He shook off Mark’s hand, staring back at him. “I didn’t try to spy on you. I made a mistake, and I said sorry. Who gave you the right to manhandle me like this? And shout at me? Who does that?”
Mark rubbed his face. At least he took a deep breath and kept his hands to himself this time. “I’ve got the right to be pissed off,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Then be pissed off on your own,” Griffith said and walked off without another word. As he ran down the corridor to his own flat, a cloud of questions expanded in his head, pushing and tugging at all the good memories he and Mark shared. Always chilled out and composed, Mark very rarely lost his cool, and even when that happened, it never felt menacing. Until tonight. Why would he become so mean and inconsiderate over something so small? Griff agreed that maybe he shouldn’t have picked up the call, but it would have sufficed if Mark told him he didn’t want that to happen again.
So that was that for a peaceful evening together.
Seeing Nisha on the sofa with a glass of red wine like a thirty-something office lady didn’t help his mood. “You forgot some sex toys?” She snorted, and from the look of it, she was already tipsy.
Griffith stood still and eventually shrugged. “No. We had an argument. He’ll have to cool off.”
He didn’t expect the knock at their door so soon and rolled his eyes. Mark had another thing coming if he thought he had the right to put his hands on Griff in any way other than for pleasure.
Nisha sat up straight. “Whaaa…?”
Griffith grabbed an empty glass from a collection on the mantelpiece and poured himself some wine, choosing to ignore the knocking. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not just going to put up with this kind of bullshit.”
When his phone rang, he ignored it too, feeling more happy with himself by the second. He was taking the high road here.
But when something knocked on the window, Nisha gave him an expectant look.
He thought a few seconds but eventually shook his head and stood. He supposed everyone deserved a chance to explain themselves. He was halfway to the balcony when another small pebble hit the window, and he sped up, opening the lock with a sudden rush in his chest. The cold air choked him at first when he left the room and leaned against the metal railing.
Mark raised his phone over his head, and Justin Bieber’s ‘Sorry’ blared out at full volume.
It was so ridiculous Griff snorted. “You know I hate that song.”
Mark smiled. “I know, but it’s the first one I found with ‘sorry’ in it, and I thought you’d let me in, even just to have it stop.”
Griffith exhaled, watching him standing in the dark grassy yard, without a jacket to keep him warm. “Switch it off. There’s no need for this kind of music.”
Mark turned it off, looking up with a somber expression. “I’m sorry.”
Griffith watched him, not sure what to say until his gaze licked Mark’s windows across the yard.
“Did you take the salmon out of the oven?”
Mark just stared at him. “What?”
Griffith rose immediately. “It’s gonna burn. I put on the grill so that it’s crispier!”
“Fuck!” Mark turned around and ran through the yard, disappearing inside.
Griff wasn’t far behind him, darting back through the sitting room, and back to Mark’s flat. They met at the door and burst in together. The smell of something burning was obvious even in the hallway.
He was initially relieved when he spotted no obvious smoke in the sitting room, but all became clear when they approached the oven and saw clouds spinning behind the glass. “Goddamnit,” Griffith said as he opened the nearest window. “You take this thing out fast, and I’ll shut the door to keep the smoke in.”
Mark grabbed the kitchen mitts and nodded at Griff with an expression that wouldn’t be out of line in Mission Impossible.
Griffith grabbed the handle, counted to three, and then took a big gulp of air and released the smoke trapped in the oven.
Mark yelped, grabbed the container, but as soon as the fish was out, it started smoking up the room. For a second Mark stilled with the dish in his hand, but then ran to the window and… threw it out into the yard. He looked back at Griffith, panting.
“I… er… didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want the alarm to go off,” he said helplessly.
Griffith laughed so hard the spasm made him fall to his ass next to the oven. “Oh. My. God. I took out the batteries!” he said, tearing up already. His mind kept replaying the image of a baking dish containing a burning piece of salmon en croute gliding through the air between the genteel facades.
Mark snickered and slid to the floor next to Griff. “Well, it’s not like it would have been edible.”
Griffith leaned against the warm glass, still giggling. “Can you imagine someone seeing it just fly through the air? Oh, my God, I’m dying!”
“Or someone getting slapped with hot, burning salmon?” Mark shook his head and made a face that made Griffith close to howling.
“Not. Funny,” Griffith said nevertheless, pointing each word with a poke to Mark’s ribs. Their eyes met, and all of a sudden the frantic laughter was replaced by a sense of melancholy.
Mark slowly grabbed Griff’s hand. “I’m sorry. I freaked out.”
Griffith exhaled. He shouldn’t be ignoring what had happened, but he couldn't resist the gravity pulling him to Mark either. “You got kinda scary.”
“I overreacted.” Mark rubbed Griff’s hand with his thumb. “I’m not ashamed of you. It’s just that my dads, they can get a bit crazy sometimes, and I wanted to wait it out that bit longer.”
Griffith swallowed, unsure what to make of this but decided to believe Mark and go with what he said.
“It’s fine, they were nice.”
Mark closed Griff’s hand in his with a sigh. “They’re nice. Also, crazy motherfuckers.”
Chapter 23 - Mark
Mark put his arm over the back of the sofa behind Griff and leaned closer to kiss his ear. Griffith’s brief conversation with Domenico had made things a bit more difficult, since Domenico couldn’t forgive Mark for not trying to patch things up with a theoretical pregnant girlfriend, and since he wouldn’t listen to Mark’s explanations, they ended up not speaking for an entire week. Even if there was in fact a pregnant ex, dealing with it would have been Mark’s own choice, because this was his life, and Domenico could do nothing about it sitting on his ass on a yacht somewhere in South America.
“Sooo… Nisha’s gone out,” Mark said with a growing smile and poked Griff’s cheek with his nose. “Does your gay card have a loyalty program? Maybe you should stamp it.”
Griffith pressed his nose to Mark’s so that they were side by side, lips so close a kiss was less than an inch away. His blue eyes looked back at Mark, two little ponds of endless tenderness and enthusiasm.
“Aren’t you the one who issued it in the first place?” Griff asked, slowly shifting next to Mark, until his knee nudged the side of Mark’s thigh. Their favorite comedy show was on TV, but the moment Mark tossed the ball into Griffith’s court, the newest episode was completely forgotten.
“So what? I issue the rewards?” Mark wiggled his eyebrows and switched off the show. “You need to put in the work though if you want to collect enough stamps”
Mark poked Griff under the ribs with a grin, already excited at the thought of those pink candy lips around his cock.
Griff opened his mouth so close to Mark’s he could almost feel its touch against his own lips, but he wouldn’t give Griffith a kiss just yet. “What should I do?” whispered Griffith, resting one hand on Mark’s knee and seamlessly moving his body to kneel on the sofa.
Mark took a deep breath, thinking back to how Griff’s pretty toes kept climbing up his shin in bed in the morning. “Depends on how good you want the rewards to be.”
Griffith exhaled against Mark’s cheek and slid his hand up Mark’s thigh, arching when Mark glided his palm down Griff’s back. �
�What do I do to get a fuck?”
Hearing those words out of Griff’s pretty mouth was like being able to taste a shimmer. “Three blowjobs for a fuck.” Mark winked at him, and Griffith faked a scowl before tickling Mark’s groin with the gentlest of touches.
“Oh, no, not the blowjobs,” he said before burying his face under Mark’s jaw. His lips were warm and tempting like a pot of dulce de leche, leaving sweet kisses all over Mark’s exposed skin.
“I know, it’s a chore. But if you want that fuck, you can’t have it too easy.” Mark bit his lip and pulled Griff into a hug, running his fingers through hair that was like white sand on a warm beach. They’d only been sleeping together for a couple of weeks, but the change in Griffith was astounding. It was a pleasure to pluck him out of his shell and consume fresh.
Griffith straddled Mark’s lap and smiled against his mouth before pulling back and peeling off his top without ever breaking eye contact. He loved being in the center of Mark’s attention, always thirsty for that glimmer of lusty approval which Mark was more than happy to give his British prince.
He slid his hands to Griff’s ass and squeezed. Griffith’s inhibitions had crumbled so quickly there was hardly anything left of the walls he used to put up, and Mark loved seeing him so excited to have fun, be naked, explore.
He ran his hands up the milky chest and leaned in to suck on the cherry that was Griff’s nipple.
“And what do I have to do to make you strip for me?” Griffith asked, rolling his hips against Mark. With a wide grin, he unzipped his jeans.
Mark snorted. Unbelievable. “Me? Strip? I don’t think I’d be that good at it. But I do have something in mind if you reaaally want to load up that loyalty card.”
Griffith took hold of Mark’s hand and pressed it against the growing bulge in his pants. “And what would that be, Mister Vincitore?”
Thinking wasn’t so easy anymore, and Mark stalled with his answer, rubbing Griff’s cock through his pants. “Sit back and take off your socks.” He pointed to the other side of the sofa, even though he enjoyed having Griffith in his lap.
Both blond brows rose over Griffith’s eyes, but he didn’t ask questions and rolled off, leaning back against cushions. He took his time, bending both legs more than most people could, and gently removed the socks, revealing those perfect pink feet, made even prettier by all the signs of the hard work Griff put into dancing.
“And what now?”
Mark sat back opposite Griff and unzipped his jeans. “Now put your foot here.” He licked his lips, getting excited even before Griff followed the instruction. So it was weird, and Mark would probably never tell anyone about it, but he longed to worship and fuck every bit of his boyfriend. That somehow always circled back to kissing his feet.
Griffith opened his lips like a fish. “What? You want me to crush your balls? I can’t do that...”
Mark blinked, suddenly embarrassed. “No! Oh, my God! I didn’t ‘say step on me’. Never mind.” He was about to zip up his pants when Griffith’s lovely slender foot pressed between his thighs and stopped him midway.
When Mark met Griff’s gaze across the sofa, they were both silent for a few seconds. Griffith licked his lips and folded his arms under his head, opening up the lovely, toned chest. “What do you want me to do then? Do you want to come all over my foot? Is that it?”
Mark hadn’t thought it through all that much, but the moment Griff put the image in his head, it was game on. “Y-yes,” he rasped, already rubbing his crotch against the warm sole.
Griffith’s teeth pulled over his full bottom lip, and he stared back at Mark as if he wanted to hypnotize him. Only weeks into his first ever relationship, this boy already knew how to play on Mark’s weaknesses and used them against him. He dug his heel more firmly to Mark’s balls and made slow circular motions with it, evoking a heat that had Mark longing he too were topless already.
“Only if you lick it off my toes.”
Mark’s cock went rock hard under Griff’s touch, and he nodded, unable to choke out the words.
And then the fucking keys jangled at the door in the corridor, and he groaned in frustration.
“Nisha! Come on! You said you were going. Couldn’t you give us a heads-up?” he yelled, looking over the back of the sofa to find out if they would have to move to Griff’s room, or if it was just a case of her having forgotten something from home.
Griffith laughed and pressed his foot more firmly against Mark’s cock, teasing him with a wiggle of his brows.
Mark groaned in frustration when no one answered, but the apartment had many issues when it came to sound, so it wasn’t that surprising. For whatever reason, you could hardly communicate with someone in a different room, even though the distance was relatively small.
The annoyance was replaced by unease when he realized there was more than one pair of heels clicking against the floor. He ducked for Griff’s shirt and threw it at him, but when three people entered the living room, Mark couldn’t zip up his pants fast enough.
Charlotte eyed him with a scowl that didn’t go well with her dusky pink coat and the elegant updo, but Charlotte paled into nothingness when Mark recognized the other two intruders as Griffith’s parents.
Griffith briefly turned into a statue of warm, rapidly flushing skin, before quickly donning his T-shirt. “You didn’t... say you were coming,” he forced out in a raspy, tired voice, as if he still believed this situation could be salvaged.
This was a disaster in the making, even if the Elswoods hadn’t noticed Mark adjusting his pants. He slid off the sofa and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to avoid the accusation in Charlotte’s eyes. Considering that she’d disapproved of him and Griffith getting acquainted in the first place, Mark couldn’t even imagine what she thought now.
“Mrs. Elswood, I’m sorry for—”
“Save it.” Charlotte stepped closer, waving a big envelope at him. “We know what’s been going on here.”
Griffith’s mother grabbed the front of her pearl necklace, her neck working as if she were swallowing over and over. Mark might have as well been invisible, because her eyes, as blue as Griffith’s own, were focused solely on her son. “We trusted you to make adult choices. Yet you lied to us all this time!” she said in the end, covering her lips with her hand.
Griffith stood still, breathing heavily against the T-shirt, which he’d accidentally put on back-to-front. “Mum, what did Charlotte tell you?”
Griffith’s father kept silent and just watched them both with the expression of a storm barely kept at bay. Mark took a step closer to Griff, dying to shield him from the oncoming avalanche, but he could do nothing when Charlotte opened the envelope, pulled out several sheets of thick paper, and dropped them on the coffee table. Photos scattered over the polished wood, capturing Mark’s gaze and making him grow roots into the floor as the earlier unease turned to barely withheld panic.
Someone had followed them, taking pictures of intimate moments—holding hands in the street, a stolen kiss at a café, and worst of all was that Mark hadn’t noticed their tail. What if that person had been after more than just photos? He’d let his guard down, and he could have died if the photographer had different intentions. Mark was going to be sick.
Charlotte spoke, staring straight at him, her voice as cool as her voice. “I didn’t need to tell Mum and Dad anything, because they could see it with their own eyes. I got these in the mail anonymously. I don’t know who hates the two of you, but here we are.”
Griffith covered his face in a gesture reflecting his Mum’s, and his chest worked fast up and down. “Oh, my God... why would anyone do this?” Within a second, he went from shock to a defensive stance, with hands balled into fists at his sides. “Don’t you see how inappropriate this is? You arriving unannounced, with our parents, without talking to me first? What is wrong with you, Charlotte?”
“You’re coming home, Griffith,” were the first words Griff’s father said since he’d come in,
and the instinct to stand between him and Griffith was so intense Mark had to force himself to stay put. But then Mr. Elswood’s eyes settled on him, sharp as two razor blades. “And you should be ashamed of yourself. How old are you even? Twenty-five? He’s only eighteen!”
Griffith swallowed some air, looking back at his father, wide-eyed. “Excuse me? Why are you talking to him that way? He did nothing wrong.”
Griff’s mother shook her head. “Please, just pack your bags, and we will speak about this at home.”
“No. Absolutely not. I’m not going anywhere,” Griffith said, standing his ground.
Mark swallowed, unsure how to act, but when he briefly met Charlotte’s gaze again, he knew one thing for certain—his playdates with Allen were over.
“I think Griffith is old enough to make his own decisions, and, for the record, I’m twenty-one.”
Griffith’s father glared at Mark as if he were a pot of rotting garbage. “If he can’t pay his own bills, he is not old enough to make his own decisions. Now, Griffith, we are not discussing this around a stranger. Ask him to leave.”
Griffith sucked in a big gulp of air and approached Charlotte in a gait so aggressive she stepped back when he picked up one of the photos and showed it to his parents. “Is this what it’s about? I didn’t think you were homophobic.”
Griffith’s mother blinked, going so pale that for a moment Mark believed she would faint. “Absolutely not. You are being unfair, Griffith. You know I’ve had the same hair stylist for years, and he is gay. We are only worried about you.”
Mark’s lips curled, even though he was trying to control himself. “And I’m the rude one?”
Griff’s dad would have none of that. “We’re not talking to you right now. Griffith, this is ridiculous. Whatever this man pulled you into, we can work it out together.”
Griffith spread his arms wide. “What he pulled me into? I’ve known I liked men since I was thirteen.” His eyes darted to Charlotte like two daggers. “And I would have appreciated being able to work things through at my own pace so I could decide when I was ready to tell you. But no, you have to stage a Goddamn intervention!”
A Breath of Innocence Page 31
