Chapter Thirteen
I run all I’ve said through my head. I’ve had enough of being a doormat, of letting my need to be in a relationship outweigh the way I’m treated.
I need to take responsibility for my actions.
Do I want to be his friend? Fuck no! I want to be with him.
As more than just his friend. I want to make the most of my time here and have a great time with this god of a man.
If I don’t sort my shit out by the beginning of September and make an effort to show my artwork, I’ll end up going back to my job, and all I’ll have are amazing memories of him.
“I don’t want to be your friend.” My words come out more harshly than I expected, more determined.
Merlin’s disappointment is obvious as he frowns, his eyebrows knitted together, and his lips narrowed into a thin pink line.
“I like you, Merlin. I like you a lot, and if you’d like to, I would like us to get to know each other better.
Have more dates and see what we have going on. Can we do that?”
When Merlin’s face softens and a smile appears, I touch his leg.
He covers my hand with his and squeezes it, then slides his hand up my neck, cups my jaw, and strokes the pad of his thumb through my stubble.
I like the rough callouses on his palms and fingertips.
Marc had soft hands with long fingers that had never seen a day’s manual work in his life.
I want to know what Merlin’s hands feel like roaming over my skin, my torso, gripping my arse.
How would my dick feel being squeezed, pumped, stroked?
I can’t hold back the moan escaping my lips as his brush barely a whisper away from them.
“God, you’re so responsive. What will you be like when I stretch you out, naked on my bed?” Merlin licks over my lips, and I open for him, but he pulls back. His eyes are as dark and deep as a midnight lake, with as many secrets. I want to lose myself in them as he owns me.
“There’s a bed only a few feet away from here.” I nod towards the bedroom. “It’s a very comfortable one too.”
I sense his rejection before he speaks, and it’s better to smile and rescind my offer by pulling away. “For future reference, of course.”
“Don’t be like that. Don’t brush it off. I want that. God know I want that, want you, but, sweetheart, I don’t want to rush. Think how good it will be when we know each other so much more.” He draws my head back down to his and lets his mouth find mine.
This kiss is sweet, slow, and full of promise.
I mull over his words, trying not to automatically feel rejected.
This is why I jump in too deep too quickly, allowing my needy nature to take over.
I let him take control of the kiss, his tongue slick as he slides it lazily over mine, then up to the roof of my mouth with a flick.
He pulls back to nip my lip, chasing the sting with another slip of his tongue.
I never want this to end, but when the fingers that have been gripping my hair loosen, I lean back, opening my eyes.
His slow smile lights up his whole face, and his dark brown eyes shimmer with gold flecks I hadn’t noticed before.
“God, you’re so gorgeous,” I whisper. A pale pink blush blooms on his cheeks as he ducks his head. “It’s true, and I’m sure you’ve heard it before.”
“If you say so.” He turns away from me. “Did you mind what I said? I assume you’re still going to be around. What I mean is, if you’re not looking for anything serious, then maybe I’m not the man for you.”
How serious is he talking? This is the first full day we’ve spent together, and it’s been great, terrific, wonderful.
And scary. Scary how much I like him, scary how good we are together, scary how easy it would be to fall for him.
But I have to put myself first. I’ve got a month left before I have to make any serious decisions.
Ones that will either take me back home with the memories of a holiday romance, back into a classroom full of surly kids who can’t wait for the bell to ring and get out onto the streets.
Others that will have me choosing to stay here, to find work while I expand my dreams of painting again.
Or the final one that has me leaving both the school and Calston Cove to find somewhere else to learn how to be me.
My head says yes, if only for the exclusivity of being each other’s, no hooking up with anyone else. “I like the idea of it, of being together.” For now.
Relief floods his face as he relaxes. He pulls on my hands to get close to me again and kisses me. I think this is something he’s quite happy doing for hours. He’s not using it as a precursor for fucking, getting it over with as soon as he can.
He slows the kiss and leans back. “I’d better go.”
I let go of his waist. “Yeah, it’s getting late. Will I see you tomorrow?”
“I hope so. Give me a call or text in the morning.” He looks at me for a long moment. “I’ve had the best day, Trent.”
The corners of my mouth lift to match his. Only I don’t feel as confident as him.
When he’s gone, the rumble of his Landrover fading away, I flop back onto the couch and sigh, a long, happy sigh. My heart is beating faster. God, I’m acting like some of my year ten girls. I sit up properly.
I want to draw him, to try and catch the carefree attitude he carries everywhere, the opposite of my demeanour of cautious, thought-out plans.
I jump up and grab my sketch book and pencils.
I want to use plain pencil grey with splashes of colour.
His eyes need to be captured in the sparkling emerald they were when the sun shone done on him.
Page after page, I fill of him, his face, his hands, what I imagine his bare chest to look like.
I can let my imagination run wild at the thought of his naked body.
I felt the thickness, the girth of his cock as I straddled him in his car.
How long does he mean for us to wait? What is an acceptable amount of time before I get the chance to see him in the flesh?
I doubt Google has the answer. Gay men aren’t usually the ones to take a step back, to take their time.
If they did, I’m sure Grindr wouldn’t be as popular as it is.
My hand starts to cramp at the same time my stomach rumbles.
I look at the time. It had got later than I expected.
The sky is a pale violet as the night starts to take ownership, something I’ve grown to love watching.
London, with all the built-up areas where the artificial lighting takes the place of the stars, doesn’t give the same view.
Here on the edge of the dunes, it’s become one of my favourite times of day.
I’ve more than a few paintings of it, and they’ve become some of the best I’ve drawn. Until I started to draw Merlin.
Reluctantly, I put the pencils down and stand up, groaning as I stretch my arms above my head to straighten out my spine after hours of leaning over the drawings.
My phone buzzes from the coffee table. I grab it, hoping it will be Merlin. Without thinking, I answer. “Hello.”
“Well, it’s about time you answered,” my mother says in a sharp tone. “Stop all this nonsense and come home.”
I end the call without saying another word.