Hard Tail (19 page)

Not casually enough, apparently, as Adam gave me a knowing smile. Actually, it was more of a leer, but on Adam, the two expressions weren’t all that far removed from one another, anyway. Then his face seemed to close off, and he leaned back in his chair and took a long swig of his lager (alcohol-free, since he was driving). “’S not out.”

I frowned. “Not out? But I thought they were living together?”

Adam snorted a laugh. “Says Matt’s the lodger, anyone asks. Or if they don’t. Even charges him rent, the bastard.”

At least I seemed to be getting better at speaking Adam. His words were almost totally comprehensible now. “Is Matt all right with that?” I asked. “The hiding, I mean, not the rent.” I had to admit, a small part of me—no, not
that
part—could see the advantages. No problems with family, friends and colleagues. Having your cake and eating it.

But it left a sour taste in my mouth, and not just because it was Matt we were talking about rather than a bit of sugar-covered bakery produce. Was that hypocritical of me, given the lie I’d been enthusiastically living all these years?

Adam just shrugged and took another helping of chicken madras. “Told him to leave the bastard. Won’t.”

That was depressing. If Matt was prepared to be Steve’s dirty little secret even against the advice of one of his best friends, he must really care for him. Love him, even.

I decided I’d better change the subject before I ended up sniffling into my Shiraz. “So, um, do you work?”

“Nah.”

Quelle surprise.
After all, he was in his mid-twenties and still living in his mum’s house, driving his mum’s car…

“Studying.”

Okay, that was a surprise. I glanced at the front of his T-shirt. “Archaeology, by any chance?”

“Yuh. PhD.”

That was definitely a surprise. I scrabbled for something to say apart from an inane remark on how
interesting
that must be. “Er, do you do a lot of digs?”

Adam’s eyes lit up, and he pulled out his phone to show me a variety of snaps in various shades of mud. Adam, in a ditch; Adam, standing looking into a ditch. Adam with a skull, presumably ancient and not, say, from his latest acid-bath victim. Adam proudly holding something that was probably a priceless historical artifact but which, to my untrained eyes, just looked like a bit of mud. Adam, with his cock out—
what?

He grinned sheepishly and turned the phone off. “Din’t mean to show you that one,” he said, but the way he was looking at me out of the corner of his eye made me wonder just how much of an accident it had been. “You done there?”

I collected my scrambled wits. “Oh—yes, I’m stuffed. You?”

Adam nodded. “C’mon, then. Let’s go back to yours.” There was a suggestive look in his eye, and I realised now was the time to say something like, “I think we should just be friends,” if I was ever going to say it.

I bottled it. Well, there was something about the rough voice and the roguish smile and all right, that last photo that had me thinking, maybe… But basically, I bottled it. Aided and abetted by my treacherous cock. “Okay,” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse.

As we sped through the dark lanes in Adam’s mum’s Mondeo, my mind was a confusing maelstrom of guilt and lust. “Late, isn’t it?” I said nervously. “I don’t know where the time went.”

“’S aright. No work tomorrow.”

“Still, lots of things to get done… I never realised how much time keeping a shop takes up.” Guilt was winning for the moment.

“Y’ gotta have a day off, every now’n’then.”

“True, true.”

“Enjoy y’self while you’re young.”

He thought I was young? I was definitely warming to Adam. “Would you, er, like to come in for a coffee or something?” I asked. Guilt threw up its hands in despair and headed off home for an early night.

Adam gave an enthusiastic grunt and reached over to give my thigh a squeeze, presumably to indicate he was more interested in the
something
than in the coffee. I swallowed, suddenly feeling coffee was entirely overrated as a beverage.

As we got out of the car I managed to spare a thought for any neighbours of Jay’s who might be watching, and fended off Adam’s grabby hands halfheartedly. “Inside,” I muttered, my mouth dry with lust. We fell in the front door, and then he was on me, pinning me to the wall with his body, his hard cock doing its best to drill a hole in my thigh. “Oh, God,” I gasped, my own prick doing an impressive impersonation of a red-hot iron bar. I humped against him helplessly.

Probably sensing I was about to embarrass myself copiously, Adam backed off a little. “’S a great shirt,” he said, running his hands up and down the front. I could feel his calluses through the fabric and hoped distractedly he wouldn’t snag the threads. My nipples, however, revelled in the contact, trying to poke right through the material and feel the touch of his warm flesh directly. I opened my mouth to say something, but he beat me to it, sealing my lips with one of his trademark messy kisses. Adam’s tongue invaded my mouth as his hands made a recce over my arse, mapping the territory with his clutching fingers.

“Sofa. This way,” I blurted when he came up for air. I had a feeling my knees were way too weak to manage the stairs right now. Also, as Wolverine was nowhere to be seen, chances were he’d already claimed the bed. Grabbing Adam’s hand, I pulled him into the darkness of the living room. We reached the sofa, and I toppled over onto it with him on top of me. Pushing Adam’s T-shirt up, I ran my hands over his broad, strong back. With my eyes shut, I could almost imagine it was Matt I was groping, although he smelt all wrong—earth and coriander, not cinnamon and sunshine…

This was so, so wrong.
Adam
, I told myself firmly. I was with Adam, not Matt.

And when had I noticed how Matt smelled, anyhow?

Adam wriggled around on the sofa until he was lying beside me, not on top of me anymore. I’d have questioned the wisdom of this, but it all became clear when he unzipped my jeans with a practised hand and grabbed me through my underwear.

“God!” I nearly hit the ceiling. “Don’t stop!” I added as he promptly did so, probably fearing a repeat of last night’s zero-to-orgasm in nought point three seconds.

He muttered something wholly unintelligible and pulled off my shoes. Did Adam have some kind of a foot fetish? Ah, no—he’d just wanted to get my jeans and underwear off. Very sensible, I thought fuzzily as he swung a leg over my now naked thighs to straddle me, kneeling.

Adam unbuttoned my shirt with infinite care. I struggled up to a sitting position so I could get it off, but he pushed me down again. “Leave it on,” he said gruffly.

Okay, so he had a fetish for Sherlock shirts. I could understand that. I lay back down again, wondering vaguely how he’d look in a stripy sweater. Scruffy, I decided, but also cuddly. Matt, on the other hand, would look absolutely adorable… And oh, God, Adam’s teeth were biting at my nipple. My hands didn’t seem to belong to me any more—they were roaming independently over Adam’s shoulders, Adam’s hair, and any other bits of Adam they could reach. My cock, meanwhile, was rutting helplessly into Adam’s stomach.

It was all so intense it was vaguely terrifying.

“Y’ like that?” Adam asked, pulling off my swollen nipple and climbing off to one side of me. “Roll over.”

I stared at him for a moment, then did as I was asked. Adam grabbed my hips and pulled at them, and I ended up on all fours. “Put y’r head on the cushion.”

It felt vaguely like I was doing some kind of X-rated yoga, all these different positions, but in this matter, at least, I trusted Adam. Even though I felt a bit ridiculous with my arse in the air like that. Were any grey hairs showing? I hoped not.

“Y’r gonna love this,” Adam said. And oh, God, I could feel his hot breath on my arse. He grabbed a buttock in each large hand, pulled them apart, and bloody hell, his tongue was running up and down my crack. I made a sound I would have sworn up until then was humanly impossible, a cross between a wolf howling and fingernails on a blackboard. His teeth nipped at my arse cheeks, and then that serpentine tongue of his stabbed at my entrance, prodding and teasing. My legs were trembling so much I thought any moment now I’d collapse into a twitching heap.

The tongue action stopped. “Wanna fuck you. That all right?”

There was a reason we shouldn’t do this. I was almost positive there was. But for the life of me, I couldn’t, right now, recall what it was. “All right,” I agreed dreamily. I heard ripping sounds behind me; the snap of a condom; then felt the cool drizzle of something oily down my crack.

Adam’s blunt cockhead pressed against my arsehole, and instinctively I pushed back, trying to draw him inside me. For a moment, I thought I was succeeding—then he gave a strangled cry and the pressure was gone in a waft of cold air on my arse. I twisted to look over my shoulder. “Adam? Are you—oh, bloody hell. Bad cat!
Bad cat!
”

Adam’s face was twisted in pain and consternation, and there was a cat hanging off his back. By its claws. Thin trickles of blood had already formed beneath them. I scrambled over, grabbed Wolverine around his hefty, furry middle and hoiked him away. Adam bellowed as the claws tore through his skin one last time.

“Adam? Adam! Are you okay? God, I can’t believe he did that! Bad cat!” I scolded my furry burden before dumping him on the floor none too gently. Adam was moaning softly, blood now dripping onto the carpet from his lacerated back. “God, let’s get these cleaned up. Are you going to need a tetanus jab?”

His eyes still screwed up, Adam shook his head and grunted something indecipherable. I took it to mean he’d had one recently. I ran into the kitchen, my now thoroughly limp cock dangling sadly between my legs, and ransacked the cupboards for the first aid kit I was sure I’d seen there a few days ago. “Where the bloody hell—got you!”

Several handfuls of antiseptic wipes later, it was quite clear the mood had irredeemably altered. Wolverine was curled up on the computer keyboard looking smug, and Adam kept casting him anxious glances. He’d also put his trousers back on. I could hardly blame him—I wouldn’t want my delicate bits dangling in front of a cat with maiming on his mind either.

To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or sorry. Both, really. Although part of me was glad I hadn’t popped my gay cherry with a bloke I knew I didn’t love, another part of me was banging the walls and shouting in frustration,
We were so bloody close!

Or had I popped my cherry? I wasn’t sure how it worked for gay sex. Okay, so there hadn’t been any penetration—not by Adam’s cock, anyway—but did that really work as a definition of actual sex? Because if so, did that mean lesbians were lifelong virgins? I didn’t actually know any lesbians, but I was fairly sure they’d be none too happy at the idea of their sexually active status being dependent on a bloke’s bits.

“I’m so sorry about that,” I told Adam for the umpteenth time as I pulled on my own trousers. “I don’t know what would make him attack you like that—unless maybe he thought you were some kind of rival encroaching on his territory?”

Adam looked incredulous. “What—y’r arse?”

Given that Wolverine had been sleeping in my bed, that was the sort of image of which nightmares are made. “The house, as if you didn’t know. Look, I’m really sorry.”

He shrugged. “’S all right. Guess I’ll be off, then.”

“Uh, yes. Sorry.”

He left, and as I closed the door behind him, Wolverine came to wind his way between my legs, acting as if butter wouldn’t melt in his stinky, befanged mouth. “I ought to kick you out after that shocking display of
cattus interruptus
,” I muttered. Then I bent down to stroke him. “What was that all about, anyway? Determined to be the only ginger in the village?”

Wolverine just yawned and batted his head against my legs until I headed up to bed.

Chapter Fourteen

I woke up so late on Sunday morning it barely still qualified as such. My head ached, and the fact I’d been outed in front of Matt—which I’d conveniently managed to forget while blinded by lust last night—came back to haunt me like the ghost of an all-nighter on Russian vodka. He must think I was a coward, a hypocrite—

I sat bolt upright as self-loathing was booted out of play by abject terror. It might not just be Matt I had to worry about. God, what if he’d gone to see Jay last night—or this morning? What if he’d told him the whole story?

I should have asked Matt not to say anything. Bloody hell, I should have got down on my knees and
begged
him not to. So much for my risk-free experiment. Even now, a hysterical Mum was probably being restrained by teams of bulky male nurses…

Usually when I fantasized about bulky male nurses, Mum was nowhere in sight, and a bloody good thing too.

I scrambled out of bed and pulled on the jeans I’d been wearing last night. My first instinct was to dash down to the hospital and find out if my worst fears had been realised—but then what? Either Matt had done it, or he hadn’t, and either way, I wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. There was an outside chance, I supposed, of me getting there in the nick of time to stop him blurting it all out, but I had a feeling that bursting into the room waving my arms and shouting, “Don’t tell him, Matt!” probably wasn’t the best way to keep a secret.

I had Matt’s email address, so I supposed I could send him a message—but God, trying to explain to him why I didn’t want anyone to know about my inclinations would be tough enough in person. I really didn’t want to attempt it by email, where I’d probably come off like a total prick no matter how many ROFLs and smileys I used.