Chapter 3 #2
Michael shouted out a laugh so loud I thought my eardrums would burst.
“That’s a no, then?” I smirked at him, and he mirrored the expression.
“Yes, that’s a no! Can you imagine me and Damian together? God, we wouldn’t last two hours before one of us had scratched the other’s eyes out.” He chuckled to himself and sipped his drink. “I stayed with him for a fortnight when I… um, when I was between flats, and I’m surprised I got out alive.”
“Have you lived here long?”
“About a year. I bought it off a young couple who were headed out to the countryside to start a family. Most of the furniture was theirs too, and I think it was all hand-me-downs already.”
“Oh, that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“The decor. It’s not what I pictured your home to look like, at all.”
“No?” He wore an amused look. “I don’t strike you as a chintzy wallpaper and pink settee kind of chap?”
I laughed. “No. Not at all. I expected terribly modern furniture, lots of sleek angles and geometric shapes.”
“Oh, well done, very good. You’re right of course. I would prefer that. But beggars can’t be choosers. I needed a flat in a hurry, and I haven’t had the time, money, or inclination to decorate since then.”
“How come you were in a rush? What happened?”
Ignoring me, he downed the rest of his drink in one big mouthful. “Oh, would you look at that? My drink’s empty. I’ll go and refill it.” Getting off the couch, he held out his hand for my glass. I smiled and finished what was left of my drink.
“Message received,” I said, then nodded and handed him my glass. Gratitude etched in his smile, he sauntered off to get more gin.
“There you go, love.” Our fingers brushed as he gave me my drink, and it sent a buzz through me.
That’s interesting. My body had never reacted like that to Michael’s touch before. When he plopped down on the sofa next to me, the worn out cushions sagged, and he fell towards the middle, making our thighs press together. My dick reacted this time.
Very interesting.
The G I’d never seen him drink anything else, even though he bitched and moaned about the quality of spirit served at Le Duce.
He took a sip of his gin and uttered a sigh of contentment. My eyes were drawn to his Adam’s apple, and I watched it bob as he swallowed. Moving the glass away, he swiped his tongue over his moist lips.
Wow. Michael was fucking sexy. How had I never noticed before? Finding it hard to stop staring at him, I searched for a distraction.
“Can I put some music on?” I asked.
He paused before answering. “Yes, alright, but not too loud. The walls in these flats are paper thin, and my neighbours already disapprove of the hours I keep.”
Crossing the room, he opened the door of the sideboard and revealed what must have been over a hundred singles and half as many albums. I whistled my appreciation.
“That’s an impressive collection.”
“It’s a large collection,” he corrected. “You don’t know that it’s impressive. It might all be utter tripe. I might have nothing but the hits of Cliff Richard in here.”
I shuddered at the thought.
Thankfully, the record he put on was not the very fucking boring and slightly creepy rock n’ roll singer, but the newest LP by Martha and the Vandells, which started with a very cool upbeat track. The gin must have gone to my head, because I got up and danced–right there in Michael’s living room.
“What are you doing, you silly man?” Michael asked, his eyes wide and a coy smile on his face.
“You said you were making up for my lost night. I didn’t get to dance, so I’m doing it now.”
He laughed at me but started dancing anyway.
It should have been ridiculous–and it was, sort of–but it was also a lot of fun.
Every minute or so one of us would swig from our glasses, with Michael filling them up whenever they were empty.
We danced all the way through that album, so he put on another.
When the music started, I grabbed him and twirled him like we were like we were Lindy hopping or something.
Laughter rang around the room over the top of the soul music, and we carried on being daft.
The song we were dancing to stopped, and the next one had a much slower tempo, so I pulled him close to me and wrapped my arms around his waist like I would have done with a dance partner in the club.
Hesitating for just a second, he relaxed into the hold and put his hands around my neck.
He was a bit taller than me, so I rested my head against his chest.
We’d never danced like this before, not even at Le Duce, and I wondered why not. We chatted a lot and flirted a bit because Michael flirted with anyone who had a dick. Speaking of which, mine was starting to take notice.
His slender form pressed tightly against me was causing my body to react. Michael was a good-looking bloke–not that I’d ever thought about him like that before–and I hadn’t had a chance to meet anyone at the club, so getting hard while he was in my arms was to be expected.
Draped over me, he let me take the lead and set the pace of our movements, which turned me on even more.
I never got the chance to be in charge in bed–not that we were in bed–but my mind wandered and drew obvious conclusions.
I read somewhere that dancing was a bit like mating rituals in nature, and it made sense–especially dancing like this.
It wasn’t hard to imagine similar motion but in a more horizontal position.
Warmth spread through me at each point our bodies touched: his hands on my neck, his chest pressed against mine, my arms around his waist. Without meaning to, I pushed a little harder on the small of his back, bringing him closer to me, and felt the unmistakable length of his dick pressing into my thigh.
Body tensing, he tried to pull away, but I didn’t let him and gripped tighter to his narrow hips.
If he tried again, I’d let him go, but he didn’t.
Instead, he melted into my hold. Slipping my hands lower to cup his firm arse, I pushed a leg between his, so our whole bodies rubbed up against each other, including both of our very stiff dicks.
He let out a little sound somewhere between a gasp and a sigh, and I wanted him to make it again.
With my ear resting against his chest, I could feel his heartbeat punching out a tattoo.
Was he as turned on as me? We’d never done anything like this before, but he was as free with his affection as I was, so I couldn’t see it being a problem.
Sleeping with Damian hadn’t caused any problems in our friendship, so I couldn’t see why it would with Michael.
Somewhere along the line, he’d got rid of the silk cravat, leaving his elegant neck on full display.
He smelled lovely, some rich, deep scent that I couldn’t name, with a night’s worth of sweat lingering underneath.
It only took a tiny tilt of my head and my lips were on his skin.
I mouthed gently over his Adam’s apple, and to my enormous satisfaction, he made another one of those delicious gasp-sighs.
His fingers, which had been locked together behind my neck, brushed softly across my skin, sending shivers down my spin.
Encouraged, I moved my mouth up his throat, licking and nipping each inch of soft skin.
When I reached the sharp line of his jaw, the texture under my tongue roughened and pleasure shot through me.
I fucking loved stubble, the feel of it against my cheek. Or neck. Or thigh.
Fuck, I hoped this went where I wanted it to. I was so fucking randy. My trail of kisses reached the corner of his mouth, soft puffs of air fluttered across my cheek unevenly, like he couldn’t control his breathing.
Make or break time. Now or never.
As I pulled away–barely half an inch–and repositioned myself, time seemed to slow down around us.
We’d stopped swaying to the music, which still played but was drowned out by the sounds of our heartbeats and stuttered breaths.
I edged forward, and when our lips met, I could have sworn electricity crackled between us.
Fuck, what a kiss. I didn’t get to kiss much–there’s not much time or call for it when you’re two blokes stealing a dangerous moment. But this? This was something different. Bloody hell, Michael could kiss.
His lips were silky soft, softer than any blokes I could remember. Teasing them apart with mine, my tongue entered his mouth, making him moan as I explored him, tasting him. Echoes of the evening danced over my tastebuds creating new memories I looked forward to visiting again.
I knew this would be a one night stand–most of my shags were–but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be a fucking great night.
Our kiss was slow and lazy until Michael took over out of nowhere. Fingers that had been lightly tangled in my hair tightened unexpectedly, sending equal amounts of pain and pleasure shooting down my back as he devoured my mouth.
Did I already say that this man could kiss? Fucking hell could he ever. The fast, needy kiss was even more exciting. It was, without a doubt, the best kiss I’d ever had.
Another guttural groan filled the air, but this time it came from me. The way he took what he wanted from me was unbelievably sexy, and I wanted him to know that. Gripping his arse, I pulled his body into mine, and we started grinding against each other in rhythm with our passionate snogging.
Dragging myself away for just a second, I rasped out two desperate words, “Bedroom. Now.”