Page 91 of Symphony of Salvation

“No.”

“None? I can’t believe that.”

“Music is the only thing I love… and Constance, but my love for her is uncontested, unchallenged, and unchanging. I wouldn’t know how tonotlove her.”

“But no one else?”

“None so far. I’ve always been… coldhearted, I suppose. Closed off. I don’t open myself up to the possibility of love. Or rather, I haven’t to date.” He stared into the burgundy depths of his wine, creased forehead betraying serious contemplation. “But…”

“But?”

A wistful smile softened his features as he glanced up and sipped the wine. “You never know. If I’ve learned anything in the past couple of months, it’s that life is unpredictable. If tragedycan befall people out of the blue, why not love? I’ve heard it can blindside you when you least expect it. My only fear is, I’m so unfamiliar with the concept, I might miss it even if it’s staring me in the face.”

The concentration and devotion in August’s eyes spoke of those fairy tales I was still gullible enough to believe in. The hairs on my nape and along my forearms prickled.

He advanced, setting his wine glass on the counter before depositing himself between my legs. He didn’t stop there and boldly kissed me, cupping my face between his palms. No compunction. No hesitation. No questioning, contemplating, or ruminating over consequences. For every confidence, August possessed an equally grave weakness. He was perfection and destruction. He called to something deep within me, yet I feared the ace up his sleeve. Somedays, I was no different than nineteen-year-old Niles, who’d gone off to university with his bags packed full of ambition and dreams.

I could handle August,this, so long as I reminded myself daily,hourly, not to fall in love.

August had left his shame at the restaurant, transforming into someone else entirely. He dominated the kiss, hands roving, mouth claiming. Without pause, he relieved me of my shirt one button at a time, grazing the flat of his palms over my chest once revealed. The touch lit a path of fire over my abdomen, tingling the blood in my veins.

“I’m so incredibly attracted to you,” he said against my mouth. “Every part of you… since the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

His mouth landed on my neck, licking, sucking, and marking. I didn’t have the wherewithal to request he didn’t leave bruises where I couldn’t hide them. I fumbled with his belt, worried his sweater over his head, and tore at the confining clothes remaining as I sought skin.

“You’ve been with other men?” I asked, half question, half concern.

“I told you I have.”

“How?”

“What?” His tongue scored a path along the length of my collarbone as he tilted my head back and lapped over the swell of my Adam’s apple. His teeth caught my chin, grating the dense scruff as he nipped and tasted along my jaw.

“Howhave you been with them?”

August chuckled. “Ah. I see. Every way possible, Niles. Don’t fret. I know what I’m doing.”

I clasped his face and forced his head up. His lips shimmered with saliva. Humor shone like moonbeams from the dark forests of his irises. “Clarify, Maestro. I need to be sure I thoroughly understand you.”

He tried to move in for another kiss, but I stopped him, brow raised. “Explain.”

“I can give, receive, or play any dirty game you’d like. Happy?” He stroked my hardening length through my pants. “You might think me a stiff on stage, but I’m not a slouch in the sack.”

“Fuuuck.”

More laughter. “That mouth on you.” He kissed it, bruising and deep and claiming.

Wedging a hand down the front of my underwear, August’s warm fingers brushed against the sensitive line of my cock before securing hold and stroking, flesh to flesh.

Cross-eyed with pleasure, insides vibrating, I pulled free from his mouth and removed the assaulting hand before shoving him toward the kitchen door. “Bedroom’s upstairs. So are the condoms and lube. We are not exchanging hand jobs in the kitchen.”

August backed out the door, determined not to stop exploring. Tongue, teeth, nails. Hands everywhere. Stroking, fondling, aching for more.

We crashed into a wall and remained there, letting it hold us upright as things escalated. Skin on fire. Mouths fused. August found the elastic band holding my hair back. It stood no chance, snapping and flinging somewhere into the room. He combed the long strands from my face and wrapped them around his fingers, securing me in a tight grip. There, he held me.

“And how about you? How have you been with other men?”

“Six ways to Sunday.”

---