by J P Sayle
Martin took a deep inhale as Aaden’s predatory smile flashed into his eyes. Fuck, he’s a gorgeous bastard when he lets that smile loose.
“You need to temper that fucking smile back a bit if you don’t want Greg to think he’s prey.”
Aaden chuckled.
“Greg already knows what my intentions are, so you needn’t worry.”
The quiet statement had Martin pinch his brows together. Waiting for it, Aaden was not disappointed when Martin went into protective mode.
“What happened last night? Did you take advantage of Greg? I’m telling you I can still kick your arse if …...”
“Nobody is kicking anyone’s arse unless it’s me.”
The growled response coming from behind them had Aaden whipping his head round at the same time as Martin. They squirmed in unison under the blazing heat Greg was firing at them.
Martin shut his mouth, feeling heat spread across his cheekbones as Greg gave him a “mind your own business” stare before he turned his thunderous blue eyes to Aaden. Martin had a feeling there were going to be fireworks when sparks shot out of Greg’s eyes directly at Aaden.
Poor sod.
Sitting back grinning, Martin got ready to enjoy the show.
“Now, what was that you were saying about your intentions and me knowing what they were? Hmmm, I think I distinctly remember somebody telling me to think about things while you left me with a raging hard-on. Sailing out of the room like your shit doesn’t stink. There was, at no point that I can remember, anything discussed about intentions.”
Greg’s small, pointy chin and pouty lips shoved into Aaden’s face, making him grit his teeth to prevent taking a big bite, right there in front of everyone. The loud outburst had the full attention of the dining room shifting to them. The flush raising up Aaden’s neck infuriated him. He had never showed any outward display of affection, anger, lust, or any type of emotion that he could recall, but now it seemed that Greg thought that should change.
Unsure how he felt about that, he stood, towering over Greg. Irresolute of his intentions, the next thing he knew his mouth was plastered to Greg’s.
Shocked into stillness by his own actions, Aaden floundered. Indecision warred with the deep-seated need to keep kissing Greg till he was moaning and withering all over him, making Greg forget his angry outburst.
Blindsided by the rawness of the need and panicked at being so exposed, he tried to pull back. His eyes widened, and he felt small when warm hands caressed the side of his bristly face, gently cupping him all the while Greg’s mouth teased, encouraging him to open and let him in. His mind simply shut down as his tongue snuck past his defences, rendering him useless as Greg destroyed his willpower with soft caresses. Their tongues teased and tangled together, making him rock forward and pulling Greg into his body, seeking more.
He knew he’d lost his mind, but he couldn’t seem to find it in him to care as the taste of Greg filled him to the brim, making his heart flutter and dive in his chest as though it were a butterfly fleeing, trying to escape and show the world how beautiful it looked coated in Greg’s loving tenderness.
“Well, good morning to you too. Hell, did someone turn up the heat in here?” Stuart’s husky chuckle as he wafted his hands in front of his face doused Aaden’s passion more effectively than a bucket of ice cold water pouring over him. The reminder of exactly where they were had him slowly pulling away from temptation, and the confusing emotions caused his heart to ache in funny places.
“Fucking hell,” Aaden mumbled against Greg’s soft lips before releasing him fully.
He plonked himself unceremoniously into the chair, sitting on his tingling hands that itched to pull a glowing, puffy-lipped Greg into his lap. Steadfastly ignoring the disappointed pout on Greg’s face or his own raging desire, he acknowledged Stuart with a curt nod.
He let the conversation flow uninterrupted around him, pretending that his world hadn’t just been turned on its head and he wasn’t standing at the end of the pirate’s gangplank ready to jump into unknown waters.
The rest of breakfast passed with relative ease once the rest of the patrons of the hotel went back to eating instead of staring surreptitiously at their table.
They all agreed to meet in the hotel foyer at two pm for checkout and head to the airport. Aaden’s hope that Greg would come to his room to talk about the previous night were dashed when he made an excuse to leave with Martin.
He’d spent the whole of breakfast watching Greg for any signs of a freak-out, convinced it was going to happen at any moment, but all he’d got was steadfastly ignored as Greg had chatted about everything under the sun. Now, several hours later, he was home alone, lying on his new Tempur mattress, wondering what the hell had gone wrong. The silent treatment was so not going to work for him nor the avoidance Greg had done at the airport. Hell, he’d been more elusive than the Scarlet Pimpernel. When he’d roamed departures, he’d been unable to find where Greg had hidden.
What the hell was Greg playing at?
Hadn’t he had enough time to think?
Why didn’t he want to come back and talk to Max or me?
Okay, I hadn’t asked him to, but then how could I, when he all but ran away from me like his arse was on fire.
Questions circulated around and around, driving him mad. When he got no closer to the answers, he picked up his mobile. His large fingers played with the screen of his iPhone, pondering if it was a good thing to text Greg and just ask.
Hey, Greg, do you want to come over tomorrow and speak to Max?
Aaden looked at the innocuous text he’d typed, his finger hovering over the send button. He hit send before he could overthink it. Realising too late his mistake, he growled.
“Well, fuck!”
Maybe the small thing of going through your friend’s phone while they weren’t looking to steal a number, err, I suppose someone might see that as a bit of an issue.
Who is this?
The instant response had him snarling down at his phone, forgetting how he’d obtained Greg’s number.
The little fucker knows exactly who it is. Greg wants to play games, does he?
Playing along, Aaden typed back.
Aaden. Who did you think it was?
Pleased with his response, he waited for a reply. Seconds dragged into minutes as he lay on his bare mattress, having forgotten to purchase new bed linen. His eyes rolled heavenward as his patience stretched tighter than his childhood toy, Stretch Armstrong, could.
“Come on, answer Goddammit.”
Jerking, Aaden dropped the phone when it vibrated at his command. Snickering at his own nervousness, he checked the screen, his brows rising.
I just wanted to make sure, as I’m pretty sure that I didn’t give out my mobile number, well, except to the hottie at the club last night, for when I’m back in London.
He had so better be fucking joking, right now.
You, my red-headed beauty, better be kidding or else your arse is going to be redder than your hair when I get hold of you.
Hitting send, he waited a beat to see what response he would get back. He was not disappointed when his phone alerted a second later. His lips spread into a wide smile that would have shocked his friends, as he read.
Promises. More like empty promises.
The next text had him fist-pumping the air.
So far that’s all you’ve given me. I’ll be there tomorrow at eleven am, and we’ll see what we see, Mr “big on threats and little on action.”
The third text had him gulping in terror and his mouth drying.
It’s a date.
Ohhhhhh, we will see about that, my little red beauty. We will see.
Rolling off the bed, he padded to the bathroom to get a glass of water to ease the dryness in his throat.
A date.
Could I do a date-type thing?
Oh, crap, I’ll need reinforcements.
Groaning in despair at having to ask Joe for help, Aaden plucke
d at his lip, considering whether he could ask Brad instead. He at least wouldn’t rub my face in my own cluelessness. Well, I hope not. Brad might be his only chance of not looking like a right fool.
A bloody date.
Shuddering, Aaden stopped in the bathroom doorway. His mind blanked before it registered the gleam of white from his newly fitted bathroom suite.
His eyes lit. How had he forgotten they were coming to finish his bathroom yesterday?
Bloody Greg!
He let his thoughts of Greg slide to the back of his mind. His gaze swept the now completed bathroom. The bold white suite stood out against the pale patterned tiles swirling with the colours of the ocean. The engraved glass, encasing the waterfall shower, was etched with whimsical mermaids and mermen, making the room appear as if you were underwater. The navy blue accessories he’d chosen added to the overall effect. He hadn’t been confident it was the right way to go, but hearing Greg talk so animatedly about it to Joe—throw in the dreamy expression—and he’d been sunk, just like the shipwrecks that scattered the coastline around the island. They hadn’t stood a chance against the current, and neither had he against Greg’s wants.
Shaking off the sappy feelings, he checked over the plumbers work, pleased to see that Stuart’s recommendation had worked out so well. A large grin spread over his cheeks at the effort he’d put in knocking down the wall that separated the toilet from the bathroom. It had all but doubled the space, allowing for the part wet room and the enormous claw-footed bathtub Greg wanted.
Ignoring the wayward thought of what Greg wanted, he concentrated with effort on the copper fittings. They gleamed under the scattered star spotlights the electrician had fitted the previous week. His arse gave a little wiggle at thoughts of having a bath or a shower where he didn’t feel like he’d invaded Lilliput to use their bathroom.
Aaden forgot about the need for water, wondering around what he could now see was becoming his home.
His cheeks ached, his grin growing, taking in all the changes he’d failed to notice when he got home. He headed downstairs, looking at the finished walls.
Shit, Joe must have worked like a trogon to finish all the painting.
He’d hated how the darkness of the place had sucked the life out of the house, leaving nothing but hate and shit brown. That dark, dreary space no longer existed, dispelled under the new paint. Multiple spotlights were installed everywhere, and the total removal of all things shit brown was completed. The soft palette of colours ranged from sands to bold terracotta, and though he’d not been too sure to start, he was pleased Joe had talked some sense into him. The walls glowed with life that his new large triple-glazing windows and doors would enhance further in the summer when the sun poured through the wide open space.
Aaden’s eyes lightened when he found nothing but a brightly lit, airy space as he flipped on the lights as he went about the house. The flooring was next on his list of jobs to do. His mind racing, he strolled into the kitchen. He thought ahead to how it would look after Nick worked his magic.
He shoved the nagging voice away that told him not to count his chickens where Nick was concerned. He didn’t acknowledge how cross Nick was going to be at him not mentioning the little thing, like his need for a new kitchen. His own confidence at talking Nick into making him one had him whistling as he ambled back upstairs, his mind already designing his kitchen.
Greg
Greg tugged at his fitted brown jacket, making sure it lay just right against his body. Never mind that he was bloody freezing his arse off in the thin coat. It, Gemma had assured, made him look stylish and impossibly hot because it matched his drainpipe trousers.
Greg had bitten the bullet. Taking his own life in his hands, he’d called in the reinforcements at nine o’clock this morning. Having a mini-meltdown, he’d barely remembered to check his calendar for Gemma’s shift pattern before he made a big mistake of ringing her after or during a block of night shifts. He knew Gemma would be madder than a March hare for getting her up, at what she called the arse crack of dawn. Still, it didn’t deter him. His need was greater.
He’d never understand why his friend preferred working all night versus being in bed with potential sexy time. Gemma’s argument that daylight sexy time was way better had him questioning why every guy he’d dated had never made a move on him in daylight.
He snorted.
As if I’d have let them see my cock in the light.
And really, what boyfriends, when all you’ve been thinking about for weeks is the man on the other side of the door.
Greg puffed out his lips, sucking in one last fortifying breath. Lifting his freezing hand, he knocked.
His breath whistled past his lips loudly at the speed at which the door burst open. He wasn’t totally convinced Aaden hadn’t been waiting on the offer side of the door, just waiting for him to knock.
As he jumped back, Greg’s gaze travelled up the towering giant in front of him encased totally in black. The white of his teeth gleamed against his golden skin as they flashed at Greg.
Greg swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling dryer than the Sahara desert.
He tried to remember why he’d thought goading the big fucker, yesterday, about a date, had been a good idea.
Greg felt his IQ drop when Aaden’s intense, fathomless onyx eyes roamed indiscriminately over his body. He tried not to squirm, remembering Gemma’s pep talk about being bold, taking charge, and not letting Aaden walk right over him like all his other boyfriends.
He’s not your boyfriend, you silly arse.
Greg found himself answering back to the negative ninny sitting on his shoulder.
Yet, he’s not my boyfriend, yet.
Though where his new-found confidence came from, God only knew, but somehow or other, this gorgeous specimen seemed to find him attractive.
Wasn’t that just the fucking bee’s knees.
“Hey.”
Greg offered up the sultry smile he’d spent an hour practicing on Gemma. He pushed his shoulders back, fixed his spine straight, still not quite convinced his new-found confidence would last, but going with it. He strolled past Aaden as if he owned the place. Not waiting for a response, he gave Aaden a small smirk when he stepped aside allowing him in.
Warmth immediately rolled over his chilled skin, and he shivered in his thin jacket as Aaden shut out the freezing morning. Greg couldn’t fail to notice the difference from the last time he’d been there. The place had been freezing. In his opinion the Arctic Circle had to be warmer than Aaden’s home. Heck, it was so cold that for a second he’d contemplated offering Aaden his spare room. Well, that was until they’d fought. Then that had blown that thought right out of the water when he’d stormed out fuming. Greg remembered he’d been too mad then to offer Aaden anything, never mind a bed.
The fact they always seemed to fight when they were within two feet of each other had him forcing thoughts of arguments away. He focused on being positive, remembering he’d been invited this time. He couldn’t help his lips tilting in satisfaction at receiving the invitation, even if it was only to speak to Max about stuff he’d been diligently avoiding since their talk on Friday.
The temptation to talk to Gemma when she’d arrived this morning had him faffing about like a total prat. Then he’d had to pretend there wasn’t anything wrong when she’d sent him several questioning looks. He’d known she’d guessed there was more going on when he had no pictures or stories about London. But being the good friend she was, she’d let him be. He knew it wouldn’t last long before she started nagging at him. He just hoped by the time he was ready to talk and he’d at least have answers, that didn’t make him sound insane.
He tucked his worries back into the corner of his mind where it had been sitting, minding its own business, and where he wanted it to stay. Because, at least there, it couldn’t cause him any problems. Problems, he knew without a shadow of a doubt, would be coming in their shed load the minute he opened up that can of worms.
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Letting the uneasy thoughts drift away, Greg regarded all the changes that had taken place over the last couple of weeks.
“Wow, you really have been busy getting things sorted. I’m loving the colour schemes. I knew Joe was right when he talked about how it would give it your home the holiday villa-type feel. Have they fitted your bathroom yet?”
His excited jiggle and question earned him a silent nod.
“Can I go and have a look?”
His excitement, he could see, clearly had no effect on the stoic, brooding eyes tracking his every move. Barely containing the sigh of frustration, Greg paused at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for permission.
“Yes, it was finished while we were away. Go on. I think you might like it.”
Greg watched Aaden lift his large hands encouraging him up the stairs. Sudden sparkling mischief lit his eyes. Greg swallowed the pooling saliva and turned quickly to hide the growing quandary in his too tight trousers.
Shit, shit, shit, think about anything. Come on, you fucker, go down, pleaseeeeeee.
Greg rushed up the stairs, shouting at his wayward cock when it wouldn’t deflate. He cursed his choice of tight brown jeans currently having an argument with his cock, and his cock it seemed was winning as it strained obscenely against his fly.
The heavy footfall behind him only made it worse. His cock bucked in delight, contemplating all the possibilities. He gave an internal sigh of despair. Greg tried to remember he was only here to talk to Max. Aaden may not have disputed his text implying a date, but he hadn’t confirmed it either.
That still didn’t mean you’re getting in on the action, my friend.
Muttering under his breath, he gave his cock one final telling-off. As he stepped into the bathroom, Greg gasped, and his hands flew up over his mouth in delight.
“Oh my God, you used my ideas. I totally knew it would rock. Look at that. It really does feel like you’re in an aquarium.”
