Page 55 of The Gambler's Prize
“So what are we doing today, Boss?” he says. Apparently he’s going to ignore the invitation to call me Grimes. “It’s up to you.”
“Is it?”
“Of course. It’s always up to you. I’m your indentured servant.”
He pushes yesterday’s newspaper across the nightstand toward me. I take the hint and reach for my glasses, but his hand closes over my wrist.
“Can I?” he says.
I sit there like an idiot, trying unsuccessfully to stop my body trembling to his touch, as he slides my glasses onto my face. His blue eyes fix on mine with a terrifyingly lovestruck look in their innocent depths.
“There,” he says softly. His fingers graze the shell of my ear. Warmth permeates my body. “I love how you look in these. So knowledgeable and wise.”
I don’t feel wise, not with my so-called enemy in my bed looking at me like that.
He turns to a particular page in the paper, suspiciously fast.
“Oh, look,” he says. “The fair is in town.”
He glances at me hopefully, and I get where this is going.Up to me, my ass. He has the whole day planned out. Of course, he’d love the fair. Jugglers, acrobats, song and dance and comedy performances, copious amounts of alcohol. A treat for his extrovert heart.
“We really should be working today,” I say, out of habit.
And then I remember there’s no point. Not after the letter from the bank. My dream is dead. The rage comes rushing back, the disappointment. It’s all Florian’s fault. But I’m still smiling at him, still sitting here talking to him pleasantly. I don’t recognize myself anymore. An unreal feeling has held me in its grip since Florian gave himself to me. I need to tell him our tortured history. This lying has gone on long enough.
Florian crinkles his brow. “Come on, Boss. Please? We could use a day off.”
Well, a trip has one thing going for it. It allows me to put off my confession for a little longer. He’ll be much too distracted. And it gives me the excuse to ignore my maelstrom of emotions. The fair will be so crowded, I’ll barely be able to hear myself think.
“I suppose one day of idle pleasure won’t kill me,” I say.
“I hope not.” He makes it sound like a legitimate possibility. Stars, am I that much of a killjoy that he fears one day of slacking off could cause my demise? Then he starts to giggle, and I realize he’s joking. “I’d feel just terrible if it killed you,” he says.
He kisses my nose, then presses kisses down the column of my throat, across my pecs, and then his sneaky hot tongue is on my nipple, playing with me, bringing it to rough firmness with embarrassing speed. He dares to nip at me with his teeth. I’m immobile. I wish I could say it’s shock or annoyance, but it’s pleasure, pure and simple. My body has no respect for my need for vengeance. His mouth is heading south now, along my stomach, kissing down my pubic bone, and my body is just along for the ride. I realize almost too late that he wants to suck more than just my nipple. I jump back fast.
“If you really want to go to this fair, we need to get moving,” I say.
Can he tell how breathless I am? Probably. Did he feel my cock’s reaction as he got closer? Undoubtedly. He looks at the newspaper, sliding under my arm, and my other hand reaches for his hair, almost of its own accord. I stroke him gently. His soft whimper feeds something deep within me. Then he kisses me. I can’t help kissing him back. Stars, I had no idea I was this weak. It feels so much better now we can kiss with my hood down and I can feel his warm hands on my neck. I get carried away scarily fast, tangling my fingers in his hair, grabbing a handful close to his head and tugging lightly, controlling his range of motion. He moans, tongue twining with mine, teasing but thoroughly submissive, begging me to take charge of the rhythm. To take charge of him. My cock stirs.
I pull back, again. “We’ll miss the start of the fair.”
He glances at the clock. “I suppose. I didn’t realize it was so late. This is the first time you’ve let me sleep in so late since I got here.”
True. I’ve been so harsh with him. And he doesn’t even sound resentful. A tiny, guilty noise escapes me before I can stop it.
“Boss, you okay?” he says.
I wish he wouldn’t sound so much like he really cares about me.
“I’m fine,” I say.
He’s still looking at me quizzically. “Worrying about getting behind on work? I’ll work twice as hard tomorrow, promise. We’ll catch up.”
No, we won’t. Not with my loan denied. Florian is blissfully unaware of my swirling, conflicted emotions, as usual. He steps into his trousers and pulls them up over his long legs in one smooth movement, throws on a shirt, steps prettily into his shoes. His movements are more like a dance than the prosaic actions of getting dressed. Simple happiness imbues every gesture. That makes me feel grimy, and guilty. And yet I’m still angry at him. Breta would probably have some wise words about the complexity of the human mind. Jos too. I’m just annoyed. And confused. Florian drags his hands through his hair until it looks presentable. At home in Rhennes he would wash it before leaving his rich-boy house, but here it’s too much bother to drag buckets of water from the well every day. As he tidies it, I’m disappointed as evidence of how I ravaged him is wiped away. I know I shouldn’t have done it. But I don’t want to forget, either.
“The fair even has a hot air balloon this year,” he says. He meets my gaze in the mirror, and his eyes are shining. “Tethered flights with a view over the whole desert… can you imagine, Boss?”
I shudder. I don’t want to imagine.
