Chapter 3
Three
Garek arrived the next night on the back of a winter gale.
The winds had screamed through the day, keeping Tomasz well away from the door. Instead, he warmed by the fire with a book and a mug of tea, telling himself he was not waiting for Garek to appear. That would be sad and silly. Too hopeful a pastime for a bartender at a crossroads tavern.
Solitude was the nature of his work, and while it was not the life he would have chosen, he was as good at managing the long, lonely hours as he was at donning a friendly smile and keeping track of faces and names.
When the storms did not keep the villagers away, they came by frequently and stayed for hours. And while Tomasz had lived alone these last ten years, he was not lonely. Not with Oj Pavel, Fenra, her wolf, and the travelers wandering through his front door.
So, when the ice and snow kept the road empty, he told himself it was not silly to sit and wait for one traveler when none crossed his threshold, even as he sat with his chair angled so that when Garek arrived, his dark-clothed mass forming out of the shadows and wind and snow, Tomasz saw him immediately.
“Come in!” He jumped up, spilling the blanket from his knees. “Please, come in. I’ve made soup.”
Garek hesitated halfway through the door. “You made soup?”
“Perhaps ‘made’ is an exaggeration.” Tomasz grinned, knowing the lop-sided smile made him look boyish and young. Enough passing men with his tastes had told him so before showing him how much they enjoyed it. “It is a hunter’s pot, though I did tend the flame.”
Garek hung his scarf on a peg. The cowl followed, and the wry expression he wore thrummed something sweet in Tomasz’s chest. A thrum that grew when Garek’s riding coat filled the third peg.
“I wonder … is it the food that draws customers to your tavern?” Garek said. He rolled his shirtsleeves as he strode across the tavern. Tomasz’s eyes fell and stayed fixed on muscular forearms dusted in dark hair. “The gorza? Or you.”
“Well, you have already sampled the gorza,” he replied, unsure if he imagined the light, teasing tone in Garek’s voice.
“I have.”
He stopped in front of Tomasz, a light in his eyes that had not been there the night before.
This close, the scent of oiled riding leathers and crisp winter wind teased Tomasz’s nose, stirring the desire to draw even nearer.
To follow Garek when he crossed over the threshold and disappeared into the night.
Without breaking his gaze away, Garek bent and stirred the pot, removing the wooden spoon and bringing it to his mouth.
He flicked his tongue out, testing the heat, and then sampled the soup properly.
Red lips closed over the spoon. His eyes fluttered closed, and the deep, satisfied sound that left him punched Tomasz in the gut.
It had been months since a man with Tomasz’s preferences had visited the tavern. Months since he had been held in burly arms or had thick, strong fingers tug his hair.
And in that low, hungry sound, months of ignored desire and need came roaring to life.
Tomasz swayed toward Garek, drawn to him like a beacon in the night. No traveler had ever visited three nights in a row, and the desire to know why Garek returned was as strong as the desire to know his touch.
“And now I have sampled the soup.” Garek opened his eyes, that arresting gaze taking in Tomasz’s nearness. The wry smile reappeared, showing not the least bit of surprise. “Perhaps I should sample what else this tavern has to offer.”
Tomasz licked his lips. “Perhaps.”
The spoon clattered against the side of the pot. Garek raised his hand, hovering it beside Tomasz’s cheek. The fine hairs along his jaw raised, seeking the other man’s touch like a flower seeks the sun.
“I worried you would not be here tonight.” Garek’s voice rasped between them.
“Where else would I be?”
Instead of answering, he cupped Tomasz’s cheek and hauled him onto his toes, crashing their mouths together.
Another rumble built in his chest, and this time, Tomasz felt the roll of sound as well as he heard it. He curled his fingers into Garek’s vest and gripped his arm, holding him as close as he could, even when he pulled away.
Garek’s pupils were blown wide, ringed in a narrow band of silver. His kiss, fleeting and hard as it was, burned against Tomasz’s lips.
“You are real.”
“Yes?”
Garek darted his gaze over Tomasz’s face. “I thought,” he murmured, more to himself than Tomasz. “I had wondered, but you are here, I can touch—” And locked their gazes. “Can I touch you?”
“I wish you would.”
Garek’s hand flexed against Tomasz’s jaw before sliding into his hair, fingers lightly curling.
Short nails teased his scalp, and he gasped in anticipation of the tug, holding his breath for the pinch of pain that never came.
Instead, Garek slipped an arm around his back and pressed Tomasz hard against him, still searching his face, as if hunting for some specific tell.
But what other tell could there be? Tomasz’s cock thickened in his breeches, pressing firm against Garek’s thigh.
He gripped the front of his vest to keep him close, and angled his face up in offering.
When Garek did not move to kiss him, when he held so still Tomasz was half convinced the man had turned to stone, it struck: he awaited an invitation.
Not a wish, a formal, firm invitation that could not be misconstrued.
“Please, Garek.” His voice shook, nerves and desire churning together. “Touch me.”
Garek gave one tight dip of his chin and did as he was told.
This kiss, unlike the first hard, testing press, was slow and deliberate, learning the plump curve of Tomasz’s lips. He slid his tongue inside, the slightest dip, and lightning sped through Tomasz’s veins, burning away the deep winter chill.
Again, that rumble built in Garek’s throat. He speared Tomasz more deeply, sweeping and plunging his tongue at a pace he could not hope to match.
Garek was too tall, too broad, too strong. Too hungry.
He tightened his arm around Tomasz, lifting him onto his toes.
In two steps, his back was against the wall, and Garek finally fisted his hand in Tomasz’s hair.
A shout escaped him, swallowed by Garek’s kiss.
Hips pressed against his groin, applying pressure to his throbbing cock that transformed the echoes of pain into pleasure.
Tomasz gave in. Not that he had fought, but the tension in his body eased, overwhelmed by the grind of Garek’s hips. His own cock, hard and thick in his trousers, pressing against Tomasz’s belly.
Garek grunted and adjusted his stance. The next roll of his hips ground his cock against Tomasz. Ecstasy burst between his eyes, escaping as a tight, needy whimper.
“Gods, it has been so long.” Garek jerked Tomasz’s head back, scraped his teeth along his throat, and closed his lips against his Adam’s apple. “You are so smooth, so solid, I could—”
His next words were whispered into Tomasz’s skin and lost to his ears. He shivered at the silent promise spoken instead by the heat of Garek’s mouth, the suck of his lips, and strong body rocking against him.
For however long it had been for Garek to be with a man, it had not lessened his skill or knowledge of how to touch one. Every grind shot Tomasz higher. His pulse flew like a six-horse carriage, surging as a rising tide of heat into his belly, his hips, his groin.
“Garek,” he gasped. Fire consumed him, heat and pleasure compressing and compounding until his body could not contain it all.
“Not yet.” Garek ceased and put space between them. “I am not done touching you.”
“Oh, gods.”
A smile flickered, and Garek’s eyes roiled like melted silver. He unfisted Tomasz’s hair, fluttering his hand down his arm to his waist. Cold air bit his skin as Garek lifted his shirt and braced Tomasz with a callused hand.
“It has been so long since I could touch another,” he rumbled. “I plan on savoring this as long as I can.”
“How long?”
“Long enough,” Garek answered plainly. He guided Tomasz’s hand to his side, pressing his fingers into a firm grip. “I still have far to ride before dawn, but for this?” He slid Tomasz’s shirt higher, eyes dropping to glimpse naked flesh. Garek’s lips parted on a gasp. “For this, the road can wait.”
He ducked his head and pressed a kiss to Tomasz’s side. Higher. Snagging a nipple between his teeth before sinking to his knees.
Tomasz’s head fell back with a thud. Wool slid under his fingers, replaced by the coarse run of Garek’s beard. His thick hair still tied back by a strip of leather. Tomasz palmed his head, seeking a handhold in the torrent of sensation churning within him.
Garek’s lips raised goosebumps as he tongued his belly button and sucked lightly at his hip bones.
Tomasz’s cock throbbed hard enough that he half-feared it would spring free of its own volition.
Thick fingers toyed with the belt at his waist, undoing the leather and letting the ends fall open.
A large hand cupped the back of Tomasz’s knee, and did not move.
“Tomasz.”
Gods, his name in that deep, guttural voice, gasped like a prayer and thick with want. It shot straight to Tomasz’s balls and sent his head spinning.
“Touch me, Garek.” He was not above begging. “Please, gods, touch me.”
Heat fell over his groin. Delicious and maddening at once. Garek mouthed him over his underclothes, working a line up the length of Tomasz’s cock.
He gripped Garek’s hair. Dug his nails into the wall until splinters bit his skin.
Garek never eased or slowed, working Tomasz until his hips bucked and the pleasure grew to be too much.
“Garek—”
The waist of his underclothes fell away, and mind-melting warmth engulfed his cock. Garek’s tongue curled around his shaft, tightened the ring of his lips, and sucked.
The stroke of his lips, the suction and sweet, sweet glide of his tongue drew Tomasz to the edge faster than he could fathom.
“Fuck the gods and all.” He pounded a fist against the wall as bliss exploded through him.
His release shot into Garek’s throat, and he never let up, swallowing all Tomasz let loose and sucking as if he could draw forth more.
Right as the lovely sensitivity grew to be too much, Garek slipped off his cock and settled back on his heels.
He gazed up at Tomasz, a look of wonder on his face.
“So warm.” He swept the back of a hand across his lips and rose. Panting breaths crashed against Tomasz’s cheek, and Garek brushed a soft kiss to his lips. “Thank you.”
“Thank me?” he managed. “I should be thanking you. My knees are quaking so hard I can barely stand.”
“Then we should lie down, the next time I pass through.”
“Next time.” Could a heart fall even as it lifted? “Must you go so soon?” He tucked himself back into his underclothes, pointedly glancing at Garek’s rigid cock pressing against his leathers.
“I have many miles to ride—”
“Before dawn,” Tomasz finished. “I know.”
“You do?” Garek startled back.
“You mentioned as much the other night.” Feeling bold, Tomasz cupped Garek’s cheek and stole a kiss. “And you have not said very much at all. It stood out.”
“I suppose it did.”
He kissed him again, this one sweet and lingering.
A drugging kiss to convey what he could not with words.
Or perhaps Tomasz read too much into the lazy glide and lingering curl of his tongue, for at the howling of a winter wind, Garek jolted away.
He half-staggered across the room, tearing his coat from the wall and shoving his arms into the sleeves.
“I must go,” he said, absent all tenderness. The cowl hid his hair, and Garek wrapped the scarf around his throat, shoving the ends within the neck of his coat. “Stay within your tavern, Tomasz.” Stepping onto the rubble, he gripped the doorframe hard enough to blanch his knuckles. “Please.”
And before Tomasz could answer, he was gone.