by Josh Lanyon
“I knew it,” I said. “We’re not going to talk.”
I felt his smile. He didn’t even bother to answer.
I started to complain, but was caught mid-yawn. Who was I kidding? I also wanted to sleep. I closed my eyes. My lungs seemed to fall into the same peaceful rhythm as his own. I could feel his heart beating quietly, steadily against mine. I let my body relax, go heavy.
I think I was starting to drowse when J.X. murmured, “You know what I really want to do?”
“Mm?”
He whispered in my ear.
My eyes shot wide open.
Chapter Eighteen
I want to fuck you, Kit.
I raised my head, cleared my throat. “Come again?”
J.X. smiled at me, a lazy smile. His eyes were dark and tender. “And again and again and again.” His voice was soft. It seemed to raise every hair on my body, like the drifting ripple of static electricity.
“Oh.” I lowered my head to my arm, looked into the serious regard centimeters from my own. Well, good luck avoiding him at that distance. I redirected my gaze to his mouth. It was soft and moist and his lips were faintly pink as they shaped his words.
“You never let me before. Is it a problem?”
“Uh…no.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
I wasn’t sure. That is…the idea turned me on, no denying it. The idea of J.X. taking me, all that warmth and strength burying itself in me and making me his own—bizarre thought and yet…definitely a turn-on. Which was kind of weird because I’d never liked being fucked. Never enjoyed it. Found it uncomfortable, a little painful, and too much like subjugation. And David had felt the same way. So we’d taken turns with it, because that was the fair thing to do, but there had always been that niggling knowledge that both of us were never truly enjoying sex at the same time. That it was always a concession on someone’s part.
J.X. and I hadn’t really fucked since we’d got together. I wasn’t sure what his feelings were now days. When we’d first hooked up all those years ago, he’d let me fuck him and he’d accepted without demur my refusal to reciprocate.
I mean, I’d tried to put it in more diplomatic terms than that, but the bottom line was…for me there was a bottom line. And I hadn’t planned to cross it. Not for him and not for anyone else. Not ever again. I suppose it was all tied up with my feelings for what had happened with David.
Maybe it was still tied up with that.
Although, the truth was, I never had liked it. But recently I’d found the idea not merely acceptable, more and more I’d found myself truly excited by it. Which, frankly, made me sort of uneasy.
“Talk to me,” J.X. said. My eyes were probably starting to spin—black and white swirls while my brain overheated.
I said, “I know it’s only fair that we…trade off.”
His brows drew together. “So you don’t like the idea?”
“No. It’s not that.”
“Come on, Kit. Tell me what you think.” Not impatient. Coaxing. I think I’d have preferred exasperation. Then I could have worked myself into a snit and we could have sidestepped the issue for the time being.
I rolled onto my back. “I don’t know. It’s never been good for me like that.”
“Did someone hurt you?”
Startled, I turned my head. J.X.’s nostrils had a pinched look, his mouth a straight line. I realized he was angry on my behalf. Angry at the idea of this imaginary lover who had hurt me with his careless, selfish ways. J.X. not realizing that I had probably been as careless and selfish as any of my lovers. Not that there had been so many of them, though I’d indulged in the usual youthful experimentation before settling down with David.
“It’s not like that,” I said quickly, and I reached over to stroke his hair back from his serious face. The strands felt like silk—short, cool, black silk—and they clung to my fingers. “I mean it does hurt—”
“It shouldn’t.”
“But that’s not really it. I don’t mind a little discomfort if the payoff is worth—” I stopped in time.
Not really in time, though.
“But the payoff isn’t worth it?” His tone was absolutely neutral.
I held his gaze with my own. “I think it would be with you, which is why, for probably the first time in my life, I’m starting to fantasize about it.”
His face softened. “I think I could make it good for you, Kit. I’d make sure nothing hurt you. I’d take care of you every step of the way.” His voice went dark and husky, and he put his hand to my crotch, feeling me up through my jeans with an expert, even possessive hand.
I heard myself make a sound in the back of my throat, and I closed my eyes, focusing on that touch.
“I love you,” he said, and his mouth covered mine.
There was a lump in my throat. I wasn’t used to someone…caring so much. It got to me in a way I’d never have expected. I made another of those freaky sounds—uncomfortably close to a whimper—and thrust against him.
J.X.’s tongue slipped into my mouth, wet, hot, intrusive. Another thing I’d never been crazy about. What can I say? There’s a reason I chose to write about an elderly spinster and her cat. It wasn’t just the, um, hygiene factor—although supposedly dogs’ mouths are cleaner than humans—it was so personal having someone push his tongue into your mouth. Hard to think of other things when a guy’s checking out your back molars.
J.X., however, French kissed me with delicacy and skill, and need bloomed like fever in my bloodstream.
“I do want it,” I panted. “I want you to fuck me.”
He groaned like I’d granted some amazing, impossible wish—which, frankly, was all the more exciting.
He kissed me again, broke the kiss with seeming reluctance. “Hang on. We need something…”
“Condoms. Hell. It’s been years since I’ve had to—”
“No, not condoms. I mean, yes, condoms, but I’ve got condoms. I mean something we can use as lube.”
I was still dealing with the fact that he evidently carried condoms everywhere like he was still nineteen, when the significance of the word lube hit me. I gave a shiver that was half excitement and half alarm.
Jesus, we were going to do this. I was going to let him push that long, thick cock right up my tight little asshole.
Wide-eyed, I watched him disappear into the bathroom and reappear a few seconds later with a bottle of Fekkai glossing conditioner.
I was still clumsily trying to peel off my clothes as he took his place beside me on the bed. Together we helped each other undress, warm hands lingering in unconscious caress, accommodating each other. My heart was going a million miles an hour as I leaned back against the pillows he’d propped up for me. I watched his face, so grave and absorbed as he squirted the pale, shimmering liquid onto his fingers.
The scent of sex mingled with that of sunflower and olive oil and citrus. Very California. Very us.
He leaned forward to kiss me again. As our mouths brushed, a thought occurred to me. “Not on this bedspread!”
He laughed against me, drew back. We did some frantic shoving and rearranging of bed linens.
“Anything else?” His eyes were crinkling at the corners, and the knowledge that he would deal patiently with any further minor uproars went a long way to relaxing me. What was the big deal after all? It wasn’t like I’d never done this.
“Be my guest,” I said.
He grinned, reached forward to stroke me, cupping my balls lightly in his hand. “And what a wonderful host you are.”
I spluttered a laugh, let my legs fall wide, making a cradle for him as he lowered his lean, muscular length onto me.
“Am I hurting your arm?”
“It’s not my arm I’m worried about.”
I said it without thinking. His face was instantly serious. “We’re not going to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I know. Don’t listen to me.”
He appeared to consider thi
s. “Sometimes I think the words get in the way with you and me, but I always listen to you. I always will.”
I nodded. “You’re better at this than I am. I’m trying to learn by example.”
He looked touched. “That’s one of the nicest things you’ve said to me.”
“I need to say more nice things to you.”
I proceeded to turn over a new leaf. That led to some nuzzling and nibbling and other forms of unspoken communication. As J.X.’s clever fingers tweaked one of my nipples, I arched up. He watched me, his eyes dark and hooded, his mouth pink from kisses and love bites.
I knew what was next and I consciously relaxed my muscles as I felt his warm hand spreading the silky lotion in the cleft of my ass.
This was it. I shifted, allowing him better access, trying not to tense as J.X. pushed his finger through the tight band of muscle. It was invasive, certainly, but it was electrifying too. I bit my lip, trying not to make any sound that might be mistaken for pain. It was a bit uncomfortable, but the wicked pleasure of J.X. touching me there melted any resistance I might have had.
He worked his finger slowly, insistently, and my body had no choice but to adjust to that careful breaching of defenses. I’d stopped focusing on anything but startling sensation when I realized one finger had become two. J.X. waited, watching until I relaxed again and accepted that more intense pull and penetration before he pressed on. He flexed his hand and I could feel the muted sharpness of his fingernails—hell, I thought I could feel his fingerprints.
I heard myself make one of those sounds from the back of my throat as he pushed a fraction farther and pressed against the nub of my prostate gland.
I squeezed my eyes shut against that tiny exquisite explosion.
“Yeah, that’s nice, isn’t it?”
I nodded helplessly as the sparkles rippled up and down my nervous system.
Slow and easy J.X. continued, thrusting his fingers in and out.
“It’s like watching a naughty little mouth sucking my fingers.” His thumb traced the opening to my body.
I shivered, wanting more but not wanting to have to ask for it.
J.X. withdrew his fingers in a final, slick caress and I felt my body spasm around the sudden and disappointing emptiness.
But the disappointment didn’t last long. I opened my eyes at the wet, brisk sound of skin slicking skin and saw J.X. slathering lotion on his already rigid cock. I swallowed at the sight of that sizable erection. Impressive by any standards.
By contrast my own cock was only partially committed to the proceedings. I gave it a reassuring stroke, resettling as J.X. knelt between my legs and carefully guided himself into my body. My muscles clenched in a kind of panic and then relaxed, cautiously accepting, shyly welcoming him.
It wasn’t lack of preparation, unless it was the mental kind, that made this such a production, but J.X. seemed prepared to take all afternoon if necessary. Slowly, slowly, he pushed inside, pausing now and then to stroke my belly or flank.
Too much. Too deep, too thick, too intimate…and yet I kept yielding ground, falling back, watching from a helpless distance as he knocked my doors down one after another until there were no barriers left and we were locked tight.
I’d never felt anything like it. Frankly, never wanted to feel anything like it.
He gave a tentative thrust and my hips rocked to meet him seemingly of their own volition. I realized that the discomfort was gone and now there was only pleasure and a mounting excitement in my belly. I arched into his next thrust and let myself cry out.
He shoved back and I rose to meet him, wanting to feel him more deeply. Now we were finding a rhythm, our rhythm. Long, sweet and slow strokes that seemed to pierce me to my heart. I wanted to keep it up forever, that happy glide, the dulcet friction that was pleasure so extreme it was almost painful, but a frantic tension began to build in my body, and I knew I had to come or fly apart.
J.X. breathed warmly against my ear. “Let go, Kit. I’ve got you now.”
It was like swinging out into the vast, light-studded night. Stars rained down around me. I let go and fell with them.
“Was it all right?” J.X. asked a couple of turns of the world later.
I turned my head on the pillow. Stared at him. He stared back. He was serious. In fact, he looked uncertain. Didn’t he know? Couldn’t he tell? Hell, if the writing career didn’t work out, he could always—I stopped that thought, stopped that instinctive and automatic sarcastic distancing, and let myself absorb what had really happened between us.
It deserved my full consideration. I’d never felt anything like it, never responded to anyone like that. It was like J.X. had reached into me and turned me inside out. I felt weak and empty and at the same time utterly relaxed and peaceful. It was so weird. As he’d fucked me, I’d felt helpless and out of control with the intensity of my reaction, both physical and emotional, but I really was…okay now. Better than okay. I felt very good. Yes, my body was a little sore and I was very tired, but the aches were all the satisfying kind.
I said shakily, “At the risk of sounding like something out of Ladies’ Home Journal, it’s never been like that for me.”
His face relaxed into a smile. A faintly smug smile at that. Well, perhaps he deserved to feel smug.
“I figured.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh you did, did you?”
“Yeah. Sometimes you have to give up a certain amount of control to get what you want.”
I swallowed. “Maybe.”
He leaned over and covered my mouth with his own.
We drowsed. How long, I’m not sure, but the next thing I knew the room was in shadow and the dying sunlight burnished the furniture in a fuzzy glow. I listened, wondering what had woken me. I heard a cautious tap-tap-tapping at the door.
I moaned.
J.X. swore under his breath. He was up and off the bed in one lithe movement, scooping up my bathrobe and stalking to the door as he shrugged it on.
I dragged the blankets still higher. I couldn’t remember what the rules were about houseguests having sex. Was it rude? Wasn’t the fact that Anna had thrown us into the same room sort of tacit permission to go at it like college kids on spring break?
Anna was at the door. She sounded nonplussed to find J.X. answering her knock.
“Oh. J.X. I’d almost forgotten—how are you feeling, darling? I should have made the effort to find out sooner, but I’ve been…been feeling so goddamned shattered. I can’t seem to pull myself together. Is Christopher—?” She let it hang delicately.
“He’s resting.”
Say what? I didn’t think I imagined that undernote of protective belligerence in J.X.’s tone.
I sat up quickly. “It’s okay. I’m awake now.”
J.X. stepped back and Anna came into the room, wielding her crutches with expert ease.
Her smile twisted. “I see my timing could use some work.”
J.X.’s uncharacteristic silence seemed to agree with her.
Un-com-fort-able!
“No,” I said. “We were only getting some shuteye.”
Anna gave a disbelieving laugh, then murmured thanks as J.X. pushed one of the chairs forward. She carefully seated herself. “I spent most of the morning talking to the police.”
Neither J.X. nor I spoke.
“The wine at dinner was tampered with.” She wiped hastily at the corners of her eyes. “There were corncockle seeds at the bottom of one of the wine bottles used at dinner last night.”
“Corncockle?” echoed J.X.
“It’s a winter annual weed,” I said. I was only too familiar with corncockle. I’d used it as a means of knocking off a particularly obnoxious character in Sow Shall Ye Reap, Miss Butterwith, the most literary entrée in all the Miss B. oeuvre. “Four seeds or more is usually deadly.”
Anna nodded. “They found three seeds. There could have been more, but in that case…”
“Everyone would be dead.” My voice sounded way t
oo calm. “Instead of only Sara.”
J.X. asked, “Did the police offer an explanation for why Sara died and no one else?”
Anna shook her head. “Perhaps she had a medical predisposition or unknown weakness. Her heart perhaps. I don’t know. It seems unlikely. She was always in excellent health. In fact, she was a health nut.”
“Where did the wine come from?” I asked.
Anna shook her head. “We used two bottles of red last night. One bottle came from the wine cellar. I have no idea of its provenance. I don’t really keep track of things like that. Besides…I was distracted last night, not really paying much attention. The second bottle…” She hesitated.
We waited. I made an effort not to look at J.X.
“The second bottle was a gift from Victoria Sherwell.” Anna added roughly, “Before you say it, Christopher, I don’t believe for one moment that Victoria poisoned that wine.”
“Was it homemade wine?” That was J.X.
“No. It was an ordinary bottle of medium-priced wine. The kind of thing you can pick up anywhere really.”
“Did the bottle appear to have been tampered with at all?”
Anna gave him a fierce look. “The police asked the same question, and my answer to them is the same as it is to you. Do you really think I’d have served that wine to you all if I had any suspicion that it had been tampered with? Especially with the previous attempts on my life?”
“Hey, the question has to be asked.” J.X. was cool in the face of her heated response.
Anna ignored him and turned to me. “What I really came here to tell you, Christopher, is I can’t put you in danger any longer. I should never have sent for you. If I’d realized there was any danger to anyone else, I wouldn’t have. I hope you believe that.”
I waved that away impatiently. “It goes without saying, Anna.”
