A Limited Engagement - lanyon Josh - Страница 3
- Предыдущая
- 3/5
- Следующая
“Is that supposed to make it better?”
His eyes widened at my anger. “I didn’t mean to…tried not to…take advantage of you. Of your…youth, your generosity.” The words seemed difficult for him. “Did you feel used? Is that why?”
The playwright always wanting the loose ends neatly tied up. Living in fear of the critics, apparently.
I said, “I don’t think you used me. I think you fell in love with me.”
He was silent for a long time. I thought my heart would shatter into pieces like an asteroid waiting for him to say something. In the end all he said was, “And for that --?”
I stood up, hugging myself against the cold, although between the brandy and the fireplace, the room was warm enough. “And I fell in love with you,” I said. I wanted to sound strong and convincing, but I just sounded pained. “The second morning at the Mansfield, the first time you let me fuck you. I made some stupid joke, and you laughed, and you kissed my nose. I’ve never wanted anyone or anything as much as I want you. I would give anything --”
He looked away at the fire and a muscle moved in his jaw.
“And I couldn’t stand there and watch you marry Anne Cassidy. It’s not right. It’s not fair to any of us. Not even to her.”
He said impatiently, “Anne knows exactly what she wants. And so do I.”
“Then why are you settling for companionship and respect when you could have all that and love and passion as well?”
“Because you’re twenty-three years old and queer -- and what the hell does that make me?”
“Older and queer!”
He put his head in his hands.
I stared at him. “Well, that’s that,” I said. “Anyway, you’ll be okay. It’s New York. It’ll be a nine days wonder and then no one will even remember.”
He looked at me with something close to dislike. “You don’t think so?”
“Hell, I don’t know.” I rubbed my face. “I’m sorry. Sorry to hurt you, but not sorry to have stopped it.” I added, “If it is stopped.”
“Oh, it’s stopped.” He sounded sour.
And that really was that. All at once I was out of ideas -- and energy. I said, “I can’t keep saying I’m sorry. I guess…you know where to find me.”
I started for the door and he said harshly, “Adam, if you thought you were in love with me, why didn’t you say so?”
At that, I had to smile. “I did Ross. I said it in every way I knew. If I’d actually said the words, you’d have broken it off. You didn’t want to know.”
“You think I do now?”
I shook my head. “No. You’d still prefer to think it was just sex.”
Ross said slowly, “But you came here anyway. Drove all the way up here on the chance that this is where I would come.”
“Yeah.”
“Knowing how I would feel about you after this.”
I admitted, “I couldn’t stay away.”
Neither of us said anything. The fire popped sending sparks showering.
His voice was very low as he said, “I could have hurt you very badly; you know that.”
“You could have killed me,” I said, “And it wouldn’t have hurt as much as watching you marry someone you don’t love just because it fits your image or whatever the hell it is with you.”
It wouldn’t hurt as much as watching him marry anyone who wasn’t me.
“You’re so sure it’s you I love?”
“I am, yeah.” I said it with a sturdy confidence I was a long way from feeling -- but that’s what acting is all about. “I think that’s why you kept giving into my demands, because you didn’t want to break it off either. I don’t think you’re that afraid of me.”
“I wasn’t, no.” Astonishingly, there was a thread of humor in his voice. “But then I didn’t fully grasp what you were capable of.”
To my surprise he held out a hand. I took it, and he drew me down onto the sofa. For a moment he sat there, absently playing with the fingers of my ring hand. My fingers looked thin and brown and callused next to own manicured ones. When I didn’t have a paying acting gig -- which was usually -- I worked as a bicycle messenger for a courier service. Yeah, safe to say eHarmony probably wouldn’t have set us up as the perfect match.
He said, “Has it occurred to you that if I did love you, you destroyed it with your actions?”
I swallowed painfully. Nodded.
“And you still don’t regret it?”
“Maybe I will.” I met his eyes and tried to smile. “Right now I’m sort of numb.”
“That’s two of us.” He leaned forward, finding my mouth, kissing me. I slid back into the cushions, surrendering to whatever he wanted. He kissed me softly, and then harder. His mouth bruised mine, a punishing grind of lips and teeth, but I opened to it, opened to him, and almost immediately he gentled. His hands moved under my sweater, pushing it up.
His touch was warm and sent a tingle spreading beneath my skin. I murmured approval.
“I have never known anyone like you,” he said.
“But that’s good, right?”
He snorted and sat up, but his fingers went to the buttons of his tailored shirt.
I yanked my sweater up, banging my head on the arm of the sofa as I pulled it over my head, dropped it. I humped up, wriggling out of my jeans.
Ross was hurrying to undress too, and it was a relief to know that the desire between us remained intact. It was always like this, hungry and hurried -- and then sweet and satisfied. It was…nourishing.
Because, regardless of what Ross told himself, it wasn’t just sex -- and it hadn’t been for a very long time.
I kicked my legs free, kicked my jeans away. Ross stood up, unzipped, and stepped out of his trousers. I brushed his long, lightly furred thigh with my hand.
Naked, he lowered himself to me and I ran my fingers through his hair that was drying in soft silky black strands smelling of rain and firelight. I pressed my face to his throat and licked him, licked at the little pulse beating there. He exhaled a long breath. Relief? Resignation?
I said, “It wasn’t easy. Just so you know -- it --”
He pulled back a little. “No. I know. When you opened the door you looked --” He considered it and then said, “Terrified and sick and hopeful all at the same time.”
“That pretty much sums it up.” I wanted to make a joke of it, but it wasn’t funny.
Everything that mattered to me was going to be settled in the next few hours. Maybe minutes. I didn’t know if this was a hello fuck or a goodbye fuck. Maybe even Ross didn’t know.
“I love you so much,” I said, and my voice shook.
“I know.” He sounded pained. So…goodbye then?
I kissed the underside of his jaw, and he tipped his face to mine and found my mouth in hot, moist pressure. Something as sweet and simple as kissing: mouths moving against each other, opening to each other, the sweet exchange of breath.
His tongue slipped into my mouth, a teasing little thrust, and I sucked back. He tasted like Ross with a brandy chaser.
I kissed him, and he whispered, “You’re fearless, aren’t you? Going to the papers, coming here tonight, opening up to me now. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone as fearless as you.”
I moved my head in denial. “I’m scared,” I said. “All the time. I’m just stuck in drive. When it comes to you, I don’t know how to stop or how to reverse.”
He shook his head a little, his mouth found mine again, nibbling my lower lip, moving his mouth against mine in feathery, teasing brush. I nuzzled him back and his kiss deepened. I liked his weight lowering on me, warm and solid, I liked the roughness of his jaw against my own, I liked his taste and scent, and the feel of his fingers against my cheek -- and the insistent prod of his cock in my belly.
I put my hands on either side of his face and said, “Can you just tell me if this hello or goodbye? I just want to know, so I can stop…hoping.” The alcohol and exhaustion made it easy to be honest, to accept whatever the truth was going to be. If the answer was no, then in the morning I would deal with it but tonight we were going to make love.
- Предыдущая
- 3/5
- Следующая
