The Wish (26 page)

Paul dressed casually, for comfort. The day, no doubt, would be grueling. He spared a moment to give quiet thanks he didn’t have to go through the ordeal alone. His uncle had once told him, “Andersons make great guardian angels once you manage to get the pompous ass out of them.” Paul agreed.

He glanced toward the warm cocoon he’d emerged from earlier. Long hours would pass before he could slip back between the cool, crisp sheets of the big bed. Since being invited, he intended to stay until asked to leave. If and when Alex evicted him, he’d have to convince the man otherwise. He mentally planted a flag and claimed the right side of the bed in the name of Paul Sinclair.

A
S
STATED
in Alfred’s letter, funerals were for the living, and while Paul slept, Alex contacted everyone on his uncle’s painstakingly prepared list. Alfred wanted his ending observed by only those closest to him and then for all involved to get back to the business of living, as he would have done, being a consummate businessman above everything else. Organizing such a hasty funeral, while a daunting task, didn’t prove as impossible as Alex feared.

He spent the day with lawyers, accountants, a reporter, a security service, and numerous business associates of the deceased, while Paul met with haberdashers, morticians, florists, and family friends. As expected, the day taxed both their limits, and though he’d caught an occasional glimpse, Alex hadn’t exchanged two words with Paul since breakfast. He’d barely managed to grunt out his thanks for the sandwich that arrived at lunchtime, eaten while tuning out the ravings of his great-aunt, Helena. For an entire hour, he listened to her whining and feeble excuses about why she couldn’t fly out for the funeral, interspersed with personal opinions about everything from the casket to the venue, all arranged by Alfred months prior. That had been fourteen phone calls ago, and Alex feared the numbness in his ear might be permanent.

He’d been hopeful about the possibilities of a shared dinner, but Paul hadn’t even brought the meal himself, something Alex trusted he’d have done if able to. Instead, William brought a plate loaded with a variety of fragrant dishes, explaining that Berkley’s had sent a selection of their most popular menu items and a large bouquet of gladiolas. Though Alex hadn’t particularly liked Thierry, he appreciated the gesture and made a note to send a thank-you before recalling that Paul usually took care of social niceties and more than likely had already sent a card.

With the day’s tasks as finished as he’d had the energy to make them, Alex sat alone and contemplated the past twenty-four hours, allowing his personal grief to finally surface.

The invincible hero of his childhood was gone, pronounced dead on arrival at the emergency room, and Alex hadn’t been holding Alfred’s hand when his uncle died. However, when the doctors allowed him to see the body, his worries about a lonely death were put to rest. Lying still and quiet on the gurney, Alfred wore a brilliant smile. Deep in his heart Alex knew why. Byron had been waiting, just as Alfred had insisted mere days ago, and death no longer separated the two lovers.

Throughout the ordeal, Paul clung to him, refusing to let go. Alex didn’t mind. Despite the circumstances, having a warm body pressed close provided comfort, and having a focus other than his own grief had given him purpose enough to survive the next few hours.

Wearily climbing the stairs to his bedroom, Alex recalled waking up to unruly hair and an armful of Paul. The words from their earlier conversation came back to him:
Don’t you ever want to wake up next to someone who you love, who loves you?
For the first time in his life, not only was the answer “yes,” but Alex also had a candidate in mind.

Entering his darkened bedroom, Alex breathed a sigh of relief to find his bed already occupied, as he’d privately hoped. By the moonlight shining in through the windows, wary eyes watched him undress as though expecting a reprimand for assuming the invitation to share the room was open-ended. That’s exactly how Alex had intended the offer, though, and the big bed had never looked so inviting. Paul appeared incredibly young without his glasses, left sitting on the nightstand, and he lay among the satin sheets like he belonged there. Perhaps he did.

As Alex approached, mouth stretched wide in a yawn, Paul lifted the covers and he slid gratefully into the inviting warmth. When his guest would have retreated to the far side of the bed, Alex stopped him, murmuring, “Don’t go.” Questioning eyes locked with his instead of bashfully turning away as they normally did. Taking that as a “yes” to his unvoiced question, Alex swooped down, claiming Paul’s mouth. Paul returned the kiss without hesitation.

Keeping his arms fully around his prize, a prize he had no intention of giving up anytime soon, Alex drew back enough to say, “I’ve decided to take your words to heart.”

“Oh? What words?”

“I’m no longer going to sleep with people who don’t care about me.”

“Oh, that’s good. Now get back over here.” Paul pulled Alex closer with surprising strength.

The murmured demand was all the declaration Alex needed, and he rolled on top of Paul, bracing his weight on his elbows and grinding his stiffening erection against his lover’s answering hardness.

Paul squeezed his hand between them to pull their cocks through the openings in their flimsy boxers, wrapping around both and sliding them provocatively together.

Alex hissed in pleasure, his mouth descending again in a demanding kiss, matching the rhythm of their bodies. Paul released their cocks and rocked their hips together. His image brought to mind a straight-laced librarian, but in bed he burned hotter than any club trick Alex had ever encountered, all the more enticing because he didn’t do casual fucks. Having someone everyone else couldn’t have was a heady rush, fueling Alex’s libido and ego.

Fingers tangling in a rich mass of silky mahogany strands, he caressed Paul’s tongue with his own, pulling it into his mouth and suckling, imitating a far more intimate act. He smiled at his partner’s lusty groan. Slowly sliding down the tempting body beneath him, Alex moaned, his hard flesh finding friction against toned runner’s thighs. If Paul could lay waste to his shirt, turnabout was fair play—he grabbed hold of Paul’s cotton boxers and split the fabric apart with a satisfying rip, hoping they weren’t the royal blue ones. Before Paul could protest, Alex took half of that amazingly full cock into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the head and working the underside with steady laps of his tongue.

Paul bucked and Alex grasped his hips, holding him in place and making him wait, to repay Paul’s teasing during their last encounter. A frustrated whine was music to Alex’s ears. Desire took precedence over finesse, and he worked Paul’s cock like an eager novice, gaining as much pleasure from the giving as he would have from the receiving.

“I want you,” Paul gasped. “Let me play too!”

Never breaking his rhythm, Alex shifted until his cock hovered inches above Paul’s lips, slightly out of reach. Powerful arms wrapped around his hips, and with one swift lunge, his cock sank into Paul’s mouth clear down to the root. Paul hummed with Alex buried deep in his throat.

If Alex hadn’t known better, he might have thought Paul the slut he’d once accused the man of being. Now he understood that Paul’s expertise wasn’t the result of numerous partners. Any prowess stemmed from the fact that whatever Paul Sinclair did, he gave his all, wholehearted enthusiasm making up for any lack of skill.

The pent-up frustrations and sexual tensions of the past few weeks resolved with Alex and Paul thrashing upon the bed. Climax building, it took every ounce of willpower for Alex to pull away. “Not like this,” he growled, crawling up the bed to gaze into lust-glazed eyes. “Can I fuck you?”

“No,” Paul replied matter-of-factly.

What the hell? The man had teased him and brought him to the edge and…. Suddenly, the proverbial light came on, and Alex amended his question. “Can I make love to you?”

Instead of answering, Paul presented his exceptionally appealing backside, scrambling to the nightstand and then noisily rummaging inside. He handed Alex a square package and a familiar bottle. Worried about a coming accusation, Alex stammered, “I… I have absolutely no idea how those got in there.”

Paul’s teeth gleamed like pearls in the moonlight. “I do. It’s where I put them.”

The time for talking ended. Paul took control, tugging Alex’s boxers off and then throwing them aside. He used his mouth to roll on the condom and then pushed Alex back on the bed before climbing on top. With a wicked grin, he lightly bit a pebbled nipple, a not-so-subtle reminder of who’d been the master before.

Alex’s cock throbbed at the memory of that mastery, and he watched, puzzled when Paul’s lithe body straightened, back arching, Paul hissing in pleasure/pain.
What’s he doing?
The answer nearly stole Alex’s control, mesmerizing him with the erotic image of Paul using fingers to prepare for something larger. Suddenly, tight heat gripped his shaft and Paul hissed, sliding down Alex’s length, eyes closed tightly in concentration.

Wrapping his hands around slim hips, Alex fought the instinct to push up and bury himself in Paul’s body, unwilling to take his own pleasure at the risk of causing pain.

Paul stopped midway down, panting, weight braced with his hands against Alex’s chest. After a moment, he let gravity pull him down.

“I… don’t… bottom… often…,” Paul groaned through clenched teeth.

“Shh…,” Alex crooned. “Take your time. We’ve got all night.”

With another wicked grin, Paul assured him, “I intend to use every single minute.”

Rising up until the head of Alex’s cock barely remained inside him, Paul then reversed, sinking down completely, biting his bottom lip and rocking his hips in a grinding motion against Alex’s groin.

“Oh, God!” Alex cried.

As Paul’s body adjusted, so did his speed, and he rode Alex with enthusiasm, moaning with each upward stroke and hissing on the down, the sounds communicating less discomfort and more pleasure.

Alex wrapped his hand around Paul’s bobbing cock, forcing a single drop of pearly fluid from the tip. Capturing the droplet on a fingertip, he brought the offering to Paul’s parted lips. Paul greedily sucked Alex’s finger into his mouth, tongue lapping the digit clean. Alex moaned and tightened his hold, stroking in earnest, matching the rhythm his energetic lover set.

Paul’s tightening abs warned of impending climax, and Alex couldn’t last much longer, either.

“Alex!” Paul gasped, doubling over, semen splattering Alex’s chest and stomach. Rhythm faltering, he would have fallen had Alex not been holding onto his hips. Alex buried himself to the hilt, Paul’s spasming inner muscles squeezing mercilessly. Abandoning the fight to prolong the pleasure, Alex let go, crying out and filling the latex sheath he wore.

Paul slumped into a boneless heap, and with his last reserve of strength, Alex rolled them to their sides, easing out of Paul’s body with great reluctance. He grasped a scrap of torn cotton and cursorily wiped them both down. His lover scrutinized him with inquisitive eyes, and realization dawned that Paul probably assumed he’d now be dismissed from Alex’s bed, as reputation dictated. Alex stripped off the condom and wrapped it in a tissue before dropping the evidence of their tryst in the trash can. It wouldn’t do to flaunt such things around the servants, though they could think what they wanted about the torn boxers.

The old Alex would have been dressed and out of the door by now, or urging his partner to leave. The old Alex was a fool. Sated and weary, the long day catching up to him, he leaned in and kissed Paul soundly.

“Let’s sleep in tomorrow,” he mumbled through a sleepy haze.

19

P
AUL
woke up alone and instantly feared the worst, until he found a note waiting by his glasses.

Paul,

I’d hoped to sleep a bit late and maybe have a little turnabout. I wasn’t expecting my phone to start ringing before the sun came up. I didn’t wake you because you were sleeping so soundly.

Alex

Paul hurried through a shower and spent the next few minutes trying to convince a persistent William he didn’t need help dressing before finally relenting. The man merely wanted to do his job, a daunting task, considering whose shoes he attempted to fill. When no longer needed, the butler quietly left. Paul sighed. If William had been Bernard, Paul would now know the weather, the latest sports scores, the hottest Hollywood gossip, and the breakfast menu. William’s “morning banter” amounted to: “Good morning, sir,” and “Let me do that, sir.” Paul did his best not to let his true feelings show, but he missed Bernard terribly.

Worry led him from the room, and he’d climbed halfway down the stairs before he heard Alex’s irate bellow. “Out! I don’t give a happy damn what you think is urgent! My uncle is being buried in a few hours, and I need to get dressed. My family’s the only thing in my world important to me right now….”