by Ali Ryecart
Roland pulled him in tight, and Georgie gasped as Roland crushed his lips to his. The gasp turned to a moan, then into a kiss that was hot, hard, savage in its intensity. And Georgie wanted more, he wanted more now, with this man.
He wanted Roland.
Georgie crushed his body to Roland’s, whimpering into the other man’s mouth as he clamped his hands to Roland’s arse, hitching him forward and grinding their steel hard cocks together.
Roland whined, the sound begging and needy. A tiny thrill of triumph rippled through Georgie. Roland wanted him, the man whose disdainful and contemptuous gaze had made him feel like nothing, wanted him. Roland was his, to say yes or no to. For once in his life, he, Georgie, was in control.
The power was heady, intoxicating. It felt so damn good.
It felt wrong.
Because in his arms, Roland was trembling.
It was want, it was lust, it was need and desire, because wasn’t he feeling those things too?
But it was more, something else, something deeper.
Sadness, and loneliness.
Georgie’s heart clenched hard in his chest, and he eased himself back, putting a hair’s breadth of distance between them.
“I’m sorry,” Roland said, his voice rough and strained. “I shouldn’t have—have grabbed you like that.”
His head dropped and he made to turn aside, but Georgie stepped in close and rested a hand against Roland’s cheek.
Roland stilled, his sigh quivering as he pushed into Georgie’s palm.
Soul-deep sadness. Tonight, Georgie would push its heavy weight from Roland’s shoulders.
“You’re afraid.” Slowly, rhythmically, Georgie brushed his thumb across Roland’s cheekbone.
“Am I that obvious?” Roland said, his voice hoarse and uneven. “This. I’ve not… it’s been so long since…” His head dropped forward as his shoulders slumped.
“This can be anything we want. It can be all, or it can be nothing. It could just be a kiss. We could say goodnight, you clinging to your side of the bed, me to mine—”
“I don’t want that,” Roland whispered. “God help me, but I don’t.”
“God? He’s got nothing to do with it. Because I’m here, and I’m all the help you need.”
Chapter Nineteen
What in the love of God am I doing?
This was wrong, it was dangerous. He was opening himself up, making himself vulnerable—
“Ah, God…” Roland’s words shuddered from him, as Georgie, hot and naked and straddling him, his cock full and heavy and pressed against Roland’s own, sucked on his hard, nervy nipple.
Georgie laughed, sending delicious shivers across Roland’s heated skin.
I shouldn’t let him… let myself… dangerous…
The words in Roland’s head, so, so insistent and insidious, died as Georgie inched his way down his body, licking and sucking his way across his chest, his stomach, his—
“Oh, fuck.”
“Hmm, s’nice,” Georgie said, his voice muffled as he buried his face in Roland’s groin.
Roland groaned, his legs flopping wider, his breath coming in faster, tighter, shallower gasps. His whole body spasmed, fire searing through his veins as Georgie’s tongue swept over the head of his cock, lapping at his slit, at the tingling, throbbing head.
“Roland? You okay? If you don’t want me to—”
“Yes,” Roland ground out. God, yes.
A strangled cry was wrenched from him as Georgie’s lips slid the length of his dick, taking him deep into the hot wetness of his mouth.
Every suck, every lick, every sweep of Georgie’s tongue, it was too much, it wasn’t enough. It was perfect pain, perfect pleasure. It was everything he’d yearned for, craved, for so long in the arid desert of his life. It was everything he had been afraid of for so many years. It was everything he wanted, here and now, with a boy who should have been off-limits…
Roland thrust his fingers into Georgie’s hair, gripping handfuls tight. Georgie chuckled, picking up speed, his head bobbing, working every inch of Roland’s cock, sending a tingle deep into his balls.
The circling of a fingertip across his entrance, coaxing, pressing, breaching, was a bolt of electricity that jerked every muscle, sinew and nerve in Roland’s body.
This, this, this… His body hungered, needed. It had—
“Been so long, been so fucking long.”
The words were ripped from him, dragged from some place dark and deep within.
Roland thrust his hips forward, opening himself up, offering himself up, as he flung an arm across his eyes, feeling the wetness pooling in them, then overflowing as a sob broke through his sealed lips.
Georgie went still.
“Roland?” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I should have asked. Sorry.”
“No. It’s what I want.”
Roland pulled his arm from his eyes. Georgie stared up at him, his gaze soft and full of concern, his top teeth worrying at his lower lip.
“I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
Georgie lay a soft kiss, barely more than a breath, as though Roland were something precious to be cherished, on the inside of each of Roland’s thighs.
“I can make you feel so good, can make us both feel good…” Georgie murmured as he began once more to stroke and coax and stretch, and breach, Roland’s fluttering, nervy muscle.
Roland sighed, and closed his eyes, giving himself up to Georgie’s touch.
I can make you feel so good…
“Ah, fuck.” Roland’s limbs shook, heat exploding in every corner of his body. His hands fisted, his toes curled and clenched, almost cramping, his heart thumping out a wild beat, sweat drenching his skin, as Georgie stroked, and stroked, and stroked his gland.
So long…
The bed rocked, its wood creaking, melding with the moans, muttered curses, and strangled cries. His, but not only his.
Roland forced his eyes open and his heart all but burst.
Georgie, on his knees and between his splayed legs, his palm around his own cock, touching himself at the same time he touched Roland, his hips snapping backwards and forwards as he fucked hard into his fisted hand. Georgie cried out, incoherent, animalistic, throwing his head back, his spine arching, as cum burst from his cock, arcing high before splattering them both with its hot stickiness.
Roland gasped as Georgie jerked forward, saying something Roland couldn’t hear or understand. The buzz of white noise filled his head as Georgie wrapped his wet palm around Roland’s burning, pulsing cock, as with his other hand he thrust his fingers deeper into Roland, hitting his gland over and over.
Roland’s balls pulled up tight, his muscles convulsing and spasming as his orgasm exploded from him. His heart hammered a crazed rhythm, wild and out of control, his breath a crushing weight in his lungs, as his body trembled and quaked. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging and blinding, as panic raced up his backbone.
“Roland. Roland, you’re fine. Everything’s okay.”
A voice, soft and reassuring, like the steady stroke across his brow, calming him down, bringing him down.
“Hey, just take slow, deep breaths. That’s better. So much better. That was — intense.”
Georgie, shifting, laying down next to him, and smiling, before snuggling into him and burrowing into his side.
“Intense,” Georgie murmured, his voice softening and slurring. “And amazing, and beautiful, and…”
Georgie’s words melted to nothing, replaced with a gentle puff of his lips as sleep took him.
Roland swallowed hard and stared up at the shadows cavorting across the ceiling. He’d never, ever come like that before, he’d never experienced…
Georgie muttered something in his sleep, and shuffled in closer, coiling his arm around Roland’s waist as though to stake his place and claim him.
The lone candle spluttered and went out and, in the darkness, Roland stared, wide-eyed and with mounting fea
r, at the sleeping man next to him, asking himself what in God’s name he had let happen.
Chapter Twenty
“I didn’t know whether to wake you,” Georgie said, as he turned from gazing out of the window to find Roland staring at him.
Georgie couldn’t help smiling, he just couldn’t, because he didn’t remember when he’d last been so alive and happy. He ran a hand over his hair, still damp from the shower, his cheeks throbbing with heat.
Last night, it was amazing. You were amazing. The words danced on the tip of Georgie’s tongue, as sudden shyness overtook him, and he dropped his gaze.
The sounds Roland had made, the way his body reacted to the slightest touch, the way the man had unravelled. It had been like a dream, as they’d made love, their bodies painted in shadow and light.
He pulled his baggy, oversized sweatshirt down, as his dick stirred and nudged the zip on his jeans.
“I was thinking,” he said, looking up, his eyes resting on Roland’s face, before darting away, his smile no longer feeling so bright, or easy. He cleared his throat. “I was thinking,” he said again, “it’s Christmas Eve, and as we’re not going anywhere, we could build a snowman. Never done it before. Can you believe it? I mean, it’s not hard to believe, is it? ‘Cause it hardly ever snows in London…”
I’m gabbling… The words spewed from his mouth, as his nerves burned through him. Because something was wrong, when everything should have been right.
Roland stared at him, his face unreadable. He said nothing, had said nothing. Georgie flinched. He’d been babbling on about building a snowman as though he were a stupid kid.
“Roland, are—are you okay? Us? Are we okay?” Georgie swallowed, as Roland only looked at him with eyes that were as warm as winter frost.
“Us? What do you mean, us? There is no us.”
Georgie gazed, horribly mesmerised by Roland’s distant, expressionless green eyes. The man was statue-still and every bit as lifeless.
“But last night—”
“Was an error of judgement, on both our parts. Under normal conditions, it would never have happened.”
“What? What do you—I don’t understand,” Georgie whispered. “Last night—”
“Was down to circumstances, and that’s all. We stepped over a line that should never have been crossed.”
Roland swept the bedding aside. Grabbing his jeans up from the floor, he pulled them on, his movements jagged and staccato, the air in the room crackling with tension.
“What? You think it was a mistake?”
Georgie swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t that, he would never believe last night had only been that.
What did I do, Roland, other than make you — us — feel good?
Roland dragged on his shirt, buttoning it up as he kept his eyes trained on Georgie’s.
Georgie stepped back, kept stepping back, until he pressed against the cold, hard glass.
“Last night did happen, and it wasn’t a mistake. You might want to forget it, but I don’t want to, and—”
“What do you mean by that?” Roland stilled. His eyes narrowed, watchful and suspicious.
“Only that—that what happened, it felt right. It was right. And it was good, more than good. And you were incredible. Beautiful. I’ve never…”
Felt like I felt last night. With you… The words Georgie wanted to say because they were true, the words Roland would rip apart and throw away as though they were nothing. Because that was how Roland was looking at him. As nothing. As nothing more than the kitchen boy, who was now his dirty little mistake that needed to be swept under the carpet.
Roland drew in a long breath, and when he spoke, his words were ice.
“If you attempt to spread gossip, if you ever breathe as much as a single word, I will do everything in my power to ensure you never set foot in a kitchen again, in any capacity.”
Georgie started, his jaw dropping as he stared into Roland’s dark green eyes, harder and colder than he’d ever seen them before.
“I’d never say anything, to anybody,” Georgie said, his voice shaking. “It’s nobody’s business. I don’t — I’ve never talked about who I’ve—”
“It’s best for both of us if you don’t return to Pendleton Manor in January. I will inform Julia that you’ve decided to remain in London to find employment there. I’ll ensure you’re paid until the end of your six month probationary period, and that you’re given an excellent reference. As a goodwill gesture.”
“What?” Georgie gasped, gaping at Roland. “Best for both of us? A goodwill gesture? You’re giving me the sack, and paying me off because we slept together? And you call that a goodwill gesture? We—”
Made love.
It was what they had done, and Roland could deny it all he wanted, but it was what they had done. Georgie wanted to scream the words so loud his lungs ripped, but as he stared into Roland’s closed off face, they lodged like stone in the pit of his stomach.
“So you’re paying me off,” Georgie rasped. “Is that what your goodwill gesture is? Paying me for—for sex?”
“Of course that’s not what I’m doing. But it’s impossible for us to continue working together. Don’t you understand? Don’t you see that?”
Georgie lifted his head up high when all he wanted to do was curl up in a corner and cry, as he smarted from the blows Roland rained down on him. But he wouldn’t do that. He would look this man in the eye, this man he had made love with, no matter how much Roland denied what had happened. He would look Roland Fletcher Jones in the eye, and he’d not flinch. Georgie pulled his shoulders back, mustering every scrap of strength, dignity, and pride he had left.
“I’ll tell you what I see, Roland. I see a man who’s afraid. I see a man who can’t accept that something amazing happened, something that broke through your cold, hard shell. And that scares the living daylights out of you for some reason only you know. I won’t return to Pendleton Manor. Not because you say so, but because I choose not to. I expect to be paid what I’m owed, nothing more. I have never been, and never will be, paid for—”
“It’s not a payment for—”
“Sex,” Georgie said, raising his voice, cutting Roland off. “That’s exactly what it would be. I’ll leave, but it’s my decision, not yours. I won’t embarrass you, Roland, you won’t need to flinch every time you look at me and remember your mistake.”
Roland pressed his lips into a thin, hard line, as a flush mottled his neck and began to creep up his face. A tiny bubble of victory burst in Georgie’s chest, but its fizz was short lived, sour and flat, like cheap sparkling wine.
Georgie turned and walked out of the bedroom, holding back the hot humiliation of his tears, only letting them fall as he closed the door with a soft click.
Chapter Twenty-One
Alone in the lounge, Roland stared into the flames, as raging and turbulent as his thoughts. What had he done? What had they done? Hadn’t he been down this road before? Hadn’t he risked his heart, only to have it crumpled and crushed, and thrown away? And he had vowed, committed, never to open himself up like that again, to make himself weak and vulnerable.
But hadn’t that happened, and with a man who was so wrong for him in so many ways?
But also, so right…?
No. Georgie couldn’t be right. No man could ever be right.
“Oh, Christ.” Roland slumped forward and rammed his tension-stiff fingers through his hair, bunching his fists, feeling the sting and pull, needing the pain to remind him of the fool he’d been.
He’d panicked. There was no other word to describe the turmoil that had raged through him, as he’d gazed down at Georgie under the weak winter sunlight that had streamed through the windows.
Georgie, whose dark hair was messy and sleep tousled.
Georgie, his red, kiss-roughened lips curved up in a soft smile.
Georgie, long, lithe limbs still and at ease as he lay sprawled amidst the dishevelled bedding.
Georgie,
who’d looked so damn adorable and vulnerable that Roland’s heart had near broken.
How could it have? His heart had been ripped apart years before, leaving it dead and lifeless.
But it hadn’t been like that last night, had it? His heart had beat with life. For the first time in so many years, he had known what it was like to feel, to be truly alive. And that had been down to Georgie, the man he’d held in his arms and had wanted never to let go. Until the panic had taken him over, and all the warmth that had flowed through his veins had turned to ice.
Georgie had known, before Roland had said anything, Georgie had known. His soft smile had faded, the clear light in his eyes had dulled, and his shoulders had sagged under the weight of Roland’s panic.
A log in the grate shifted, sending up a flurry of sparks and a burst of flame. Twisting, turning, entwining, melting, and merging into one another. The way he and Georgie had, under the waxy candlelight.
The silence and warmth of the room began to feel oppressive. Maybe he should go and find Georgie, explain that there could never be anything between them. Explain why that was. Could he bring himself to reveal his sorry, shameful history, buried deep and dark for so many years? Roland shuddered. No. He couldn’t do it, he didn’t have the courage or the strength.
He was right about removing Georgie from the kitchen at Pendleton, he had to be right. It was the only course of action open to him. There was no way they could work together, not now. But perhaps he could help with securing him a position elsewhere, some place he could get the training he was desperate for. He had contacts, he could make it happen… and Georgie would look at him with contempt because they would both know he wasn’t helping, but was only removing the reminder of a lapse that should never have happened. It would strike at Roland’s heart, but it could never be as bad as the hurt and pain he’d seen in Georgie’s eyes that morning.
The younger man had walked out of the bedroom with a dignity that had made Roland ashamed.
Long after Georgie had left, he’d lain on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, breathing in the warm air, redolent of salt and musk and heat that had been so much more than just sex, leaving him more alone than he’d ever been.
