Page 7 of Enticement
“That’s fine.”
“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.”
“Perfectly.” He grinned and settled himself more comfortably with his hands clasped behind his head.
Evie sidestepped around the mound of boxes and left, closing the door behind her. At the top of the stairs she paused and swallowed a ragged breath. Two dichotomous images of Kit lay etched inside her head, one of him naked with a hand-towel clamped over his loins, and the other of him spread out upon the bed, clothed, but with his cock exposed, and that after he’d been in the house only a few hours. Lord knows what other havoc he’d wreak given a month.
Ross had moved from his spot on the sofa when she got downstairs. She found him in the kitchen, scribbling answers into the newspaper Sudoku with a sandwich clamped between his teeth and the kettle in his free hand. Evie wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed up tight to his shoulder blades, taking comfort in the heat and strength of his body. There was no denying her encounter with Kit had left her more than a little horny.
Ross put down the pen and sandwich. “Everything all right?” he asked.
“Fine.” She snuggled closer, breathed in his scent and rocked her hips against his bum.
“You didn’t lay down the law too hard, did you? I haven’t seen him in ages, and I’d like a chance to talk to him.”
“It was all very amiable,” she said and then clammed up. She’d fully intended to explain exactly what had happened to Ross, but somehow she couldn’t. Blurting it out would seem too much like a confession, which it wasn’t, and besides, Ross had a whimsical look about him, as though he was looking at his past through rose-tinted spectacles, and she didn’t want to spoil it for him. Having your oldest friend turn up and flash his cock at your girlfriend, regardless of how it happened or for what reason, generally didn’t result in anything but discord. Especially—a wry frown troubled her brow—when it had happened twice in one day.
Kit closed his eyes when Evie left the room. He unfolded his hands from behind his head and rested them palm up upon the duvet. For several minutes, he stared at the ceiling, replaying every moment he’d spent with her over in his head, while his cock continued to buck against his stomach, seeking additional stimulus. When it bucked a little too eagerly, leaving behind a wet thread of precome, he pushed himself up off the bed.
He was done with jerking off, for now at least, despite an awareness that he could come very quickly if the fancy took him. But the moment had passed. Evie had gone, his tit for tat apology half-accepted.
“Shimatta!” he swore. The lady no doubt thought he was a complete prick now, and she’d be right. Certainly there were better ways to impress a woman than giving her an eyeful. Sure, women liked cocks, but generally they preferred them with a brain attached. In the absence of higher functioning, they tended to opt for a nice whizzy toy in place of a dunce.
Engage brain not cock next time, he chastised himself. Although in the middle of a wank wasn’t generally when he did his best reasoning.
Kit fastened his trousers over his hard-on. His cock strained against the leather, leaving him feeling uncomfortable, but it seemed fair punishment somehow. He’d known Ross wouldn’t bat an eyelid at him watching, but he should have checked out the lady more thoroughly before indulging his voyeuristic streak, made sure she felt the same way.
A fractured glimpse of another pretty woman peeped briefly out of the mirrored wardrobe door at him before he pressed his forehead to the cool surface. He chased the thoughts of her as best as he could from his head. Maybe it had been a mistake coming back here so soon. Six years had seemed an eon on the flight from Japan, but it really wasn’t that long at all.
Working in Kabukicho, he’d been isolated. No close friends, no real relationships and no troubles, just a nice, safe cocoon. The only demons he’d faced wore designer skirt suits and stiletto heels. If there were dark memories lurking in the shadows they were only of pointless fucks in dingy alleyways, nothing more hurtful than being paid to screw, even if it was in a round-about way. Here, time hadn’t moved on. Kirkley was as it was the day he left. Same people, same chocolate-box façade, same red phone box nestled beside an overgrown hedge on the corner of the green.
“Hey, in there.” Ross, unlike his girlfriend didn’t bother to knock. He just barged in and struggled past the wall of boxes. His gaze swept Kit’s body in one smooth glance and settled upon his face. Okay, Ross had changed. That his friend had lost about a foot of hair was the most obvious one. He’d filled out too, no longer a lanky youth who didn’t quite have control of his limbs. Ross’s increased bulk suited him well, especially as it appeared to be all muscle.
Gone was the rumpled sex-stained work suit, and in its place he wore a pair of faded black jeans and a tired grey jumper, mended at the cuff with silver embroidery thread and still familiar from six years ago. He sensed Ross’s gaze too, probably ringing all the changes in him. There weren’t many; it was just polish mostly, a nice glossy shine designed to win favour in the bar he’d worked.
“Thought I’d better come up and make sure she hadn’t left any marks. Evie can be wicked cruel if you rub her the wrong way,” Ross said.
Kit rubbed the melancholy film from his eyes. Too many times he’d wished that things had turned out differently. “Women were never my strong point.”
“Yeah, right!” Ross gave an explosive snort. He sagged onto the bed and rested his elbow upon his knees. “As I recall, they were your only strong point. And looking at you I’m guessing that hasn’t changed. Any chance of you slumming it, so I look a bit less of a tramp?”
“I suppose.” Kit stripped off his green shirt and rummaged in the topmost suitcase for T-shirt. The one he pulled on was black, ripped at the neck and had “Sukebe 69” emblazoned across the front in white. He pulled a leather thong from a pocket too, and dangled a pewter skull pendant around his neck so it lay in the space where the T-shirt was torn.
“So, are you gonna come down and eat? I’m cooking,” Ross said.
“Depends—I think I should tell you what I’ve been doing first. See if you still want me around.”
“Kit, I know what you’ve been doing. Who’d you think told the probate people where to find you? I live in Yorkshire, not on the moon. I’ve seen your ugly mug plastered all over YouTube. It doesn’t matter. I’m glad to see you.”
Ross stood and clapped a hand on Kit’s shoulder. He gave him a gentle shove towards the door. “I bet you were raking it in.”
“I did okay.” Kit allowed himself to be guided onto the landing. He’d kind of suspected that Ross knew he’d been working as a host. It might have been mostly innocent, but that didn’t mean that people here wouldn’t get the wrong end of the stick and think he’d been prostituting himself. He sighed. It was just something else they could hate him for.
“Yeah, well get downstairs and work your schmoozy host bar tricks on Evie, so I don’t have to spend the next millennia apologizing for saying you could crash here,” said Ross.
“I can get a room at the pub. As for the tricks—they involve alcohol and a hell of a lot of flirting.”
“We have beer and wine. Alcohol isn’t an issue.”
