Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
The drive is short and filled with a lovely tension. I slide my hand onto his thigh, and he holds it there, his hand warm.
When we get into the house, Bodge runs upstairs, and I follow Zeke into the kitchen.
He sets the box down on the kitchen table, and I sit down on the other end, swinging my legs. “Come here,” I say, and he moves between my legs so that I wind them around him.
I bite my lip, contemplating my next question. I want him like I’ve never wanted anyone. He’s the one I want to keep. This man means everything to me, or the sweet possibility of everything.
“All this has been happening quickly,” I say, gesturing into the small space between us. “Are you sure about it?”
To my astonishment, he chuckles and then cups my face in his big palm. “Is it really quick? I’ve missed you for all these years, and you said you felt the same about me.”
“Yes, but only one of us knew he was gay.” A smile plays on his mouth that widens when I say quietly, “I want this to work and not just for now.”
“Me too,” he says.
I relax. Like the plans we had when we were boys, if he’s on board, things will be fine.
He has a way of simplifying everything so that I can see clearly.
And he proves that when he says, “I liked you when we were kids, and I like you as an adult. Can I promise you forever? No, of course not. But I want to promise you forever. That, and more.”
I offer him a smile. “That’s more than enough for now.” I sit back slightly but still keep my legs around him. “So, I need to ask you a few questions.”
His mouth quirks. “Just a few? You’re slipping in your old age.”
I pinch him, laughing. “Shut up. Are we likely to have visitors? Because I have plans for you. Big plans.”
His eyes flare. “No. The door is locked, and it’s not opening anytime soon.”
“That’s very good news.”
“I agree.”
“What sort of experiences have you had?”
“Not that many,” he says gravely. “I’ve fooled around with a few men, but it was mainly in the back rooms or toilets of gay clubs. It wasn’t…”
He hesitates, and I say softly, “Wasn’t what?”
He takes a breath. “It was good. Sexually, it was what I’d always wanted, so of course it was good, but I’ve found I need more. It’s not enough to get off. I want a connection. What about you?”
“I’ve slept with a fair few, and don’t get me wrong, I love sex. I love every bit of it, from the sweat and the noise to the feel of a cock inside me.” His eyes flare, and I brush his hair back from where it’s fallen onto his forehead. “What do you like? Do you prefer being the top?”
“Well, I’ve never done the other, but I would do that if you wanted.” His voice is low and serious with a hint of huskiness about it that makes my cock throb. “I would do anything with you, but what I most want is to fuck you.”
The bold words said in his sweet voice are too much for me, and I want so much to throw myself at him, but he deserves more than that.
He deserves care and time. I’ve done my share of bathroom liaisons, and the one thing they aren’t is gentle or personal.
They’re good, but it’s like eating a cheap chocolate bar and throwing away the wrapper.
You’ve forgotten it before it hits the waste bin.
I want this to be like the best chocolate—the dark stuff that melts on your tongue and leaves a sweet taste in your mouth. And that’s when an idea occurs to me.
I reach out and draw the cardboard box to me. “So, this is your honey.”
His brow furrows. “Yes?”
“And you were going to give me a tasting?”
His eyes kindle as he gets my meaning. “Well, only if you want.”
“Oh, I want. But where to taste these samples? Hmm. That’s a quandary.” I send my greedy eyes over him. He’s so fucking gorgeous.
He clears his throat. “I believe there are tasting sticks in the box.”
“But, Zeke. Can I call you Zeke?”
His eyes twinkle. “You usually do.”
“Zeke, tasting sticks are for other people.”
“Oh dear. How remiss of me not to have thought of that.”
“You can’t think of everything,” I return fairly. “Okay, I need to get my tasting arena ready.”
“Arena? You aren’t Coldplay.”
“I’m deducting points for sarcasm. Please make note of that.” I reach out and fiddle with the buttons on his shirt and then rip it open. The buttons pinging everywhere have more to do with how big a bloke Zeke is and not my own strength. I mean, I’m not the Rock.
Nevertheless, the shocked arousal on his face makes it very worth the effort. “I’m sorry. Did you want that shirt?” I ask innocently.
“Well, it was a favourite.”
I snort. “I’ll buy you another, pretty boy.” I shove the shirt from his shoulders and whistle at what I see. He’s so very fucking pretty.
“Now that is a tasting table,” I say approvingly. I reach over and snag a jar of honey and a bundle of tasting sticks. “So, what sort is this?” I ask, opening the jar.
“It’s Devon Spring honey,” he says hoarsely.
“It smells lovely.” I twizzle a taster stick in the golden contents and then rub the stick over his nipple. The golden liquid glistens on his tanned skin, and his nipple pebbles. He sucks in a breath that turns into a groan as I lean in and lick his nipple.
“Shit,” he breathes.
“Mmm. That’s lovely,” I whisper. “Tell me about the honey, Zeke.”
“It’s—Oh god,” he breathes as I suck on his nipple, pulling back to mouth and bite gently at the nub. “Bees love spring,” he finally gets out quickly. “It’s when the willow, damson, and horse chestnut trees are flowering, so there’s lots of pollen.”
“I like that.” The honey is sweet and sugary, and I can taste what he’s talking about, but what I like most is how the taste of Zeke mingles with the flavour. I sit back, loving the way his gaze snags on my lips. “Well, that was nice, but I’m neglecting the other honeys.”
“Well, we can’t have that.”
I offer him a slow smile and snag another jar that reads, Ivy Honey.
This one goes onto his other nipple, and I repeat my actions. This time his hands are quick to come up, and he cradles my skull as I lick and suckle the raised nub. This honey is bittersweet and complements his salty sweat perfectly.
“That’s so good,” he breathes. “Again.”
“I like this honey. What is it?”
“It’s—” He stops to clear his throat. “It’s a rare honey because you need a very hot October and November for the bees to provide a surplus.
” He sucks in a breath as I bite down on his strong throat.
“Fuck, Georgie. Why does this feel so good?” I wind my legs around him, feeling the heft and weight of his cock hard against my own.
Then I rub against him, the friction almost making my eyes cross, and he cries out, grabbing my hips so hard he’ll leave bruises.
I moan in appreciation of the fact, and he cups my arse, dragging me closer as he takes my mouth.
“So sweet,” he mutters. “Honey and Georgie.”
I kiss him again, and when I pull back, we’re both panting, and I have to pause for a second to catch my breath.
Then I take another jar, fumbling in my eagerness.
Within seconds, his torso is covered in stripes of honey, and I bend over, licking up the sweetness until his tanned skin glistens with sticky honey and saliva.
When I push him back, he goes slowly as if in a dream. Red flags of colour stain his cheeks, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and so sexy.
“What?” He blinks as I lever off the table and kneel in front of him.
His cock is an intriguing bulge behind the denim, and I grip it hard, letting him thrust into my palm for a second before I pull back and open his jeans. I’m desperate to see him, and soon his jeans and underwear are at his feet and his cock springs up between us.
It’s worth the wait—long and almost intimidatingly thick, with a red, juicy head that glistens with early seed.
I lean in and nuzzle at the base of it, inhaling the scent of him drunkenly where it’s strongest. He smells wonderful—soap, musk, and man.
I look up. He’s a glorious sight. His abs are a testament to a life spent working outdoors.
His hips are narrow, the skin as tight as a drum.
The area around his groin is as pale as snow, and I nuzzle there too, licking across his hipbone and biting gently, hearing his catch of breath.
He sways towards me, pushing his cock against my lips, and I can’t resist a taste. He’s tart and hot, and my eyes roll into the back of my head. “What’s your favourite honey?” I ask after swallowing down his flavour.
“Erm.” He clears his throat. “Hawthorn honey. Why?”
“Pass it to me, please.”
He turns and fumbles in the box, and I take the opportunity to scramble out of my clothes. When he turns back, his gaze is heated, but his expression turns almost reverent. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, and the honesty in his voice makes my eyes burn.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He traces a big hand down my torso, his fingers as soft as a whisper. “I’ve dreamt of you like this,” he says simply.
“Me too. So much time wasted.”
He shakes his head. “We’re here now.”
“We certainly are. Pass me the honey.” I unscrew the top and sniff the contents, before setting the jar on the floor beside me. “Why this one?”
“Because I love hawthorn. It reminds me of walking home with you when we were kids.” He swallows. “The bees only have a few short weeks to make the most of it, and that reminds me of you, too.”
I smile up at him. “That’s so lovely,” I breathe and then remember my task. Forgoing the tasting stick, I use my fingers to scoop out a huge dollop and then take his cock in my hand.
“Fuck,” he shouts, leaning back against the table and thrusting into my hand. “That’s so good. Don’t stop.”