Lustful Gaze (London Loves #6)

by Julie Farrell

  With his lips firmly wrapped around Paul’s cock, Scott glanced up and shot him a vulnerable look, which he knew drove Paul wild, then, sucking hard, he eased his finger further into Paul’s rim slid it in and out, as he bobbed his head back and forth. Scott knew the finger-fuck would throw Paul over the edge, and he was right. Paul’s buttocks clenched suddenly and his legs tensed as the desire overwhelmed him. He leaned over Scott, collapsing his upper-body at the waist, then he came deeply in Scott’s mouth, groaning loudly as he let himself go. Scott pushed his lips even further over Paul’s shaft, swallowing him down and allowing him to enjoy the orgasm. Scott loved the feel of Paul’s cum in his mouth – it was soothing somehow; like toothpaste. It felt wonderful to take Paul’s essence into his body. It meant that a little bit of Paul would possess him and stay with him throughout the day.

  Scott sat back and threw Paul a grin. “Wow, you were aroused, my horny boy!”

  “How could I not be after spending all that time with your cock in my mouth!”

  “I love you. I love my birthday so far!”

  “I love you, too. Go shower. I’ll make you some breakfast to take with you.”

  “Thank you.” Scott stood up and grabbed his boxers from the floor. “You going into the office today?”

  Paul chuckled. “I’ll go in this afternoon. I don’t think I’m needed there this morning. Maybe I’ll just hang around the house. We’re paying enough for it.”

  Scott grinned. He loved their new home. Now that Paul’s business with their friend Samantha was booming, they’d moved to this massive new-build, which boasted its own purpose-built gym, a heated pool, and twenty-four hour security on the door. The stunning view over Hampstead Heath made the hefty mortgage repayments more than worthwhile. But really, Scott would’ve happily lived anywhere as long as he could be with Paul and work on his art.

  Scott draped his arms around Paul’s shoulders. “It’s good the app’s doing so well. Who would’ve thought you and Sam would become an overnight success!”

  Paul sighed. “Yeah, and who would’ve thought we’d end up outsourcing everything – IT, sales, marketing – and finally me!”

  “Aw, you’re still needed there. And it’s good you can work on your photography. I thought that’s what you actually wanted to do.”

  Paul smirked. “Only so I can get you to dress up for me – any excuse to perv at your sexy body!”

  Scott chuckled. Paul was always so modest – his photos were very pro, and all this extra cash meant he could now spend money on the best equipment.

  Scott kissed him. “Well, whatever you do today, I can’t wait for tonight! I’ve invited Sam and Verlaine over for pizza at six-thirty, but we can eat fast and get rid of them!”

  Paul chuckled. “I might be a bit late – I need to go to Soho to get your birthday present. They said it won’t be ready until six.”

  “Soho? That sounds sexy!”

  “It’s not. But I think you’ll love it!”

  “Thank you.”

  Scott hugged him tight, then he rushed off to shower. He needed to be on time this morning to receive the new batch of paintings for the latest art exhibition. And also he wanted to prepare for the wild child of India to arrive. He hoped today would run smoothly, but birthdays always seemed to signal change. Hopefully whatever change was on its way, it was going to be for the better.

  Chapter Two

  The art gallery where Scott worked was bright, airy, and bijou – which was a polite way of saying ‘small’. But the compact space was actually plenty big enough to exhibit the average-sized collection, by dotting the paintings on stands over the laminate floor and hanging them from the magnolia walls. The furnishings were sparse, to make room for the art, so there were just a few art deco chairs – where browsers could sit and study the pieces – and the marble counter by the door, where Scott could greet clients and hopefully make some sales.

  Scott was proud of his domain. He still couldn’t believe he was being paid so generously by his wealthy-art-lover boss, who trusted him to run the place and source the best artists. Scott was also responsible for liaising with the wealthy art buyers, who re-sold the gallery’s paintings to corporate businesses – making CEOs all over London feel smugly elitist in their plush offices.

  Scott always loved to be here alone first thing in the morning. People tended to not come here too early, so he was usually able to get admin done or even take the opportunity to work on his own art – which his boss was happy for him to do, because it looked good if a client walked in to find an artist in session. He positioned himself in a sunbeam which flowed through the huge front window like honey, warming his skin. His mind drifted to tonight… He knew Paul would keep his promise of ‘any position’, so now he just needed to decide what he wanted. His favourite thing was anal – him giving it to Paul – so perhaps he’d ask for that. But there were so many other things they could do.

  And why only one position? After Sam and Verlaine left later, they had the whole night to themselves. Scott’s cock firmed up in his hotpants at the thought of pounding Paul from behind – and then maybe swapping over. He knew Paul loved him in these hotpants – they were perfect for a warm summer’s day. Scott had enjoyed creating them with his sewing machine from an old pair of designer trousers he’d found in a charity shop. He knew he was lucky to be allowed to come to work dressed like this – he was also wearing a pinstripe vest with no shirt, knee-high socks, and 1920s brogues. It was so different to the corporate world that Paul had always been part of. Not that Paul wanted to wear stripy knee-length socks, of course. Scott grinned. His body tingled at the memory of Paul’s gift this morning. He was a wonderful man.

  Scott snapped himself back to the present – there was work to be done. The huge wooden crates that contained his favourite artist’s new paintings had arrived twenty minutes ago, so he grabbed a pair of scissors and crouched down to carefully snip the first painting from its bubble-wrap shroud. A couple of buyers were due in tomorrow, so he needed to get this display up by then.

  Scott hummed to the blissful tune on Chill Radio, allowing his excitement to sparkle at the fact that he was about to see a brand new Kate Jagger original. He’d seen photos of Kate’s new work but this would be the first time he’d see the actual canvases. It was like unwrapping a precious jewel; a sacred gift that his favourite artist had bestowed upon the world.

  The sound of the bell above the door pulled him back to the here and now. He glanced up from where he was squatting to see Mr Sawhney – a rich Indian patron of the gallery – stride inside. Scott’s internal organs wilted. Shit. He’d momentarily forgotten about this kid he was supposed to be taking care of for a few weeks. Scott had nothing against rich people per se, but it did piss him off that his boss had agreed with Mr Sawhney that Scott would give his son some work experience. How was he going to entertain an eighteen-year-old? There wasn’t much to do around here and Scott was happy working alone. But, Mr Sawhney regularly donated vast sums to the gallery, and his boss had insisted, so Scott had no choice.

  Scott stood up to greet Mr Sawhney. He was an imposing man – much taller than Scott, with a thick crop of white hair and a neatly trimmed moustache. He always dressed impeccably in a black suit, sensible tie, and shiny shoes. His face was stern and covered with lines – the signs of a man who’d worked hard all his life. Scott found him intimidating and he was self-conscious in what he was wearing today. But he assumed Mr Sawhney expected it from a creative type like him.

  Scott opened his mouth to say hello, but his attention was seized by the young man by Mr Sawhney’s side. He was breathtakingly attractive – delicately handsome, with gorgeous brown skin and perfect cheekbones. His full lips were highly kissable, and his hair was artistically styled into an Elvis-like quiff, which probably took an entire can of hairspray to hold in place. He looked Hispanic rather than of Indian origin, and Scott wondered how father and son could be so different. Other than the fact that they were both dressed i
n designer clothes, of course. But the son’s skin-tight trousers and shirt-with-vest combo made him look as if he’d just stepped off the catwalk. And the huge sunglasses that obscured his eyes made him even more delectable. Mysterious.

  There was no way Scott could spend three weeks alone with this person. No way. Not that he’d ever cheat on Paul. But it would just be too awkward. Scott was already feeling like a pervert and they hadn’t even been introduced.

  He tried to act cool. “Good morning, Mr Sawhney, so nice to see you again.”

  Mr Sawhney laughed heartily and waved his hand. “Oh, Scott, no need to stand on ceremony for us. Please, this is my son, Haroon. He’s come back to live in UK from India. He’ll be leaving us again soon to begin his university course, but I need someone sensible to keep him entertained until then.”

  Scott gazed through the thick air at Mr Sawhney. He’d never been referred to as sensible before and it was rather disconcerting. “What exactly do you want me to do with him, sir?”

  “Nothing much. Just let him work here. He’s a good artist, so perhaps you can give him some tutoring, too, right? But he’s a little bit naughty, so you must keep one of your eyes on him, okay?”

  “Er, right, okay. What kind of naughty?”

  “Oh, nothing too much for you to worry about. I know you will give him some good experiences and take care of his needs.”

  Scott glanced at Haroon. His expression didn’t flicker – he simply continued to stare ahead like a prize racehorse being discussed by owner and stable boy. Scott realised that Haroon either had a bad attitude or he was terrified of his father. Either way, this was going to be awkward.

  Mr Sawhney clapped his hands satisfactorily. “Right, I’ll leave you two boys to it. Be good, Harry, please.”

  Haroon stood straight. “Yes, sir, I will.”

  Mr Sawhney shot his son a weary look, then he turned and left.

  The art gallery relaxed; Scott exhaled.

  He watched the young man reach up and remove his sunglasses, still standing to attention like a soldier. His eyes were as beautiful as the rest of him – two huge almonds with glorious deep brown centres. And he possessed the longest eyelashes Scott had ever seen. Harry didn’t look remotely like the wild child his dad had made out. In fact, Scott sensed something vulnerable behind those beautiful eyes. He needed help, not discipline.

  Scott tried to shake off the funny atmosphere. “Harry, you can help me unpack the exhibition if you like? It’s got to be erected– er – it’s got to be up by the end of today.”

  Harry stiffened. “Yes, sir. I would be honoured to help you, sir.”

  Scott grabbed another pair of scissors from behind the marble counter, hoping Harry wasn’t planning to talk like that for the next three weeks.

  “Here you go. Er, I hope you don’t mind kneeling on the floor with me and getting dirty?”

  Scott cringed at his second unintentional sexual innuendo in as many seconds. He blushed as Harry took the scissors from him and suppressed the glimmer of a smirk.

  “I don’t mind getting dirty on the floor,” Harry said. “I’m here to do for you whatever you desire.”

  Oh god!

  Harry stepped over and knelt down in front of the packaged paintings. Scott gingerly crouched down with him and tried to concentrate on unpacking the next one, but his gaze drifted to where Harry was carefully cutting open the bubble-wrap. Christ, those hands were beautiful. His fingers were long and smooth, perfect for gripping–

  Stop it, Scott! You’re a married man and this is an eighteen-year-old!

  Scott cleared his throat. “So, how do you like the UK?”

  Harry focused on snipping the bubble-wrap. “Sir, I grew up in UK – I was shipped off to India at aged eleven for my high school. I’m now back for my university studies.”

  “Ah, that’s why your accent isn’t as strong as your dad’s.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what are you going to be studying?”

  “My father wanted me to study law at Cambridge like him. But actually, I’m studying art in Brighton.”

  “Oh, I studied art at Brighton – you’ll love it! And it’s great that your dad’s letting you do that. He seems like that sort of guy who doesn’t change his mind once it’s made up.”

  “Hm, you’re right about that. There was this big, big fight, but I managed to persuade him to let me follow my passion rather than his.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “Not really.” Harry looked up and gazed sadly into Scott’s eyes. “He’ll let me have my fun for three years at university, then I must start working with him as an oil trader and getting married.”

  “Married?”

  “Yep. And they’ve already introduced me to the girl they like. She’s a nice person – studying to be a doctor. Our families are old friends. She’s very pretty.”

  Scott winced. “But you don’t care for her?”

  “Not at all.”

  Scott’s heart squeezed with compassion. Poor kid. He knew Mr Sawhney was quite a traditional Indian man. He probably expected his children to marry for family honour, rather than for love. Scott opened his mouth to ask Harry whether this was the case, but the bell above the door tinkled and he turned to see a courier strolling in with a massive bouquet of red roses, yellow sunflowers, and cream lilies.

  Scott’s mood whooshed skywards like a child on Christmas morning. He clambered to his feet.

  The courier glanced at his clipboard. “Scott Bradshaw?”

  “Yes!”

  The courier plonked the flowers on the marble counter and asked Scott to sign his clipboard, then he left, whistling as he worked.

  Scott hardly needed to check who they were from, but he tore open the little envelope and ripped out the card:

  ‘Cupcake, my love for you grows stronger each year. Have a perfect day – can’t wait to celebrate tonight! All my love until the end of time. Paul. Xxx’

  Scott grinned. He turned and realised Harry was staring, still crouched by the paintings, waiting to see who the flowers were from.

  “Oh, they’re from my husband. It’s my birthday.”

  “Husband?”

  “Yes.”

  Harry stood up slowly. “You’re… gay?”

  Scott glanced at his attire. “I’m amazed you’d think otherwise.”

  Harry scrutinised him – running his gaze over Scott’s make-up-clad face and down his unconventional clothing. Scott half-expected him to produce a magnifying glass. He felt like a newly-discovered specimen.

  Scott folded his arms across his chest. “Problem?”

  “Oh no, no, sir, I’m not prejudiced.”

  “Good.”

  Harry relaxed and the stiff act dropped away. He smiled sincerely. “Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you, Harry.” They shared a smile. “Would you like some tea?”

  “That would be most kind, thank you, sir.”

  Scott strode around to the other side of the counter, where he kept the tea things. He flicked on the kettle and chucked a couple of high-grade teabags into his Covo Milmil teapot.

  Scott bent to grab the milk from the mini-fridge. He wanted to find out more about Mr Sawhney’s marriage plans for poor Harry. “You haven’t met the woman of your dreams yet, then?”

  “No, sir.” Harry cleared his throat. “I’d prefer the woman of my dreams to be a little more masculine than, in fact, a woman could ever be.”

  Scott glanced over his shoulder as this revelation clicked into place in his brain. “Oh… you’re…?”

  Harry smiled sheepishly and nodded. Scott suddenly realised that Harry was currently getting an eyeful of his hotpant-clad backside. He stood up swiftly. “And I assume your dad doesn’t know you’re gay?”

  Harry shrugged forlornly. “I’ve no idea what he knows, Mr Scott. He suggested that I go to Brighton and have as much fun as possible. I didn’t ask if that meant having some male experiences.”

  “But after th
at? You’ll get married and work as an oil trader like him?”

  “Family is everything in my culture, sir. You wouldn’t understand.”

  Scott poured the hot water into the teapot. “It seems a bit cruel, though, saying you can study art, then not letting you do anything with it.”

  “Well, my father loves art, as you know. My mother is a superb artist. I think she convinced him on my behalf.”

  “But he must know I’m gay and an artist. You’d think he’d want to keep me away from you in case I give you any ideas.”

  Harry smirked. “You can’t catch ‘gay’ you know.”

  Scott laughed. “Oh really? I thought you could!”

  Harry sagged. “Actually, plenty of people in India believe it. Even in the medical profession.”

  “But obviously not your dad; or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “No. To be truthful, I requested I be allowed to come here, sir. I told him I wanted to learn the commercial side of the art world as well as the creative. He seemed to go along with that. And besides, he knows his money speaks louder than you do around these parts.”

  “That’s true.” Scott poured out the tea. He smiled at the young man. “Harry, will you do me a favour?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “Will you stop calling me ‘sir’ please? It’s making me feel weird.”

  Harry’s beautiful face lit up with a sincere chuckle. “Of course!”

  “Thank you. Here’s your tea.”

  Harry padded over and joined him by the counter.

  Scott poured a dash of milk into each cup. “So what’s it like being gay in India? I know it’s a pretty sexist place, so I assume they’re not great fans of homos? Do you take sugar?”

  “No, no sugar.” He gazed into his tea. “Well, you’d think living in the world’s largest democracy being gay would be easy, but it’s not. I spent most of my teens denying what I am. But I couldn’t stop myself from being attracted to men – it’s impossible. Between Shipla Shetty and Raj Kundra, I always liked Raj more – I can’t help it. You can’t change something like that – it’s deep-seated.”