Page 69 of Take My Breath Away
PERRY
James insisted on dragging me out when all I wanted to do was climb into bed, pull the duvet over my head and pretend the world didn’t exist.
I knew the double whammy was a setback, that none of this was ever going to be plain sailing, and that I just had to accept it, pull on my big boy pants and get on with things. But, for a little while, all I wanted was to wallow in my misery. James, however, had very different ideas and right now, in the buzzy little bar, I’m very glad he did.
“Try this, it’s really good.”
James forks up a chunk of meat from a small bowl, one of many spread out on the table, all served tapas style, and holds it out to me. I go to take the fork, but he pulls it back and smiles, his feline eyes narrowing.
“Come on Perry, open up for me.” His voice is low and growly and meant only for me to hear. My heart gives a jolt and so does my cock. I open my mouth and James’ eyes, intent on mine, seem to glitter.
Closing my mouth around the meat, I pull off. Very, very slowly.
“Good?” he asks, as I chew.
“Hmm.” I swallow. “Juicy, succulent, oozing flavour, and with a very distinct salty tang.”
James’ smile turns dark and dirty and he shifts position, just a little, putting his eyes in shadow. He looks good, so fucking good, the way he always does. With a couple of cocktails already under my belt, the urge to grab his hand, drag him into the toilets, and drop to my knees is becoming an imperative.
He laughs, a low, deep chuckle. It fizzes in my blood, because he’s read my thoughts again.
“James.” My voice is thin and reedy, full of desperate need.
“All good things come to he who waits. Were you never taught that in Sunday School?” He sits back in his seat. His eyes once more visible, sparkle with amusement.
He’s teasing me, the fucker.
“Never went to Sunday School. My parents are confirmed atheists.”
“I, much to my regret, did. Delaying gratification was the only lesson I learned, and it’s proved to be a very useful one. The wait, and the anticipation…”
“Bastard.”
“Guilty as charged, but—”
“More drinks, guys?”
My head snaps up at the waiter who’s made a sudden and unwelcome appearance. He’s cross-eyed and his wide smile displays a set of very large, very crooked teeth. He’s a drenching of cold water.
“Yes, thank you. Same again.”
“I might have wanted something different,” I grumble, when the waiter departs.
“Not a good idea to mix your drinks. Remember what happened last time?”
I groan. “Don’t remind me.” If my cock needs another reason to run and hide, then drunk off my head and slumped in a Soho café, is it. “It feels like ages ago, now.”
“In a good way?”
“Of course.”
I’m surprised by James’ question, but I’m even more surprised by the tone. In those four words there’s uncertainty and apprehension.
The flirting, teasing man of just moments ago vanishes, replaced by a man who’s a little less sure. It’s a side of him I’ve only rarely seen. When he smiles, there’s almost a shyness about it. This isn’t the teasing, wicked, so hot he makes my skin sizzle James, the one who makes me want to do things that’d make a rent boy blush.ThisJames is softer, hesitant, and stripped clean of all his confidence and certainties. I reach for his hand, our fingers entwining.
The waiter returns with our drinks. I don’t know what he’s saying, his words are no more than gibberish, because all my attention is centred on the soft brush of James’ thumb running over my wrist. My heart’s thumping hard in my chest and I wonder if he can feel its erratic rhythm in my pulse. His hand slips from mine, and a broken sigh falls from my lips.
“Cheers,” he says, holding his glass up. I clink mine to his. “Feeling better?”
