s shoulder, but it was the sharp sting of blunt teeth sinking into the muscle that
made Wes shout, followed by a vicious drive that buried his cock in Weston’s ass. It
jerked as blast after blast filled the condom, but for the sounds that came from Mark’s
throat, he might as well have been coating Weston’s walls.
“Love you,” he heard. “Always will.”
Weston didn’t move. They had a few more minutes left in their hour. Not many, but
enough. Enough to kiss Mark again. Enough to slide against his chest again, stealing any
contact, any sensation he could.
“Guess you were right about the ring.”
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Mark’s mouth swept along his sweat-slick skin, leaving behind a trail that burned.
“I’m right about a lot of things.”
“I know.” Time weighed down on him. Time and the world and faith and guilt. He’d
be surprised if he could move at all. “When are you going back to London?”
Mark hesitated. “I have to be back to work Wednesday morning. You really going to
make me go alone?”
“Yes.” The word tasted so bitter he could barely choke it out.
A sigh made Mark deflate, though his arms tightened around Weston, hard enough to
squeeze the air from his lungs. “Should be grateful I got this,” he said, his voice muffled
against Weston’s skin. “But something tells me I’ve got more than a few lonely nights
ahead of me. Now that I’ve had the real thing.”
A few lonely nights or not, Mark could go back to his normal life, and he probably
would. Weston had an entire lifetime of lonely nights and lonely mornings and lonely
days stretching ahead of him. That had always been the case, but it never bothered him
this much. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Now, he knew better.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I knew what I was risking. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Weston knew the most important part of repentance was being genuinely sorry for
the sin committed. But… “I wouldn’t change anything either.” He finally lifted his head.
“You can shower…before you go…if you want.”
He could have sworn that Mark’s lashes were wet in the split second he saw him
before he rolled away. “No, best not,” Mark said, sitting up. His hands gripped the edge
of the bed as if gathering strength to stand, and then he was up, scooping up jeans and
shoes and cigarettes from where they lay scattered on the floor. “I’ll just use the loo to
wash up a little. Go on back to sleep. No worries about me.” He was in the doorway
when he paused, though he didn’t quite look back at Wes. “And if you fancy a pint before
I head off Tuesday, you know where I’ll be.”
“Yeah.”
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Weston couldn’t watch Mark leave. Go back to sleep? That wasn’t even a possibility.
He heard his front door slam. He heard Mark’s car roar to life in the still air. He heard the
songbirds start their morning calls outside his window. His eyes were dry and sandy and
scratchy. His heart hurt. Nothing felt right, and Weston didn’t know if anything ever
would again.
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Chapter Three
Weston prayed. He meditated. He went to confession. He poured over his scriptures.
He tried to open himself up to God and begged for an answer, or relief. But every time he
closed his eyes, he saw Mark’s face. It killed him that Mark was in town—just a few
blocks away—and he couldn’t even talk to him. He didn’t have anybody to talk to,
because Mark was always the one he ran to when something strange or unsettling or new
or interesting or wonderful happened.
Now he couldn’t run to Mark. Somewhere in his confusion and hurt and self-pity, it
occurred to Weston that he might never be able to go to Mark again. Where would he be
without his best friend? His only friend?
Weston didn’t know if he could handle talking about Mark’s feelings, or about what
happened between them. He had planned to let Mark leave town without visiting him
again. He needed to know if he had lost everything. It was best if they both knew where
they stood. Better for them in the long run.
Weston dressed in a regular T-shirt and jeans, and didn’t acknowledge that he hadn’t
worn his collar. Outside of Mark’s door, he swallowed his nerves and knocked once.
The sound of Mark’s voice over the muffled television made Weston’s heart leap,
and he unconsciously held himself straighter as he waited for the door to open. The first
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thing he saw was a broad shoulder, then the deliberate dishevelment that Mark wore his
hair in, that just-got-out-of-bed look that made him appear more cosmopolitan than the
tiny village deserved. When their eyes met, Mark’s brows shot up, a delighted gleam
appearing in the blue depths of his eyes, but the smile that jumped to his wide mouth was
hesitant.
“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again.”
“I almost didn’t come over,” Weston admitted. “But I thought we needed to talk.
About us and…” He took a deep breath. “I needed to know if we’re still friends.”
Mark tilted his head, his eyes intense as they fixed on Wes. “I’ll always be your
friend. Nothing’s ever going to change that.”
“I thought things might be…awkward. Between us.”
“I’ve spent more than half my life trying not to dwell on how much I love you, mate.
I’m an old pro at this.”
“I’ve been trying everything I know to make sense of all this. I’m all…tangled up.
I’m still not sorry for what we did, and I’m not even sorry I’m not sorry. The only thing
I’m sorry about is hurting you.”
Something in Mark softened, and he held the door open a little bit wider. “Why don’t
we not have this conversation in the hallway? Come on in. I’ve got fish and chips that are
getting cold.”
Weston nodded, and his arm brushed Mark’s chest as he entered the room. The
contact was casual and incidental and Weston was almost painfully aware of it. Maybe
Mark didn’t see a problem with them remaining friends, but how could they be
comfortable together if they were both aware of every second they weren’t touching, and
every second they were?
But once the door was shut, and they could have the conversation, Weston didn’t
know what he wanted to say. So he blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Why didn’t
you tell me before?”
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Mark stepped around him, settling onto the bed where he had his takeaway spread
out. “That I loved you?” He shrugged as he sprinkled more vinegar on his chips. “I
wanted to respect your choice. I thought I could live with it.”
“I can’t. I can’t just live knowing you love me and I…have never felt anything like
this.”
His chewing slowed, his eyes locked again on Wes. “And what is it you’re feeling?”
Weston smiled wryly. “Miserable. I don’t have any firsthand knowledge, but all the
music and movies make it sound like misery and love are closely connected.”
“Only for the one who’s in love, and only if he’s daft enough not to try and drown
his sorrows in lots and lots of meaningless shagging,” Mark joked. “Take it from the
expert.”
“Well, I don’t have the option of meaningless shagging. What else do you suggest?”
Mark’s smile faded. Pushing aside his dinner, he made room in front of him for Wes
to sit down and waited until Wes was settled. “You were the one who said he was sorry
the other night, but it should’ve been me who apologized. I shouldn’t have confused you
with the sex. Because that’s what’s got you all in a muddle, mate. And for fucking with
your head like that, I’m sorry.”
“I appreciate the apology. I wish you would have just…told me how you felt, or at
least, what you wanted. We could have talked about it. We could have talked about it a
long time ago.”
Mark cocked a single brow in an achingly familiar gesture. “Because you would’ve
welcomed that particular conversation with open arms? Right. I’m not completely daft,
you know. Your friendship has always been the most precious thing I have. I wasn’t
about to bugger that up.”
“You think talking to me about it would have buggered things between us? Mark,
I’ve wanted you since we were kids. I still remember the exact day I realized how…how
wonderful it would be to kiss you. I chose to become a priest because I thought…I didn’t
belong anywhere else.”
“That’s rubbish. You and I always belonged together.”
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“If you didn’t think talking to me would work, why did you wait so long to…get me
into bed?”
Mark ducked his eyes and reached for one of his chips. He chewed it slowly, clearly
debating what he was going to say, but Wes found it difficult not to watch the way his
mouth closed over the food, or the deliberate movement of his jaw and throat as he
swallowed.
“I may not get you and your God, but I do know what he means to you. Why you
need him. Can’t say I haven’t resented the hell out of him, but I love you too much to
ruin that for you.” He rubbed the back of his neck, still unable to meet Weston’s gaze.
“Guess I owe you an apology for that too. It’s not my place to tell you who you can or
can’t devote yourself to. I shouldn’t have gotten so greedy for you.”
Weston reached for his ring out of habit, but he no longer wore it. It didn’t offer him
the comfort or strength he needed.
“What if I said, in order to make myself right with God, I’d have to end our
friendship? I believe an important part of repentance is making whatever change is
necessary to avoid committing the same sin again.”
He couldn’t miss how Mark froze, or the visible quickening of his pulse at the
hollow of his throat. Its hypnotic throb drew his gaze downward, to the hint of chest
exposed by his open collar, how that chest had felt pressed to his.
Mark licked his lips. “Say what you want, but what happened was not a sin. If you
think that’s what it’s going to take, I know I can’t stop you. But I’m not going to agree
with it. Not with how wrong you might think it was, not with cutting me out. Because
nobody will love you as much as I do, Wes. Not even your God.”
“What happened was a sin. One I need to repent for if I want to keep my role in the
church.” Weston licked his lips. “But that’s the important part. If I want to. I’m not sure I
do. I’m not sure that’s the best place for me.”
Mark finally glanced over at him, eyes steady through his thick lashes. “London’s
got plenty of places for a man like you, you know.”
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“Yeah, I’ve heard that from a friend of mine who lives there.” Weston touched the
back of Mark’s hand, feeling stronger from the light contact. “He likes it quite a bit. And
I’ve missed him so much since he left. I was thinking it’d be easiest to relocate so I could
see him regularly.”
Mark turned his hand over, entwining their fingers. His palm was hotter than Wes
expected, but the caress of his thumb along the side of Weston’s sent icy shivers up his
arm. “Hey, if you want to save souls, there’s no place like London to give you all you
could ask for.” The glib response came with a twinkle in his eye, one that made Weston’s
heart leap from how normal and right it felt.
“I think I would be happy if I could just find a few souls to help.” He held Mark’s
fingers tightly, afraid to let go. “Another part of repentance is being truly penitent. I’m
not. I’m not sorry about what happened between us, Mark. I wanted it, and I’ve wanted
you for too long to pretend that it was just a fluke.”
“So come with me.” Mark tugged, pulling Wes off-balance in order to draw him
closer, breaking the inertia keeping them apart. “You’ve had your own sort of service to
satisfy, but now let me have mine. I can dedicate everything I am to making you happy,
do that for the rest of my life without ever regretting a single second of it. We’re good
together, Wes. We always have been. Don’t we deserve to finally have a shot at some
real happiness?”
Weston knew whatever he decided now, there would be no turning back. He was
going to choose his faith, or he was going to choose Mark. Once he made the decision, he
had to do it without regrets. Without resentment. Nothing else would be fair. He could
not happily serve God while internally railing at Him for all that had been lost. He could
not happily live with Mark while condemning him for forcing Weston away from his
calling. He had always felt he had a close relationship with the Father, and if there was
one thing Weston did believe about God, it was that He loved His children without
limitations or qualifications.
“Yes, I think we deserve to have that shot. I had a taste of being genuinely happy
when I woke up in your arms. I liked it.”
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Mark’s eyes widened, as if the last thing he’d expected to hear was Weston’s
concession. “I bloody loved it,” he murmured. “That night was the best of my life.”
For the first time in years, Weston felt shy beneath Mark’s gaze, and he averted his
eyes. “It was mine too. And it wasn’t just because of the sex, though the sex was very,
very good. It was because I was with you.” He reached up with his free hand, skimming
his fingers down Mark’s neck and along the ridge of his shoulder. “I want to fall asleep in
your arms again.”
“Just name the place and time. I’m all yours. That’s all I’ve ever been.”
“Here? Now?” Weston looked up and smiled. “Well, not right this second. Hopefully
the falling asleep will happen later.”
Mark let go of Weston’s fingers and cupped his face, holding him still. Tilting his
head, he shifted even closer, but the caress of his lips to Weston’s was more than a kiss.
His mouth quivered from how tightly he restrained his emotions, his hands caressing
along Weston’s jaw. He somehow realized that given the opportunity, Mark would
unleash everything—just as he’d done that last hour. Even more daunting was how much
he wanted him to.
Weston held the back of Mark’s neck, tenderly massaging his tense muscles as the
kiss deepened. Mark’s tongue slipped between his lips, but even as Weston opened
himself to the caress, he could still feel his friend holding himself back. Like he didn’t
dare push too far or take too much. Mark’s restraint only served to heighten Weston’s
desire, and he increased the pressure on the back of his neck. Mark lifted his head,
looking at Wes with vibrant, questioning eyes.
“You don’t have to kiss me like you’re worried about scaring me away,” Weston
murmured. “I want to know what you’re feeling.”
“Afraid.” The answer came without hesitation. “Not sure if I really am about to get
the only thing I ever wanted, or if you’re going to change your mind again when you
wake up.”
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Weston inclined his head. “I understand. I was a little afraid of that too. I know that
after my earlier behavior, you might not have good reason to believe me. But I…I do love
you, and I wouldn’t be here right now if I didn’t intend to stay.”
The tightening of Mark’s hands forced Wes to look up again. Mark’s gaze burned,
feverish bright though Wes knew the fire that raced through him had nothing to do with
sickness. He searched Weston’s for seconds upon seconds, until the glimmers that he’d
shared that fateful night returned. The emotion took light, banishing the slight tremor in
his hands, easing the tension from the muscles in his neck.
“I’m a demanding bugger,” Mark said, voice a little rough. “Say that to me now, and
I’m going to hold you to it.”
“I know. Despite what it may look like now, I’m actually very good at keeping my
word and respecting my commitments. Not that I think you’d hold leaving the church
against me.” Wes touched his forehead to Mark’s. “You are the only person who has ever
claimed to love me. I’m not ever going to turn my back on that.”
A sound that could have been a whimper came from Mark, but before Wes could
analyze it further, his mouth sealed to Weston’s, his tongue sweeping along the seam to
demand entrance.
The moment Wes opened to him, Mark wrapped his arms around his back to fuse
even more of their flesh together. The restraint that had characterized his earlier caress
was gone. In its place was the same voracious hunger that typified some of those dark,
predawn exchanges, the same ones that had laid both of them bare to desires neither
could control.
It was like stepping off the shore and into a strong current. Weston couldn’t resist the
pull, but he didn’t want to. He clung to Mark, responding in kind to each swipe of his
tongue, each moan, each clash of teeth. As the kiss continued, stretching between them
until Weston’s chest burned, he realized that the caress wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t
even be close to enough. He needed to feel Mark’s bare flesh and slick skin. Needed to
feel Mark above him and below him, inside him and around him.
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Mark didn’t stop the kiss so much as shift its locale. His soft mouth worked at the
corner of Weston’s lips, nibbling on his jaw, tasting his stubbled cheek. There were
moans, and shuddering breaths, and sounds that resembled his earlier whimper. His
fingers worked at pulling Weston’s shirt free from his pants until skin met skin, heat met
heat.
“Falling asleep with me means getting you tired first. Should put you to work.” He
bit at Weston’s ear, then let the tip of his tongue soothe it over. “Take our clothes off. Let
me see how gorgeous you are.”
Wes leaned back and pulled his T-shirt off before snagging Mark’s shirt and yanking
it over his head. The sight of Mark’s bare chest made Weston itch to touch him, but he
didn’t want to be distracted from his assigned task. He could touch Mark all afternoon
and all night once he was stripped of his clothes—and Wes fully intended to do just that.
He stood, toeing off his shoes while gently pushing Mark’s shoulder, forcing him to lie
down on the bed. His fingers felt sweaty and fat as he tugged at Mark’s jeans, but Wes
forgot all about that as soon as the pants were on the floor. His mouth watered at the sight
of Mark’s cock, memories of the last time he had his lips on that smooth skin suddenly
flooding him.
“God, you’re so…” Weston ran his palm down Mark’s hip. “I don’t think I’m the
gorgeous one here.”
The muscles twitched beneath his fingers. So did Mark’s cock.
“Come here.” Mark caught his hand and pulled so Weston stretched out beside him.
He immediately rolled onto his side and hooked a leg around his hips, rubbing their shafts
together. “Tell me what you want, pet. Anything. It’s yours.”
Weston ducked his head and experimentally ran the tip of his tongue over Mark’s
collarbone. They both sighed at the contact. “I…I think I want something that we didn’t
get a chance to do the other night. You said you wanted to feel me on top of you…”
Mark dipped his hand between their bodies and caressed the wet tip of Weston’s
arousal. “If memory serves, I got that.” His voice had taken on a light, teasing tone, to
match the dance of his fingers. “But let’s see. Something you didn’t get the other
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night…” His mouth brushed across Weston’s temple as seconds passed, then moved
lower to hover at his ear. “You want inside my ass, do you? Bury that sweet cock of
yours so deep in me it’ll take you days to get out? I’ve waited a long time to feel you
pounding into me. I’ll scream your name ’til I’m hoarse just to get it.”
Weston squirmed against Mark’s body, his groin and thighs tightening. Every time
he let his mind drift, it would inevitably fall on the memory of Mark’s mouth wrapped
around his cock. The pressure and heat had been exquisite, unlike anything else Weston
had ever experienced, and he knew it would be even better buried inside of Mark.
“Yes. I want that.” He caught Mark’s lips, letting his tongue explore the soft crease
of his mouth. “I want to feel all of you…again. For the first time. I don’t want to
be…caught up in other thoughts and distracted like I was before.”
“You have me.” Strong fingers curled around Weston’s shaft and squeezed. Wes
cried out against Mark’s mouth, and Mark chuckled. “Now imagine it tighter, and hotter,
and me begging you for more. And fucking me will be even better than that.”
Weston automatically thrust against Mark’s hand, encouraging him to pump his
wrist. It wouldn’t surprise Wes if fucking Mark was even better than anything Wes could
have possibly imagined at any point in his life.
“Tell me what I should do to get you ready.”
Mark’s lips continued to move along Weston’s cheek, hot and soft and hungry.
“Need to be slick for you. Stretched. Couple ways of going about that.” His mouth
latched onto Weston’s neck, sucking hard enough to make Wes arch. “I’ve got lube in my
suitcase, or you can use your mouth. Your choice.”
Weston dragged his hand down Mark’s ribs to the curve of his hip. His thumb
brushed against the line of Mark’s erection, and his mouth watered, his tongue feeling
heavy. He remembered the way Mark’s mouth felt when he prepared Wes to be fucked,
and he wanted to give Mark the same pleasure.
“My mouth. I intend to taste every inch of you sooner or later.”
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Mark groaned in agreement. Using his leg as guidance, he rolled onto his back,
taking Weston with him. They ended length to length, toe to toe, mouth to mouth, and
Mark didn’t hesitate to take Weston again in a kiss that left nothing to the imagination.
Mark spread his legs, resting his heels on the mattress, but his hands kneaded the taut
flesh of Weston’s ass. It was a prelude to what it would be like once they were fucking,
when Mark would grapple at Weston’s body in a desperate bid to make him speed up,
thrust harder, give him more. And Weston would. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for
Mark, no step he wouldn’t take. He should have realized long ago just how integral they
were to each other, how he needed the man currently stealing his every breath. He was
simply grateful he was finally taking the opportunity to fully embrace it.
Weston slid down Mark’s body, delighted by the way Mark’s heated skin felt against
his. It made sense for Mark to be the only person he was ever this close to physically,
because he had never been closer to anybody emotionally. He used his mouth to mark a
path from Mark’s throat to the top of his thigh, his tongue and teeth scraping against his
taut skin. Mark tasted salty and smelled like sweet soap.
His knees hit the floor and he leaned over the edge of the bed, his head between
Mark’s thighs. Gripping Mark’s shaft, he ran his tongue from the tip of his cock to his
balls.
Mark writhed at the contact. “Love how hot your mouth is. It drives me mad.”
He nuzzled Mark’s length with his cheek, letting his stubble scrape across the satiny
skin. “I doubt it’s hotter than anybody else’s.”
Clear pre-come appeared in the slit. “Feels hotter to me.”
Weston closed his lips around the head and sucked the salty fluid against his tongue.
He cupped Mark’s balls, squeezing them gently, before his fingers sought out his ass. He
ran his fingertips over the tight pucker, his stomach turning into a flurry of butterflies at
the thought of replacing his fingers with his tongue, and then his cock.
Mark squirmed against the contact, pushing against his hands. Weston ached from
how obviously Mark wanted this, wanted him. He tightened his lips, relishing the weight
against his tongue, and slowly pressed the tip of his finger into Mark’s tight passage.
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“Oh, yes…” Mark breathed. The muscles yielded instantly to the intrusion. It almost
felt like Mark melted into the bed. “Just like that, pet. Give it to me good.”
Weston tried to imagine that tight heat wrapped around his cock, but he couldn’t
quite comprehend it. He knew nothing he could imagine would be like the reality of
actually fucking Mark. He continued to pump his wrist as his lips slid down Mark’s shaft.
Mark’s cock filled Weston’s mouth until the tip brushed against the back of his throat,
and then he eased back. His own ass clenched at the thought of Mark’s length inside of
him, and he knew he’d be making his own request before the end of the night.
Mark’s cock slipped from his mouth, the wet tip brushing against his cheek as he
moved lower. He pulled Mark’s sac between his lips, moaning softly at the new taste and
texture.
A hand settled on the back of his head. Mark didn’t speak, but his fingers caressed
Weston’s scalp, tangling lightly with his hair, tickling over his forehead. The only sound
Mark made came when Weston released his balls, and then it was just a faint sigh as Wes
licked over the soft skin behind the sac.
His heart pounded. It was odd to be aware of how his mouth watered for this, but as
he traced a path lower, pulling his hand free in order to grip Mark’s thigh and spread him
even wider, he knew there was nothing else he wanted more right now. He took a deep
breath, nuzzling his nose into Mark’s balls. Mark continued to touch him, even when he
ran the flat of his tongue over the opening.
Weston could not believe he was doing this. He couldn’t believe he was in this
position with anybody, let alone Mark. Even in his secret, fevered fantasies, he had never
considered this. He certainly never imagined the low, hungry groans that grew into shouts
as Weston continued to lap at the tight muscle. The shouts spurred him to continue. He
pushed past the ring of muscle with the tip of his tongue, sighing as Mark’s fingers curled
in his hair.
Mark helped his inexperience. He pushed to meet Weston’s stroke, pulled at his head
in order to get him deeper. His legs spread even wider. The second, third, fourth thrusts
of his tongue were all easier, deeper, lasting for seconds longer. Weston remembered the
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different sensations from when Mark had done this, but when he deliberately let his teeth
catch on the forbidden flesh, the reaction that followed was far more fervent than he
anticipated.
“Fuck!” Mark’s hips snapped up from the bed, rising to drive against Weston’s
mouth. It was the promise of what would come when it wasn’t his tongue inside Mark’s
hole. When he finally got his cock in there, Mark would react the same exact way,
moving to meet every one of Weston’s strokes.
Weston kept one hand on Mark, caressing his thighs and balls, and reached for his
own cock with the other. He gripped himself tightly, stroking his shaft with each thrust of
his tongue. Mark continued to push back against his mouth, sometimes moaning,
sometimes shouting. Each sound was intoxicating and went directly to Weston’s cock. He
was ready to be inside Mark, but now that Wes knew how to make him crazy, he didn’t
want to stop.
Sealing his mouth over the opening provoked the strongest response.
Mark yanked on his hair, driving Weston’s nose into his balls, and held him, his
body rigid where it bowed away from the bed. For a second Wes wondered if it was
possible for Mark to come just from this, but the quivering in the thighs near his cheeks
testified to how tightly Mark clutched at his self-restraint.
“Need you.” The words choked from his throat. “God, Wes, haven’t ever needed
anyone like this before.”
Weston needed him too. He slowly pulled away from Mark’s body, unable to
straighten before kissing Mark’s inner thigh, his balls, the base of his shaft and the tip of
his cock. Mark had mentioned the lube was in his suitcase, and Wes assumed that meant
the condoms were there too. He left Mark on the bed with difficulty, then turned to the
suitcase resting on the floor. His heart twisted at the sight—it was too easy to believe that
Mark would have left and stayed gone forever.
“Where in the suitcase?”
“Black toiletry bag. Left side.”
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His desire-darkened eyes rested heavily on Weston as he took out the box of
condoms and lube. He felt the dark gaze as he tore a packet from the strip, and even more
when he set the others aside. His hands shook under their weight as he tried to juggle
both the lube and the condom, but then Mark was right there, gently taking the foil away
in order to tear it open himself.
“I used to have all these plans,” Mark mused. He gripped the base of Weston’s cock
to hold it steady, leaning in to lick over the head once before rolling the condom down its
length. “Every time you crashed at my place, I dreamed about how I could wake you up
with a blowjob. I figured if I got you worked up that way first, getting you to fuck me
would be a walk in the park.”
Weston couldn’t have said for sure if Mark’s plan would have worked, but he
thought it had a good chance. Arousal and desire would have superseded common sense
and confusion at finding Mark’s mouth wrapped around his cock. But hypotheticals and
fantasies didn’t matter when faced with the reality of Mark spreading lube over the
condom, his touch both hot and cool through the thin latex.
“What if I don’t do it right?” Weston asked, only half-joking.
The glance Mark shot him through his lashes was far more serious than Weston’s
tone had merited. “You’ve already done it right just by being here.” Gently, he gripped
Weston’s shaft and pulled as he lay back down, forcing Wes to come with him. “Now
just get this gorgeous cock inside me so we’re both happy.”
Wes ran his fingers down his shaft, coating them in the lube. He spread the slick lube
around Mark’s hole, remembering how it felt the first time Mark pushed into him. He
knew this wasn’t Mark’s first time, but Weston wasn’t sure if it ever got easier. Either
way, he didn’t want to cause Mark any discomfort. Once he felt slick enough, Wes
positioned his cock at the clenched muscle and took a deep breath.
Mark opened his mouth, perhaps to offer more encouragement, but Weston didn’t
need to hear it. He gripped Mark’s knees and pushed forward, breaking past the barrier
and sinking into Mark’s willing body.
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Mark hadn’t lied. If anything, he’d undersold himself. Every inch felt like a molten
vise around his prick, yielding in all the right spots as he pressed more and more into his
waiting passage. Mark covered Weston’s hands with his own, as if to help him, but his
fingers shook and his palms perspired, making it more than clear how this affected him.
When Weston felt his balls brush against flaming skin, both of them exhaled at the
same time.
“Even better than I ever imagined,” Mark whispered. He squeezed, and Weston
groaned at the added constriction around his cock. “You okay?”
Yes. No. Yes. Weston could only nod as he began to ease back. He wanted the
friction, and his body was telling him to move, but he didn’t want to separate himself
from Mark. He began shifting his hips, rocking into Mark’s body in short, shallow
strokes. It wasn’t easy to find a steady rhythm, but Mark helped, moving against him
until Wes followed his lead. His brain shut down, and he was only focused on one
thing—on the way Mark thrummed around him.
It amazed him what Mark could do with his body. Weston hadn’t considered all the
muscles that fucking might call to use, or that Mark would be an expert at manipulating
all of them. He beguiled with each squeeze of his ass, seduced with each flex of his
fingers. Fire remained in the wake of stolen caresses, so when he finally tugged Weston
closer, forcing him to stretch out on top as he’d professed wanting so badly, Wes was
almost grateful for more flesh to share the heat with.
Mark wrapped his legs around Weston’s hips, his mouth grazing a kiss along his
shoulder to his neck. “Love you so much, you know. Always have, always will.”
Weston’s stomach twisted into a tight knot, and his chest felt heavy. Mark filled his
senses; the sight of his dear, familiar face, the smell of his skin and the hotel shampoo in
his hair, his words echoing through Weston’s body, the millions of points of contact
between their flesh, and the sweet taste of Mark’s mouth when Weston claimed his lips.
This was right. Weston knew it.
“Love you too. More than…more than anything.”
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The shuddering sigh accompanied a tightening of Mark’s arms and legs. There was
no room for any more words, not with Mark fusing their mouths together, not with the
increasingly desperate tilt of his hips to meet Weston’s drives. It trapped Mark’s cock
between their bodies, but though Wes wanted to feel him come, the effort in letting him
go long enough in order to fist his length was too great.
But there were other ways to make it happen.
Now that he had a rhythm going, he began to experiment with his angle. First he
moved higher. Two strokes later, he went lower. He rolled his hips. He twisted Mark
slightly sideways.
The shouts he’d been looking for came with a stroke he drove more downward.
Mark tore away from his mouth, his head slamming back against the pillow. For a
second, Wes faltered, but the needy claw of fingers at his hips spurred him to begin.
“Don’t shift again, don’t you bloody stop,” Mark begged.
“I won’t,” Weston panted. “I won’t, I won’t. I promise.”
He thrust into Mark again, and was rewarded with another shout. He shuttled into
Mark’s body, not deviating from the angle or the tempo. Each time he sheathed himself,
Mark cried out, and the tension built beneath Weston’s flesh. He wanted to move faster
and faster until they both ignited, but Mark’s words flashed through his mind. Don’t stop.
Don’t stop.
“God…Mark…I can’t…” His lips caught Mark’s, and he moaned into his mouth. “I
can’t…take much more.”
“Me neither…so close, pet…”
The last was strangled by another shout, which came with another clench of his ass.
With so much pressure both inside and out, Weston couldn’t refrain from speeding up, in
spite of his earlier resolve. He needed this. Mark needed it. They both needed the release
the increased friction could give.
He felt Mark’s orgasm hit a split second before it happened.
Mark’s nails dug into his back, his hole clamping down around Weston’s cock. He
screamed into the kiss, and in the next breath, hot fluid splattered across their torsos.
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Weston couldn’t imagine anything more fundamentally satisfying than feeling the
evidence of Mark’s pleasure against his skin. Everything about Mark’s body was perfect
in that moment. Wes paused for a fraction of a moment, his skin feeling tight and hot, and
lifted his head to watch Mark’s expressive face, committing it to memory. The moment
was shattered with a harsh shout from Weston’s own throat, and then he slammed
forward and his cock jerked hard against Mark’s walls.
Mark claimed his mouth long before his scream died. They clung to each other, both
trembling, while the rush buffeting through Weston slowly ebbed. He couldn’t breathe.
He didn’t care. He kept on kissing Mark until his lips felt bruised and his head throbbed.
“Think of how good it’ll be to have that every night,” Mark said softly.
Weston ghosted his fingers over Mark’s brow. “I have been. But I’ve been thinking
about how good other things will be too.”
Mark lifted a single brow. “Not while we were shagging, I hope. Not supposed to be
able to think at all if we’re doing it right.”
Wes smiled. “No, not while we were shagging.” He rolled onto his back and
carefully pulled the condom from his length. “I meant earlier. Before I came over.”
Mark didn’t move. He seemed perfectly content to stay there and watch him with
heavy-lidded eyes. Sated, actually. “Is that what changed your mind then?”
Weston leaned off the bed and tossed the condom in the bin, then rolled back to fold
his arms around Mark. He wanted to be as close to Mark as possible, for as long as
possible. “I thought about how good it would be to share a whole lifetime with my best
friend.”
Before he’d finished speaking, Mark turned to nestle into his embrace. “I like the
sound of that. What happened to your ring?”
“I put it away.”
“Why? You loved that ring.”
“I love you more.” Weston paused. “I wish I had it here. I want to give it to you.”
“Why? I don’t need to ward off evil spirits.”
“Think of it as a promise. You’re my new lucky charm.”
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Weston caught the burn in Mark’s gaze as he leaned in to take his mouth. “You’ve
got my word, I’ll never do anything to make you regret it.”
Nothing had ever felt as right as Mark’s mouth. Wes closed his eyes, lost in the
moment, infused with Mark’s love. He had never felt anything as real, as concrete, as
undeniable. He knew he wouldn’t regret this decision.
Not as long as Mark kissed him like that every day for the rest of their lives.
About the Author
Jamie Craig is the sum of two wholes: erotica writers Pepper Espinoza and Vivien
Dean. Pepper has been writing since she was a child, but began her professional writing
career in 2005 and now writes full time as well as attending graduate school and working
toward a Masters in British and American Literature. A former resident of Los Angeles,
she now lives in Utah. Vivien, the daughter of an author and sportswriter, also began
writing at an early age, but eventually explored storytelling through acting and film
production before coming back to prose. Vivien, her British husband and two children
live in Northern California.
To learn more about Jamie Craig, please visit
. Send an email
to Jamie at
Look for these titles by Jamie Craig
Now Available:
Liaisons in Jubilee
Craving Kismet
Trinity Broken
A Hidden Beauty
Querida
No Fear in Love
Love…or freedom?
If All the Sand Were Pearl
© 2008 Pepper Espinoza
A Calling of Souls story.
As a youngest son, Jag Martin has eagerly walked a life-long path toward the
priesthood. Then his once-great family falters under a mountain of debt. Their only
hope—marry Jag off to an appropriately wealthy suitor.
Brace Rivers desperately wants more than just a short fling. However, his economic
and political reality makes finding an appropriate male partner next to impossible. When
the Martin family offers Jag’s hand, it’s a dream come true. But his suspicions mount that
the young man is being forced into an unwanted marriage.
Compassion wins out over loneliness, and Brace offers Jag a pearl ring valuable
enough to both save his family’s fortunes and give him freedom. There’s just one thing
Brace wants in return—twenty-four hours together.
Brace can only pray it’s long enough to convince Jag that a life together is worth
more than all the pearls in the sea.
Warning: Explicit M/M content, use of toys, outdoor sex.
Enjoy the following excerpt for If All the Sand Were Pearl:
Jag shaved the last patch of hair away then reached for one of the warm towels. He
dabbed the towel against Brace’s cheeks, wiping away the lather. Jag caught his breath as
he pulled the towel away, and his cock jerked again. Without speaking, he cupped his
betrothed’s face and tilted his head.
He didn’t seek out Brace’s mouth immediately. He skimmed his lips across his upper
lip, his cheeks and jaw. Each caress was soft and thin, the barest brush of contact
connecting them. Brace held still, his muscles tense, holding his breath. Even his thumb
stilled. Jag kissed his brow, and his eyes fluttered shut, allowing Jag the chance to kiss
each of his eyelids.
Jag didn’t quite understand why, but the longer he teased Brace with his mouth, the
harder he got. His cock jutted between them, the tip brushing against Brace’s stomach.
As soon as his mouth drifted closer to Brace’s again, Brace turned his head and caught
Jag’s lips. Brace traced his bottom lip with his tongue, seeking the access that Jag wanted
to grant. Jag parted his lips, welcoming Brace’s caress.
The first kiss they had shared had made Jag’s head spin. The kiss they had shared
while Brace was inside of him had made him melt. This kiss was a curious combination.
The back of his neck prickled, and so did his palms, and lips, and the bottoms of his feet.
In a way, it was like kissing an entirely new person. Before, the bristly whiskers had
scratched against his chin, providing a contrast to Brace’s soft, probing tongue. But now
there was nothing but smooth skin and a demanding mouth, and Jag didn’t know how he
was going to keep his feet.
Brace put a hand up to his face once the kiss ended, rubbing his cheek with a nod of
satisfaction. “Better than my barber usually does it.”
“I think I bring a little something extra to the work.”
“You do. A certain passion that the barber lacks.”
Jag’s lips were still close to Brace’s, and each word was a warm puff of breath
against his face. “Not everybody can be as passionate as I am.”
Brace teased his mouth with his tongue, licking his bottom lip before drawing it
between his teeth. He nipped at the soft skin playfully before deepening the caress. If
there was one thing Jag had learned about Brace, it was that the man liked to kiss. And he
was good at it. Jag didn’t have anybody to compare him to, but he was still certain that
Brace had to be an expert. Only a man of great learning and skill could reduce him to
such an incoherent mess so quickly.
When Brace broke the kiss, Jag sank to his knees. Partly because he was weakened.
Partly because he was eager to explore other parts of Brace’s body. He didn’t know if he
could be so bold with anybody else, but Brace so obviously appreciated everything Jag
did. Jag had never felt so confident about something so alien to him.
Brace rested one hand on top of Jag’s head, but he didn’t apply any pressure, or try
to guide Jag towards anything. Jag trailed hard, sloppy kisses down Brace’s chest and
over his stomach. His skin radiated warmth, and Jag thought he could catch a trace of the
scent of green leaves and clover lingering on his body.
Jag looked up and blinked. “Your horses.”
“What?”
“That’s why you’re tan. That’s where you spend your time. In the stables, with your
horses.”
Brace nodded. “It’s spring. I’ve been training them.”
Jag ran his fingers over Brace’s muscles with new appreciation. “Could you show
me how to do that?”
“Train horses?”
“Yes.”
“If that’s what you’d like. I spend a lot of time in the spring and summer with the
horses. I rarely even return home during those months. I would appreciate the company.”
Jag smiled, trying to imagine what his own skin would smell like if he were
surrounded by horses and clover and sunshine. Resolving to ask more questions about it
later, Jag returned to his exploration. Brace’s stomach was hard and flat, and the line
from his hip to his groin was well defined. Jag followed it with his tongue until he
reached Brace’s groin. His tight hair tickled Jag’s chin and nose, and here he didn’t smell
like clover. It was a musky, darker smell, and it triggered something in the back of Jag’s
mind. Something like hunger, only deeper.
He dragged his mouth over the top of Brace’s erection, surprised by how smooth and
soft his skin was. He tasted salty, but otherwise Jag mostly tasted soap. Until he reached
the crown. There the texture of the skin changed, and Jag ran the flat of his tongue over it
again and again, caught up in the differences, until Brace’s hand tightened on the back of
his head.
“Goddess, Jag…”
Jag looked up from beneath his lashes and smiled shyly. “Was that not okay?”
“No,” Brace said quickly. “No. It’s good. Just…I’m very sensitive.”
Jag ducked his eyes. He moved from the flat top of the crown to the tip. His
betrothed’s slit was already leaking a little bit, and Jag swiped his tongue over the slick
skin. Brace hissed, his fingers flexing against Jag’s skull. Jag didn’t know if Brace
wanted him to move faster, or if he was pleased with the pace. And he didn’t understand
how he could get so much satisfaction from this act. But his flesh was warm, his stomach
tied in pleasant knots, and his groin was tight. He gripped Brace’s cock with one hand
and wrapped the other around his own erection and began to stroke them both in an easy
rhythm.
“Oh…don’t stop. Please. Just keep doing that.”
The only man he can trust is the killer he can’t stop thinking about.
Walk Among Us
© 2008 Vivien Dean
A Calling of Souls story.
As an artist in New York City, Calvin Shumacher finally has the life he’s always
wanted. In fact, only one thing can get him to come back to Illinois—his father’s funeral.
All he wants is to bury his dad and hightail it back to New York, but a sniper at the
graveyard puts those plans on indefinite hold.
So does Matthew Soto. The gorgeous gunman who speaks of monsters wearing
human faces. And predicts there won’t be a body for police to find.
Calvin doesn’t know what to think when Matthew claims he didn’t do anything
wrong. All he knows is that this man’s haunted eyes seem to pierce right into his soul.
But as each of Matthew’s assertions comes true, Calvin slowly realizes this killer
could be the only thing standing between him and an unspeakable evil…
Warning: Contains explicit m/m sex, violence, and an ex-priest wondering how he
can change the world.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Walk Among Us:
He never would have found the house on his own. Maybe if his rental had GPS in it,
he could have done it. But the directions Matthew dictated to him over the phone had him
pulling off the highway ten minutes outside of Watson Park, and then winding down a
two-lane road with tall trees on both sides. Dusk stole what little sunlight filtered through
the branches. By the time he found the driveway, the partly cloudy sky was nearly pitch
black.
Matthew lived in a two-story farmhouse, complete with small barn set further back
on the property. The porch light was on, illuminating the porch that ran the length of the
house. Screens protected it from the night bugs, but it was the figure sitting on the top
step that Calvin noticed as he bounced up the dirt drive.
His forearms rested on his knees, and his obsidian gaze tracked the car’s path as it
came to a stop. Matthew didn’t stand when Calvin got out, and he didn’t rise as he
approached.
“The body’s gone.” Calvin didn’t bother with a greeting. “Just like you said.”
“Did you doubt me?”
“How was I supposed to believe you?”
The cant of his mouth might have been a trick of the light. “It’s funny how an artist
can find faith in beauty, but not in the word.”
An odd choice of phrase, Calvin thought. But it didn’t change the fact that Matthew
hadn’t answered his question.
“The police never identified him. How did you know that?”
“I’ve already answered these questions. Asking me again isn’t going to change what
I said.”
When Matthew rose and turned to go back into the house, Calvin darted forward and
grabbed his arm. He yanked him back, forcing their eyes to meet, but didn’t let go, even
when he felt just how hard the muscle was within his grip.
“You said he wasn’t human. A monster. Tell me what that means and I’ll leave you
alone.”
The smile this time was no illusion. “That’s not exactly incentive,” Matthew said
softly. “I like your company.”
Though the other man hadn’t moved, Calvin felt the pressure of a foot against his
own, a ghost of a memory taking form without any additional contact. “Then let’s try
this. Tell me what that means and I’ll stay.”
The offer took Matthew by surprise. His nostrils flared, and his gaze ducked to the
hold Calvin still maintained on his arm. Calvin thought that might be it, that he’d pushed
too far and Matthew was going to either snap or make it more than necessary for him to
leave.
Neither happened.
“What it means is exactly what I said. There’s no body because it never really
existed. The monsters I mentioned are literal, not metaphorical.”
The chilly night cut into Calvin’s lungs with each breath, but it wasn’t enough to
make him retreat to the warmth of his car. Neither was the answer that wasn’t really an
answer.
“I saw it,” he argued. “We all saw it. The police hauled it away.”
“But you didn’t know it. Nobody recognized him.”
“And you’re saying you did?”
“I’m saying…” His voice drifted away, his gaze softening as he weighed his words.
Matthew took a deep breath and looked off into the darkness, focused on something else,
something that wasn’t Calvin. “I see things that aren’t human. Demons. Almost every
time I get in a crowd of more than a handful of people. Like yesterday.”
Calvin shook his head. “I don’t believe in demons.”
“No, of course you don’t.” The eyes that swiveled back to meet his were soft and
sad. “You’re an artist. You see shapes. Forms. Color. You believe in beauty, not the
blackness that walks among us. You’re lucky that way.”
“You make your own luck.”
“Really? You don’t think what you have is a gift?”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with luck.”
“But it does. How many people do you think see the world the way you do? You
look around, and you see your own art.” A smile haunted his mouth. “I’d bet you even
look at me and don’t see what’s real.”
Calvin swallowed against the tightness of his throat. That sense of being transparent
Matthew had evoked at the diner was back. Added to the flush of desire that refused to go
away, it left him struggling to maintain his composure.
“Can you even imagine something not nearly as pleasant?” Matthew continued.
“What if you saw evil coalesce into something tangible, something that looked real but
wasn’t? Something that wore a human face but fed on our grief until it destroyed
everything it touched. Hatred. Death. The destruction of everything good and decent
about the world we walk in. When I talk about monsters, about evil, that’s what I mean.
Demons.” He sucked in a deep breath. “You might see a blank canvas, waiting for you to
fill it, but that’s what I see, every single day.”
He spoke with the low, fervent passion of a believer. Calvin had heard many such
speeches from others, though the topic might vary. Two days earlier, he would have
walked away from the crazy and not looked back.
He still should. Because crazy had a way of infecting when you least expected it to.
Two days ago, he’d been a different man. He hadn’t been touched by this murder/not
a murder. He hadn’t yet watched his father get lowered into the ground. He hadn’t stared
into eyes that looked like they’d witnessed hell itself.
Hell itself. Demons. Walking among us.
A man who didn’t see shapes and forms and colors that might not be there wouldn’t
believe him.
This man wasn’t sure that he did anyway.
But he wanted to.
It’s a long way back to happily ever after.
Regularly Scheduled Life
© 2008 K.A. Mitchell
Sean and Kyle have enjoyed six perfect years of what their friends called a
“disgustingly happy” relationship. But what happens one sunny Tuesday morning in
October might be more than even the most loving couple can survive.
When the bell rings that morning in chemistry teacher Sean Farnham’s first-period
class, a terrifying sound fills the halls—gunshots. Without considering the consequences,
Sean runs to tackle the shooter, sustaining a bullet wound to his leg. Despite his actions,
he is unable to save the lives of the principal and two students.
Architect Kyle DeRusso hears about the shooting on the radio, and in the flash of an
instant finds his life irrevocably altered. Everything—especially his heart—hangs
suspended in a nightmare until he finds out Sean is alive. It doesn’t matter that Sean will
be left with a permanent limp. Kyle’s just relieved the worst is over.
Or is it? Putting that day behind them isn’t as simple as it sounds. As Sean struggles
to make something positive out of the tragedy, Kyle fights to save their relationship from
the dangers of publicity—and Sean’s unwillingness to face how the crisis has changed
him.
Warning: This book contains adults doing adult things, like using adult language
and having hot m/m sex in various positions and on various furnishings. It might also
cause the more tender-hearted adult to reach for a tissue or two.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Regularly Scheduled Life:
The cut-off orgasm pooled like lead in his balls, sending a spike into his legs.
With a grimace he shifted onto his side and looked at Sean, or the back of Sean’s
head. It was Sean’s first night back in their bed after four nights on the recliner. No
wonder he’d starred in Kyle’s dream.
Sean rolled onto his back and Kyle breathed in his lover’s sleep-warm skin, unable to
resist dropping a kiss on his shoulder.
Kyle stroked his cock until the pain of frustration melted back into pleasure. Holding
his breath only made the slide of skin louder, and Sean shifted again with a sleepy grunt.
Clenching his teeth to hold in a groan, Kyle rolled away. Jerking off in bed next to
Sean wasn’t going to work. If Sean woke up, he’d feel like he had to do something about
it, and Kyle didn’t want him messing up his leg and making himself more uncomfortable.
Kyle clambered off the bed and shuffled into the bathroom, his dick slapping against
his stomach despite the fact that it felt like it weighed fifty pounds. He jumped under the
shower as soon as the spray was warm enough and reached for the soap and a memory
that never failed to get him off in a hurry.
August two years ago—the August they’d gone to Rehoboth Beach.
Sun darkened the freckles across Sean’s broad shoulders and the salt made his hair
stand up in spikes as he turned over and winked up at Kyle from their beach blanket.
“Stop looking at me like that. I’m getting hard.”
Kyle blinked and looked out at the sunlight on the waves.
“Too late.” Sean rolled to his feet. “C’mon.”
“It’s not even noon.”
“If you wanted to stay on the beach you shouldn’t have looked at me like that.
Christ. I’m not going to make it.”
Their guesthouse was right off the beach, but it still seemed damned far away with
Sean shooting looks over his shoulder every few feet. When they hit the street, Sean
hauled him in for a deep hard kiss.
“Feel what you did to me? What are you going to do about it?” Sean’s tongue
stroked the side of Kyle’s neck toward his ear, and Kyle was having trouble remembering
how to walk.
A quick rinse under the outdoor shower and they hit the gate to the back stairs still
tangled, Sean’s tongue deep in Kyle’s throat, his hands on Kyle’s hips to grind them
together.
Another thrust of Sean’s tongue and that immediate need hit Kyle like a punch to the
gut. Kyle pressed Sean into the whitewashed boards just under the stairs leading up to
their room, body pounding with a don’t-care-where urgency. He couldn’t remember the
last time they’d had sex outdoors, and while Sean always made Kyle hot enough to burn
a hole through the mattress, Kyle had never seen his lover this needy, this desperate.
Sliding his hands up Sean’s wet chest, he dropped to his knees. He licked the line of hair
under Sean’s navel, thumbs flicking across Sean’s nipples.
Sean rocked his hips, his cock bumping Kyle’s chin. “C’mon. Suck me now.”
Strong fingers tugged on Kyle’s hair.
Breathing in the salt, sun and sweat on the skin next to his lips, Kyle pulled Sean’s
swim trunks down far enough to free his cock.
“Now,” Sean urged, tugging Kyle’s head forward.
Kyle licked his lips and wrapped them around the head, stroking with his tongue.
Sean groaned and thrust farther into Kyle’s mouth, pushing his way to the back of Kyle’s
throat. Kyle swallowed and tried to catch his breath as Sean pressed in again, fucking his
mouth.
“Suck me, please, Kyle.”
If he’d had breath—and hadn’t had a mouth full of cock—Kyle would have joked,
“Trying to, chulo,” but he was glad he couldn’t. He didn’t want anything to break the
spell of Sean like this, so desperate for him that they couldn’t even make it back to the
room.
He wanted to open his mouth, his throat, take Sean deeper than he’d ever done, suck
him until he sucked Sean’s spine out through the cock that filled his mouth. He had the
rhythm now, a little sloppier than he wanted, but Sean was snapping his hips forward too
fast for technique. Precome splashed salty slick against the roof of his mouth.
I got you, papi, he thought.
His hands gripped Sean’s hips, not to slow Sean’s thrusts but for balance. Kyle’s
fingers brushed the rough spot just above Sean’s hip, a sand burn from a wipeout body
surfing yesterday. Kyle shifted his hold.
“Want more, God. Gotta fuck you.” Sean yanked on Kyle’s hair hard enough to sting
and pulled him off.
That would not be a problem at all. “Okay.” Kyle rocked back and pushed to his feet,
taking a few unsteady steps toward the stairs.
Sean grabbed him from behind, pushing him to his knees on the first stair tread.
“Now.”
Kyle’s dick had been a hot spike trapped in the mesh of his swim trunks. With Sean
yanking his trunks down over his ass as he pressed him forward onto the stairs, it felt like
someone lit the tip on fire.
“Jesus, here?”
“Fuck yeah.”
Sean had Kyle’s trunks off one leg, enough to push Kyle’s knees apart on the step.
Kyle braced his forearms on another step. He tried not to think about the fact that anyone
could come around to the back of the building—or just walk out on the porch of the
house next door. Tried not to think about the absence of lube or the presence of sand.
Sean’s mouth found that spot under his ear. Kyle’s back arched and his thoughts blurred,
forgetting everything but the press of that body into his.
“Still not fucking around?” Since they stopped using condoms last year, they asked
each other that every time as a joke, but the way Sean growled it now, like he’d tear him
apart if Kyle said yes, sent another impossible pulse of blood to his dick.
“No.”
“Good. Suck on my fingers, babe.”
They really were going to do it here, quick and dirty like a couple of teenagers, a fact
that scared Kyle as much as it turned him on.
He opened his mouth for two fingers, soaking them with all the spit he could
manage.
“That’s it, babe.”
Kyle’s blood pumped hot and thick, in his cock, in his ass, heat he could feel in his
belly, his spine, the tips of his ears.
Sean yanked his fingers free, and Kyle braced himself with a tight grip around the
stair tread under his fingers, his eyes staring at the ground between the open slats of the
stairs, at the brown and white pebbles that filled the backyard.
Sean’s teeth sank into the back of Kyle’s neck just as those fingers slammed into his
body. The first penetration always burned, and going hard and fast like this had Kyle
clenching his teeth against a groan of protest. But Kyle was so turned on the sting turned
sweet in a few thrusts, and he rocked back.
Sean’s fingers left him as roughly as they’d gone in. Kyle glanced back over his
shoulder, trying to see some trace of his usually playful lover in Sean’s face. Sean eyes
were alight with an intent and need that kicked Kyle’s own hunger out of control.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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