“A deal’s a deal. You wouldn’t be worming your way out if you’d lost. Not that I’d let you.”
“I don’t want you to do it because you lost the game.”
Archer gave him a slow smile that almost made Conrad come on the spot. “Oh I’m not doing it because I lost the game.”
“When did you last give someone a blowjob?” Conrad asked.
“Why?”
“I’m curious.”
Archer sighed. “I can’t remember.”
“That long ago?” Conrad pressed himself back into the couch. “Look. This is a bad idea. You don’t want to do it. That’s fine.”
“Did I say I didn’t want to?” Archer stared straight at him, his eyes glittering.
“You didn’t say you did.” Like that isn’t needy, you twat?
Archer put his arms on either side of Conrad’s legs and leaned forward until his chest bumped Conrad’s knees. “You won. I give you a blowjob. We agreed. You’re a lawyer. We had a verbal contract. You don’t want it, negotiate your way out of it. You could give me one instead.”
Conrad hesitated. He didn’t understand the dynamics of what was happening, but his cock did and the ever-hopeful-for-sex part of his brain definitely did.
“I want you to suck me off,” Conrad said.
Archer frowned. “I thought I was blowing?”
Conrad rolled his eyes. “You can do that too. Pretty much anything you can do with your mouth will be fine. Except biting.”
Archer unbuttoned and unzipped him and Conrad fought to stop his knees shaking. His cock had tented his shorts but Archer stared into his face as he spread his hand over Conrad’s groin. Conrad could hear himself breathing heavily, tried to do it more quietly and failed. He dug his fingers into the couch.
“When did you last get a blowjob?” Archer asked.
“Over a year ago.” Fourteen months, one week and four days, but he managed to keep that detail in his head. Thank God.
“When did you last give a blowjob?” Archer asked.
“Same night.” His face had been buried in Malachi’s crotch and Malachi’s buried in his.
Archer wrapped his hands around the waist of Conrad’s pants. “Lift up.”
Conrad pushed himself up and Archer dragged his pants and shorts down to bunch around his ankles. When he shoved up Conrad’s T-shirt, Conrad pulled it off. Archer stared at his cock and Conrad’s gaze dropped in case it had turned into the dick from hell. No, looks fine. The veins were dark and swollen, and a shiny pearl of pre-come had formed at the slit. Conrad could feel the faint wash of air over his groin as Archer exhaled and his cock twitched.
“Feel me blow?” Archer asked.
“Yeah, Moby Dick.”
Archer laughed. “You’re a funny guy.”
Conrad hadn’t ever thought of himself as funny. Shit, my balls are aching already. Would Archer suck those? Blow on them? Would he do what he asked him? Was this a guy who’d take orders?
Archer’s gaze slid up over Conrad’s belly, his chest, across to the tight nubs of his nipples that went even tighter at the attention, and up to his face.
“You don’t have—” The words froze in Conrad’s throat when he saw Archer frown.
“Shut the fuck up.”
The number of times he’d said that to Malachi.
Archer turned his hand and trailed one fingernail from Conrad’s throat down the center of his chest. Invisible flames licked Conrad’s groin.
“Sure you know what to do?” Conrad asked. How long since he’s done this?
“I think I can work it out.”
“If—”
Another glare closed Conrad’s mouth. “Do I need to use a gag?”
“You’re not going to fucking gag me.”
“One more word and I will. Be a shame though. I like looking at your mouth, imagining those lips around my cock.”
Archer wrapped a finger and thumb around the top of Conrad’s dick and Conrad inhaled sharply. One drag of a firm hand to roll the foreskin all the way back from the head, and Conrad’s balls tingled.
“Not sure I can hold back groans and moans and grunts,” Conrad muttered. “I might even yelp. Though if you think you hear a whimper, you’re mistaken.”
Archer’s eyes darkened. “Does nothing shut you up?” He leaned forward and trailed his tongue down the crease of Conrad’s groin. The sensation of a hot mouth and stubbled cheek made Conrad’s balls ache.
“Jesus,” Conrad whispered and slumped back.
“He’s not here at the moment. And I’m not into threesomes.”
Archer tightened his grip at the base of Conrad’s cock and pressed down on his balls. He slowly dragged his other hand up the length of Conrad’s dick. Then he did it again. The same direction over and over until Conrad’s fists clenched on the couch, his toes curled in his shoes and goose bumps swarmed over his body like ants. At this rate he was going to come before Archer even had him in his mouth.
Conrad looked at Archer’s face and found him staring up at him. Without breaking his gaze, Archer wrapped his mouth around the top of Conrad’s shaft and pressed his lips into the curve beneath.
“Oh yeah. There,” Conrad whispered.
When Archer circled his tongue around the sensitive cockhead and dipped into the slit, Conrad clenched his butt cheeks and only just held in his whimper.
“More,” he said with a low moan. He couldn’t stop that slipping out.
“Stop giving me orders.”
Archer tightened his hold at the root and worked the tip. Long and hard pulls, short and sweet sucks, changing the rhythm just enough to drive Conrad insane.
“Harder,” Conrad gasped.
“One more word and I’ll stop.”
Conrad was used to giving Malachi instructions. He should have known there was no point trying to tell Archer to do anything.
His stomach muscles tensed as he fought to keep himself in check and his mouth shut. Archer raked his teeth down the length of his dick and Conrad sucked back a cry. Archer smiled as if he knew Conrad was holding back. He wants me to lose control. Oh fuck. Not going to happen. His cock throbbed in defiance. But not in defiance of Archer. It craved Archer, was desperate for Archer. Treacherous, fucking, stupid thing. When Archer wrapped his lips around him and fluttered his tongue over the cockhead, Conrad knew he’d lost. All he could think about was what Archer was doing, what he wanted him to do so that he could come.
Archer let Conrad’s cock free from his mouth with a pop and lapped up the shaft from where his fingers were still clamped around the base all the way to the slick head. Shit, shit. Why did his tongue look so sexy? Feel so sexy? Archer sucked hard at the crest, let it slip free, then sucked again, scooping up pre-come, and Conrad’s need spiraled like an approaching tornado. Bigger, blacker, closer—fuck.
Pressure there, pressure gone. Conrad frantically tried to keep his eyes open, frantically attempted to close them. When he touched Archer’s head the guy stopped moving. A shift of Conrad’s fingers back to the couch and that fucking clever mouth started working again. Okay, you don’t want to be touched right now. I get it. Archer licked and sucked and raked him with his teeth and never once relaxed his grip at the root. Conrad’s balls fucking throbbed.
Every time he thought he was on the point of coming, Archer did something different and Conrad’s need dropped a gear before revving up again, harder, more insistent. Long deep sucks, short fast licks, semi-painful nips—everything worked, but it was a messed-up blowjob and Conrad wasn’t sure if Archer was deliberately winding him up and down or not. Knowing Archer hadn’t done this for a long time triggered a few more synapses in Conrad’s ride to completion. Seeing his cock push out Archer’s cheek was like a whip on his flanks. Touching his cheek and feeling his cock surge beneath the skin tipped him further. Then Archer’s lo
wer hand did move. Cooperated with the top hand. Swept in different directions. Went in the same direction. Moves guaranteed to bring him off.
Shit, shit, shit.
Conrad couldn’t breathe. Wasn’t sure if he’d forgotten how or if the air had been stolen from his lungs. He teetered on the edge of orgasm and Archer kept him there. Another hard clench around the base of his cock to hold off the inevitable then Archer sucked Conrad’s balls into his mouth and rolled them from side to side.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” Conrad blurted. Yeeeesssssss.
The sensation edged on pain but stayed on the side of pleasure. Conrad verged on the point of catching fire, every cell supercharged, a single strike away from combustion.
Archer let his balls free and lifted his head. “Ask me.”
Fuck you. His head might be in the clouds but he wasn’t going to beg. “What? Now you want me to speak?”
“Ask me,” Archer repeated.
Conrad pulled his brain into gear. “Still think dxe4 was the best move?”
Archer gaped, then laughed. Conrad’s sac tightened, his cock jumped and Archer swallowed him down, kept swallowing against him, the muscles of his throat massaging his dick, and Conrad’s brain sizzled, followed by his balls. His hips jerked as he jetted into Archer’s mouth and for every second of it, he stared at Archer and Archer stared at him.
Fucking hell. Fucking, fucking, fucking hell.
When the last tremor had left Conrad’s body and he sank back into the couch, Archer let him free.
“See you in the morning.” Archer pushed to his feet and walked into the bedroom.
Again? What the fuck? “Aren’t you going to help me downstairs?” Which was not what he wanted to say.
“That wasn’t on offer.”
“Why the hell do you keep walking away?”
“When you want me to fuck you, I won’t.” Archer closed the door.
Conrad pushed himself to his feet, pulled up his shorts and pants and moved faster than he should have to the stairs. In his temper, he almost fell. That had been great until it wasn’t. What the hell game was Archer playing?
He almost stumbled on the first step, and forced himself to slow, think about where he was putting his feet, where he wanted to shove his dick, teach that cocksucking bastard a lesson and before he reached the bottom of the stairs, he got it. Archer was so fucking tightly wrapped up he not only couldn’t let go, he was afraid to let go. Two controlled obsessives? Christ, we’re doomed.
Archer listened until he was sure Conrad was safely downstairs before he stripped. He let his clothes fall and wrapped his hand around his cock. Conrad would have done this for me. Why hadn’t he let him? Archer dropped onto his back on the bed, his hand tight around his dick, corkscrewing his way up and dragging straight down. If he’d allowed Conrad to reciprocate, what was the worst that could happen? He swallowed hard. They’d become emotionally closer. Not good. He didn’t want anything but sex between them. He didn’t want Conrad to touch him. He didn’t want to touch Conrad, apart from sticking his cock in his arse and driving into him so hard they both saw stars.
What was he afraid of? I’m not fucking afraid of anything. He just didn’t want affection. Didn’t want to kiss. They were just two horny guys. This was just sex. He cried out as he came, come spurting hard enough to reach his throat.
But after he’d done, and his cock softened, he felt a sense of disappointment. He’d had the chance for more and turned his back. Archer didn’t do cuddling. He fucked and walked away because that was the only way to feel safe. The worry that he wanted more made his decision easy. Tomorrow he’d stop fucking about and leave.
Where have I heard that before?
Chapter Nine
The beach was almost obliterated by sea fret when Archer went running the next morning. Why the hell was he even thinking of not moving on? Where did this indecisiveness come from? He was getting too desperate, too interested. Not a good idea to want something so much. You never got it or if you did, you didn’t get to keep it for long and it hurt when you lost it.
He wasn’t into possessions. The less he had, the less he had to lose. He’d learned as a kid not to react when his stuff was broken or stolen. He’d hoped that might keep his things safe if he didn’t seem to care. It hadn’t. Even as an adult, he’d never accumulated anything. Chris had a flat, furniture, kickass car, even bigger kickass TV. Archer had one bag that held all he needed. He hadn’t envisaged Conrad crawling under his skin like some annoying fucking bug and digging deep. By staying with him, Archer was potentially putting him in danger. That was reason enough for him to leave. But if Conrad was right, that someone was trying to kill him, the guy didn’t stand a chance on his own.
Archer erred on the side of thinking that there was no professional contract out on Conrad. He’d been an easy target in the hospital, an easy target up here in Northumberland and he was still alive. However, Archer couldn’t discount some disgruntled individual who’d taken a risk with the car but wasn’t prepared to risk another strike in a public place. Maybe Conrad’s presence up here wasn’t yet known. But maybe it was.
Shit. Didn’t his concern demonstrate he was already emotionally attached? He might not want to care what happened to Conrad, but he did. My own safety has to come first.
When he reached the headland, the sea was far enough out not to be a problem, so after checking he was unobserved, he left Deefor running in circles chasing birds and climbed up to look at the crevice. The crack was wide enough to slide through and Archer crawled over a lip of rock still wet from the outgoing sea.
He found a small cave with just enough room to kneel. The light was poor but he edged forward exploring by touch—wet rock, wet rock, dry rock. He made out a ledge above the water line, hoisted himself up and lay flat on a cold but dry surface, the rock ceiling at that point about two feet over his face. It was a place to hide if he needed it. Always useful to know even if there was no other way out. Except he wasn’t sticking around, was he?
Back on the beach, he continued to the next bay, ran farther this time with no fear of getting cut off. Ran until his lungs burned and his heart pounded in his head, but he didn’t run Conrad out of his system. So he’d run away from him. It was safer for both of them.
When he got back to Marram Cottage, he went straight upstairs to shower. He’d leave today. Drive to Scotland. Disappear in the Highlands for a month or so. He was an idiot for having stuck around here this long, especially after the visit by the reporter. What was I fucking thinking?
As he dressed, he heard a car start up outside and looked through the window to see a Ford pulling out of the drive. Conrad’s physio. Archer went down the stairs two at a time and almost bumped into Conrad who stood at the bottom in shorts and T-shirt looking pale, rumpled and sexy.
The guy handed him a folded newspaper. “Mark brought this.”
Archer read the headline. Crippled Barrister Saves Surfer. There was a picture of Conrad in his wig—fuck, he looks hot—but no picture of Archer. His name was there though. Damn. Archer handed the paper back.
“Is my cover blown?” Conrad asked.
“Nah. There must be dozens of crippled barristers called Conrad Black.”
Conrad laughed.
But Conrad’s cover was blown and Archer couldn’t risk his getting caught up in the explosion. Phoenix had uncovered his email address. There was a possibility he knew his alias too. Now he had a good reason to leave. He’d go after breakfast, after he’d cleaned up, after he’d made up some lie that didn’t leave Conrad feeling he’d been used. I’ve changed if I fucking care. But he did care.
“Fancy a fry-up?” Archer asked as he headed for the kitchen.
“Just toast. After I shower.”
By the time Conrad emerged dressed in dark chinos and a blue sweater, he looked even paler. Archer put a fried breakfast in front
of him.
“I said—”
“I know what you said. You need something more substantial than toast. It’s almost lunchtime anyway.”
Conrad eased himself onto a chair. “I sacked the physio.”
Archer sat down. “Why?”
“You’re better.”
Archer didn’t tell him the dismissal was premature. He wanted Conrad to eat before he revealed he was leaving.
“I don’t get any reaction to that?” Conrad asked.
“I know I’m better.”
“So when are you leaving?”
Archer paused in chewing the piece of bacon he’d just put into his mouth. Conrad sipped his coffee as he watched him.
He’s a fucking barrister, you moron. He can probably guess what you’re thinking.
“After I’ve washed the dishes.”
“Who are you running from?”
“No one. I was going to leave anyway.”
Conrad pushed his food around on his plate, then shoved it away and walked out of the room.
Archer finished his fry-up—he never wasted food—put the kitchen back to rights and looked at Deefor.
“You coming or staying?”
The dog ran to his side. Misguided loyalty but it touched something in Archer. Christ, I’m getting sentimental over a dog?
When he came down the stairs with his bag, Conrad emerged from his bedroom wearing his coat and boots. He stuck out his hand. “Good luck.”
Archer shook it, tried to identify the uncomfortable feeling in his chest and failed.
“Just slam the door on your way out,” Conrad said. “I’m going for a walk.” He bent to stroke the dog. “Bye, Deefor. Nice to have met you.”
Why did it feel as though something was being torn from his chest? Archer heard the back door close, then left by the front.
A quarter of a mile from Marram Cottage, Archer pulled into the empty Shennan Sands car park. He did yet another fruitless search for tracking devices on the Audi, then retrieved the registration plates he’d hidden under the spare wheel and exchanged them for those on the car. He stuck a baby on board sticker in the back window and fixed the second-hand baby seat in place.
Breaking: Fall or Break, Book 2 Page 11
