Finding North (13 page)

Will doesn’t kiss me back, even after I’ve shoved my tongue down his throat. Slowly, I pull away.

And then I grab my clothes and walk out of there before I can do either of us any more damage.

B
rawling with your ex-best buddy on Bundy rum is one sure-fire way to make you feel over the hill. So is fucking, I guess, when you go at it the way we did. Jesus, aren’t thirty-year-olds supposed to be in their prime or some shit? Coincidently, that’s how I feel today, thanks to our impromptu little
Fight Club
last night—like shit. I don’t look much better either. My lip is all busted up, my jaw is bruised too where North tapped it a couple of times, and I had two rounds of Berocca this morning and it hasn’t done jack. I’m still fucking lagging like a cock at a christening.

I wish I could say I regret it—any of it. But I don’t.

Zero regrets, sir
.

I’ve been wanting the chance to show North what he was missing out on all these years, and I got it. Too bad I also got a busted up hand, a killer migraine, and a face that looks like it’s been hit by a sledgehammer.

Despite feeling like a fucking eighty-year-old, my mood has improved, or so I’m told by Sal and my father, who sit at the bar making googly eyes at one another.

Fucking heteros
.

“So where are the two of you off to today?” I ask, pouring Sal another Chardy.

“Nowhere,” she complains. “Your father’s too cheap to spring for a real date.”

“We have a fully functioning kitchen,” Dad says with his usual slur. His right eyelid flutters for several beats. His doctor told us that it was likely it would stick around, to which my father had said, “As long as my cock’s still in working order and not winking at anyone, I can handle looking like I’ve got a tick.”

Sal rolls her eyes. “A kitchen that I have to cook in.”

Bessa has Sunday and Mondays off, but we still have a weekend cook. Nicole handles the Reef’s ‘laidback’ menu. Basically if it’s deep fried and wrapped in batter, you can order it. Sal doesn’t really do deep-fried. She’s one of those odd people who exercises and eats a lot of salad. She’s also the only woman I’ve seen who was able to drink Phil the barfly under the table.

I walk over to the register and open it. The loud
ding
draws the attention of a couple of guys occupying the pool room, but they go back to drinking their beer.
It’s that fucking quiet
. I take out a couple of fifties and hand them to my father. “Take your missus out, will you? She’s suffering enough just by being your date.”

Dad just rolls his eyes. “That’s coming out of your wages, you little turd.”

I grin and Sal gives a little squeal of excitement, lunging over the bar to lay a wet one on my lips. “Thanks baby,” she says, delicately tracing my bruised jaw, as if she were trying to hint at something.

“Yeah, yeah. Read you loud and clear, lady,” I say with a wink. When I glance over her shoulder, North is walking in. He looks how I feel—like shit. He sports a shiner and a busted up mouth, though it does nothing to subtract from the fact that I’d love to see my cock shoved between those soft, full lips, even now.

He doesn’t say a word as he takes the seat beside Sal, but she whispers, “Okay I’ve heard of rough sex before, but you two take it to a whole new level.”

North tenses, and then gives a little chuckle as his gaze meets mine. “I don’t know what you mean. I ran into a telegraph pole on my way home.”

“Oh, I heard he was a real livewire, too,” Sal says, hopping off her stool and giving us both an over-exaggerated wink.

“Jesus,” I say to my dad, “Would you get her outta here please?”

“Maybe put on some protective headgear next time.” My dad smirks, clapping North on the back. The poor guy looks mortified. He grabs the nearest paper coaster and starts tearing it to shreds.

Dad and Sal leave, and I glance at North. We share a silent exchange—last night is water under the bridge.
Albeit a fucking rickety one.
What happened upstairs doesn’t take away all of the years of hurt, but it was a damn good place to start.

“Drink?” I say.

Some of the wariness leaves his eyes. “Beer.”

I grin, grabbing a glass and pouring his favourite lager from the tap. “No Bundy today?”

“Hell no! This bogan has had all the Bundy he needs for a lifetime.” North fishes a ten-dollar note from his wallet. I wave it away and set the beer in front of him. “Besides, I’m not sure your face could take another hit.”

“Oh please, you hit like a girl,” I say, and North chuckles, wincing as the tiny cut at the corner of his lip opens up.

“I’m happy to try again.”

“Which part?” I ask, because I can’t help myself. North Underwood turns me every kind of stupid a gay man can be about a hetero dude.

There’s heat in his gaze, and I wonder if he’s erecting a tent in his jeans the way I am right now. Dylan, one of the steelworkers we went to school with, slips onto the stool beside North and barks his order at me.
Douchebag
. He glances at North and whistles. “Boy, did you cop it last night.”

Oh, if only he knew
.

North just smiles and sips his beer. “Yeah, think I’m finally out of the doghouse now though.”

Dylan shakes his head, throws some money on the bar and snatches up the beer I set down. He slaps North on the back in a consolatory ‘man pat’ as he gets up and says, “Women, right?”

North frowns, glancing down into his glass, and Dylan walks back to his mates.

I shake my head in mock commiseration. “Yeah, bitches are a pain in the arse.”

“Shut the fuck up.” North laughs, throwing bits of torn up beer coaster at me.

“You’re picking that shit up,” I warn, and despite our busted-up faces, and the fact that there’s at least ten people in the bar watching our exchange, we both grin like wild men after a hunt. The laughter slowly dies down. North looks up at me and I can’t place his expression. He’s not his usual cocky self. There’s something different in the weight of his stare … uncertainty, and maybe a little bit of nervous excitement too.

“So … friends?”

I smile salaciously. “Sure, we can be friends.”

Because that worked out so well last time
.

T
aking the joint from his fingers, I bring it to my lips and inhale sharply. I cough, and Will shakes the bed with his laughter. It’s been a little more than a week since our run-in with Bundy rum, and our pact? Yeah, that was shot to shit the second it was made. All this arsehole has to do is look at me sideways and I’m begging for it.

“Pussy,” he teases.

“Hey, I just fucked you into next week. I ain’t no pussy.” I wave away the puff of smoke he just blew into my face, and attempt to ignore the way my chest lurches when he smiles at me.

“That’s true. You’re definitely not a pussy.” Will sets the joint down in the ashtray on the bedside table. He rolls on top of me and kisses my lips, gently coaxing my mouth to open for him. My cock stirs. I break the kiss and lean up on my elbows. “I gotta get home. I have work tomorrow, and unlike you, I need sleep to operate heavy machinery.”

I also have a … flatmate at home who likes to ask a lot of questions on my whereabouts.

“Never stopped you before.”

“Will,” I warn, but he’s already sliding down my body, kissing a wet trail over my abs and wedging my legs apart to fit himself in the space between them. He takes hold of my nut sack and gently kneads my balls.

“Mmm, that feels good,” I groan, and lean over and take the joint from the ashtray, sliding it between my lips. Inhaling deeply, I let my head roll back against the headboard. Will lowers his mouth to my body and licks all the way along my perineum, over my balls and up my shaft, flicking his tongue back and forward over the head of my cock before deep-throating me. “Oh, Jesus.”

The man has no gag reflex whatsoever
.

He makes a humming noise, like a low chuckle. My dick is in his mouth so I forget all about the irritation I should feel at having the bastard laugh at me, and I forget about the fact that all I want to do right now is thrust into the back of his throat and choke the cocky prick with it. Instead, I focus on the hot, wet slide of his mouth on my cock.

He tugs on my balls with one hand as his mouth milks my shaft. I have to take several deep breaths to keep from losing my shit when the soft pad of his finger rims my arsehole. Giving him better access, I open my legs wider. My free hand grips his jet black hair, and I pull his head back so his gaze meets mine.

“I need you inside me,” I say, and that tell-tale Will smirk is back.
Fucking little shit
. I’m gonna make him pay for that next time.

“Quit wasting all my weed,” he says, nodding to the joint still in my hand that’s getting dangerously close to burning my fingers. I lean over and stub it out in the ashtray. “Get on your stomach, North.”

I do as he asks, rolling over and adjusting my cock beneath me. It jumps at the little bit of attention, but I ignore it in favour of thrusting my arse back into Will’s hand. He brings one long-fingered palm down on my arse and I gasp in shock.

“You did not just fucking spank me like a naughty schoolkid,” I say, though we both know it’s not a question.
Tell me he didn’t just spank me
.

“That depends.”

I clear my throat. “On?”

“On whether or not you enjoyed it. I could try it again if you like?”

“Hit me again and I’ll hit you back,” I growl.

“Promise?”

I frown. “Is that something you want? For me to hit you?”

“Not hit. Spank. There’s a difference.”

“You want me to spank you?” I ask in disbelief.

Will brings his palm down across my arse again and I flinch. My dick also twitches, and when I reach down to grab it a drop of pre-cum glistens on the tip.
Fuck
. Is this something I’m comfortable with? I don’t fucking know. I only just got used to the idea of having him inside me.

“No, I don’t want you to spank me. I want to spank you. I want to do all kinds of dirty shit that you’ve never even dreamed about, but I’m willing to take baby steps so you don’t run away like a fucking pussy.”

“Fuck you,” I snap, and I come up onto my knees in an attempt to get up off the bed. One hand slides around the front of my hips and grabs my cock while the other takes hold of my balls and squeezes, not so fucking gently this time.

“Don’t be a pussy, North.”

“Get off me.” I buck, but his hand squeezes tighter and a groan escapes my mouth. “Fuck, you drive me insane. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know it,” he says, and loosens his hold on my balls. He doesn’t release my dick, though; instead he pumps it in his fist until I throw my head back and gasp.

“Jesus, fuck. Will.”

“Don’t move,” he says, and the bed dips as he shifts his weight and leans over me. The length of his cock presses against my tailbone as he leans forward and for a moment I think he’s going in bareback and dry, but he reaches across my body and pulls open the drawer he keeps lube and condoms in. Will takes out the tube and squeezes some of the sticky gel into his palm. He slides his hand along my dick, and I buck my hips back.