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  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he took the now empty wine glass out of my hand and led me toward the bedroom; the space dominated by a huge king-size bed complete with black silk sheets. A part of me wanted to laugh. The man was a walking cliché: the handsome playboy living in the penthouse apartment with the huge bed and the silk sheets. Shame I wasn't a rent boy. We could have recreated Pretty Woman.

  I stifled a yawn. It had taken so long to get to this point, the desire for sex had waned. If Oliver had suggested calling a cab instead, I would have leapt at the offer. Suddenly, being tucked up in my childhood bed felt like a much more attractive prospect. I shook the thought off. It was probably just the wine. Wine always made me tired which was one of the reasons I usually avoided it and stuck to beer. Oliver, didn't do beer. Probably not expensive enough for him. I bet if I searched the apartment I'd find a horrifically expensive twenty-year-old bottle of Scotch hidden away somewhere, but definitely no beer.

  "What's wrong?"

  Shit! Something of what I was feeling must have shown on my face. I shook my head and lied. "Nothing's wrong. I just don't think I've ever actually seen silk sheets before. Not in real life. They surprised me, that's all."

  "They'll feel fantastic against your skin." He rounded on me, his lips descending on mine while his hands moved to my hips to pull me closer. I made a concerted effort to get myself back in the mood as I returned the kiss. I could hardly be the tease that had picked him up at a bar, only to turn around and leave because he'd insisted on a bit of conversation first. Besides, he was really handsome. By far the most handsome man I'd ever been with. I should be thanking my lucky stars, not wishing I was somewhere else.

  I just needed to work harder to get back those initial feelings from the bar when I'd first laid eyes on him. Something, though, and I had no idea what it was, was setting my teeth on edge. It was more than the silk sheets. Maybe it was the edge of arrogance I now recognized. The guy was rich and handsome though, it was ridiculous to expect that package to come without a touch of arrogance. I was being unfair. I was there now. I may as well enjoy it. I mean, I was staying at my parents' house. Who knew when the next opportunity for sex might be? It wasn't as if I could take anyone back there.

  Decision made, I took charge, backing him toward the bed at the same time as stripping both of us out of our clothes. He lay back on the bed; a man who knew he had a perfect body. He probably paid a personal trainer to sculpt those abs and I would have bet anything that his personal waxing bills were higher than my family paid for groceries in a month. It suddenly seemed about as fake and artificial as the sheets. I dismissed the thought. The man liked to keep himself trim and he could afford to. Who was I to get all judgmental about it? Feeling guilty for the less than charitable thoughts, I traced those perfect abs with my tongue, enjoying the way he moaned and the way his erect cock twitched when my mouth moved closer to it.

  His hand moved down, grabbing a handful of my ass, and using it to pull me toward him. "Come here! You're not hard, baby. Let me fix that."

  Baby! I cringed. Endearments weren't really my thing at the best of times, but from someone I'd only just met, it came across as downright phony. He was right about one thing though: my dick wasn't hard, so I did as he'd asked, closing my eyes as he took me deep down his throat. I tried to clear my mind, concentrating only on the feel of his tongue and the firm suction as he expertly sucked my cock. It had the desired effect and within minutes I was good to go. Worried I'd lose it again, I wasted no time in rolling a condom on and pushing inside him. He groaned, his hips rising and his legs wrapping around my hips. "Yeah, Al. Fuck me, baby. Fuck me hard. Make me yours. Make me forget other men."

  I did my best to zone him out; the porn dialogue doing nothing for me. It didn't work and I settled for kissing him instead. If his mouth was occupied, he couldn't talk. Wanting both of us to come fairly quickly, I fucked him harder than I normally would have done, doing my best to nail his prostate on every downstroke. Oliver apparently had a different idea. He pushed me off, wiggling his backside and arranging himself on his hands and knees before looking back at me over his shoulder. "Fuck me like this."

  I did, quickly thrusting my cock back inside him. Only problem was that in this position I couldn't kiss him which meant the porn dialogue was back. "Baby, your cock’s so huge!" It wasn't. I was under no illusions about that. It was average at best. "Make me feel you. Yeah! Like that! Baby, love your cock."

  I closed my eyes again, my hips moving faster as I began to worry I wasn't going to be able to come. He had no such problems, his ass spasming around my cock and his body collapsing flat on the bed. I followed him down, sliding my cock back into him and taking the opportunity of the blessed silence to grind out an unsatisfying orgasm. Relieved I hadn't had to fake it—and if I was honest, that it was over—I pulled straight out and used the excuse of getting rid of the condom to head straight to the bathroom.

  Alone in there, I took the opportunity to contemplate how soon I could make my escape. It was a one-night stand. What could he say? I'd go back in there, get dressed, call a cab, and I could be home before midnight.

  Back in the bedroom, keen blue eyes followed my every movement as I retrieved my clothes from the floor and began to dress, my gaze deliberately averted from the man sprawled naked on the bed. "Why don't you stay?" He patted the other side of the bed. "Plenty of room. Give me half an hour and we can go for round two."

  I flashed him a quick smile. "I can't. Sorry. Got to get home. I'm staying with my parents until I can get my own place. They'll worry. Especially my mum." It struck me as funny that the piece of information I'd been so keen for him not to find out earlier, was the one I was now using as an excuse. Finally dressed, I patted my pockets, checking everything I needed was there. My wallet and keys were, but my phone was missing. Frowning, I started to search around on the floor, thinking that maybe it had fallen out as I'd gotten undressed.

  "Looking for this?"

  Oliver held his hand up, my phone clasped in it. How had he gotten hold of it? It had definitely still been in my pocket when we'd walked into the bedroom. Had he taken it out of the pocket of my jeans when I was in the bathroom? If so, the question was why. I told myself to dial the paranoia down a notch. It was more likely that it had fallen on the floor, he'd noticed while I'd been in the bathroom and retrieved it for me. No big deal. No drama there worth getting myself worked up about.

  Stepping over to the bed, I reached out to take it from him, but he snatched his hand back before I could make contact, a playful smile on his face. I wasn't in the mood for games. I just wanted to go home. "My phone, please."

  Instead of giving it to me, he reached over to the nightstand, plucking his own phone from the surface. "Give me your number first."

  I stared at him. What was this—emotional blackmail? I didn't want to give him my number, but to say no would look petty. I reluctantly relayed it to him as he programmed the digits into his own phone. He still didn't return it, insisting on calling the number first. Did he think I'd given him a fake number? Or was he just making sure that I had his number as well? Whatever it was, I'd worry about it another day.

  * * * *

  I woke from the nightmare with a start, my heart pounding and the sheets that were tangled around my waist soaked in sweat. It was the same most nights. There were usually no more than two or three a month where I managed to sleep through the night without waking up in a panic.

  I attempted to breathe deeply and slowly, reminding myself that I was safe. As was the case at least fifty percent of the time, the reminder was useless and the darkness surrounding me became suffocating. I stumbled out of bed, almost tripping over the edge of the sheet, and made it over to the other side of the room and groped for the light switch. Hitting it, immediately bathing the room in bright light.

  For a few moments, I just stood there, my eyes examining every corner of the room to reassure myself that I was alone. There was nothing there. It wa
s just me. Me, the nightmares that were really memories, and my over-active imagination once I awoke. Then the nausea hit. I managed to make it to the toilet before the sandwich I'd consumed for dinner made its reappearance. Shaking, I sprawled across the toilet and gave in to the fully-fledged panic attack crawling its way to the surface. At least there was no one there to see it.

  Chapter Five

  Austin

  It was my brother who answered the door in response to my knock, his nose wrinkling when he saw it was me. "You smell of oil."

  I'd been hoping he'd be out. It was obviously my unlucky day. "You smell of books."

  Mark's look said I was the most pathetic creature in the universe. I was used to it. He'd been looking at me that same way ever since we were kids. I suspected it had been the way he'd looked at me the day my mum had brought me home from the hospital. He'd just honed and perfected it over the years. "What does that even mean? Books don't smell."

  I crossed my arms and prepared for battle. He never failed to bring out the worst in me, reducing me from a sensible mature adult, to an immature brat. And still, I couldn't stop myself from rising to it. "Alright. You smell of old, dusty books that have been sat in a garage for years because no one wants them, and a fox found a hole one night and wandered in and took a crap on them. Is that better?"

  "You're a dick, Austin."

  "You're a..." I didn't get the joy of coming up with a suitable insult to throw back at him before my mum's voice interrupted from down the hallway.

  "Is that Austin?"

  Mark quirked an eyebrow. "Unfortunately, yes."

  With one last glare at Mark for his response, I made my way to the kitchen where the sound had come from. It was no surprise to find her elbows deep in flour. My mum was never happier than when she was baking something or other. If it wasn't for the family, it was for some cake sale somewhere. "Hi, Mum. Yeah, it's me. I was just trying to get past your unwanted lodger." Knowing there was no way I was going to shift her from the kitchen for the foreseeable future, I pulled out a chair and made myself comfortable at the kitchen table. Mark's entrance, him having followed me in, coincided nicely with my last comment.

  It was my mum, though, who leapt to his defense. "Now, Austin. Don't talk like that about your brother. You know full well he's welcome to stay here as long as he needs to. As would you be, if you found yourself in the same situation."

  The situation was that he was halfway through the PhD that would qualify him as a psychologist and had moved back home temporarily to save some money. I'd never understood why he'd started something that was going to take him ten years of his life to complete, in order to be qualified to sit there listening to people's problems, which I knew was a major over-simplification but that's what it boiled down to. Despite my mum's warning, I couldn't resist getting one last dig in. "I have a job. You don't need to worry about me having to return home. I can pay my own bills and everything."

  My mum turned with a frown, waving a wooden spoon in my direction, her voice sharper this time which indicated she meant business. "Austin, lay off him. What's got into you today?"

  I shrugged and did my best to ignore the smug expression on my brother's face as he sauntered out of the kitchen. Truth be told, I'd been antsy all day. I had no idea what was bothering me, but even the good-natured ribbing at the garage had irritated me—even when I wasn't the target.

  A book in the middle of the table caught my attention. I reached out, curling my fingers around it, and turning it to face me so I could see the cover. It was some sort of bodice-ripping historical romance going by the picture of the bare-chested man and the hysterical-looking female draped across his chest on the front: my mum's preferred escapism when she wasn't baking. Dragging it closer, I opened it to confirm my suspicion that it was a library book. The sticker on the inside front cover did exactly that. Scooping it off the table, I held it up. "Have you finished reading this? Need me to take it back to the library?"

  My mum lifted her head, pausing momentarily from the dough she was rolling out to see what I was looking at. "No, dear. I've only just started reading it."

  Sighing, I gave it a shove, which sent it sliding back into the middle of the table. Was I that desperate to find an excuse to see the mysterious Alexander again? Is that what had been bothering me all day? If so, I needed to get a grip. I'd asked him out. He'd turned me down. That was the end of it. I knew nothing about him, other than his name and the fact he worked in the library. Unless you counted the fact that he liked to read about murder; a preference which really didn't fit with the rest of the persona.

  Obviously picking up on my body language, my mum studied my face as she tucked a stray piece of hair back behind her ear, seemingly oblivious to the trail of flour it left behind on her cheek. "Are you staying for dinner?"

  Was I? I wasn't sure why I'd stopped by if not. Sometimes, it was nice though—just to check in. But, dinner with a far too observant mother, not to mention having to spend more time fencing insults with Mark, was probably the last thing I needed right now. Maybe an intensive workout would go some way to ease the restlessness. I rose from the table, moving over to kiss the non-floury cheek of my mother. "Nah! Think I'm going to head to the gym. Thanks though. Tell Dad I stopped by."

  "Sure." My mother smiled. "It was nice to see you—if only briefly. Come for dinner soon."

  I nodded and then I was on my way out of the door less than ten minutes after arriving.

  * * * *

  Passing the coffee shop on the way to the gym, made me think about Alexander again. It was a long time since a man had gotten under my skin this way. Especially one that wasn't interested. But, I couldn't help feeling that there was far more to him than could be seen on the surface. I had no idea why I felt that. It was just a gut feeling and my gut feelings had rarely, if ever, been proved wrong.

  I couldn't help glancing in through the window, my eyes drifting straight over to the table where I'd last seen him. Silly really. He'd been there because it was his lunch break. It was almost six. Long past the time where a regular routine would have him in the same place, and that's if it even was a regular routine. It might not have been. Except—there he was, seated at the exact same table, only one away from the window. I'd have recognized the top of that head anywhere, his hair spilling over his face as he bent forwards. I assumed he was reading again; the angle was too difficult for me to be able to tell.

  On impulse, I raised my hand to the glass and knocked. His head shot up, his eyes darting in my direction with that same look of fear I'd glimpsed back in the library. I smiled and waved, wishing I could somehow make myself look smaller than the hulking brute I suddenly felt like. He stared at me for the longest time, his eyes wide, and then finally lifted his hand and returned the wave, a tremulous smile on his face.

  Alexander had smiled at me. I wanted to jump for joy. I wanted a photograph of the historic moment. I wanted to...talk to him. Even if it was another two-minute conversation, it would probably still be the best two minutes of my day.

  I changed direction, heading for the door. The gym could wait a few minutes. It wasn't as if it was going anywhere, and it was open till ten anyway. I had plenty of time. I grabbed a coffee, toying with the idea of getting another hot chocolate for Alex but deciding against it. I didn't want to come over as too pushy or too desperate. Rather than sitting with him straight away, I took a seat at the empty table next to his, instinct telling me that keeping a bit of distance was the best policy. My chair squeaked as I pulled it under and he raised his head in response to the noise. I offered him another smile. "Hi. Only me." I pointed down at my latte. "Having a coffee. Again."

  Another smile, fainter this time, but he didn't offer any response to my scintillating conversation starter. I pointed to the book. "Murder again?"

  He shook his head, lifting the book so I could see the cover. It was titled: Justice, Crimes, Trials and Punishments. He seemed to have a strange fascination with crime. I stood up, picking
up my coffee and sliding into the seat opposite him, his soulful brown eyes following my every move, but not protesting. "Do you want to be a lawyer?"

  Another headshake.

  "You don't talk much." As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. It was his prerogative. Besides, I was judging him based solely on his interactions with me. For all I knew he was an absolute chatterbox with other people. I doubted it though. My covert observations of him in the library when he hadn't realized I was watching would seem to suggest otherwise. "I mean, that's fine. I didn't mean to be rude...just, you know...making an observation...which I should probably have kept to myself. I can talk enough for both of us."

  He continued to stare, his expression giving nothing away. "Look, just tell me to go away if I'm bothering you." There was a long pause while I braced myself for him to do exactly that. Then, he shrugged, as if he wasn't that bothered either way. Whether he'd meant it like that or not, I took it as an invitation to stay. "I didn't expect you to be here at this time. Not that I was looking for you. I don't want you to get the wrong idea. Only, I was passing by on my way to the gym and I just happened to look through the window and you were at the same table as you were the other day...so I thought I'd come over and say hi. And here I am."

  "I come here a lot."

  They were the first words out of his mouth since I'd joined him at the table and I seized on them like a hungry piranha which had just been offered a tasty piece of meat. "Yeah. Do you? I guess it's quiet at this time. Nobody to bother you. Except for me...and I did say you could tell me to go away...which I'm very grateful you haven't, but that offer still stands, so as soon as I start annoying you...don't be polite, just tell me to clear off." Was that a hint of amusement in his eyes? It was good to know that my verbal diarrhea had its uses. "I might not bother going to the gym actually."