Page 21 of Commitment Issues
Elliot laughs. “It does tend to have that effect on people.”
“I can see why.”
The whole of the back wall’s been knocked out and replaced by glass bi-folding doors, framing the long back garden and the spectacular views across London.
“The advantage of living on a hill,” Elliot says, coming up to stand next to me. “When Gavin and I bought the house, it was the view that sold it to us, and we knew we had to take advantage of it.”
Elliot’s voice tightens, and I throw him a quick glance. His lips are a tight, thin line and he looks closed off, and I can’t help wondering at the bittersweet memories the view must bring back every time he looks out over the city. He catches my eye and although his face lights up in a smile, there’s something forced about its brightness, and in the huge kitchen his voice, when he speaks, seems to echo and bounce off the walls.
A strangled yelp, and the clip of claws on the flagstones pulls me away from the jaw-dropping view. I turn around and do my best not to laugh because whatever it is that limps to a stop and stares up at me from a safe distance, isn’t a pedigree French Bulldog, or a pedigree anything. In all truth, I have no idea what the scruffy, wiry-haired little thing with the stumpy tail is.
“This ridiculous looking creature is Jasper. When he isn’t sleeping, he’s eating or demanding a tummy rub.” On cue, Jasper flops over onto his back to reveal a plump, pink belly. “The little sod’s probably been curled up on my bed, even though he knows he’s not supposed to.” Elliot reaches down and tickles the squirming little dog. “Go and say hello, go on boy,” Elliot urges, but Jasper whines, wriggles to his front, and buries his nose between his paws. “He’s unsure around those he doesn’t know, it’s nothing personal.” There’s an apologetic tone to Elliot’s voice.
Without thinking, I drop to my hands and knees, putting me at roughly Jasper’s level.
“Hello, Jasper.”
I keep my voice low and my body slightly hunched, in a subservient position. Just as I hope, Jasper finds his nerve, and his inner top dog, and with it comes an inquisitive wet nose, a sniff, and a small strangled excuse of a woof, immediately followed by a rough-tongued lick of my outstretched hand, before he throws himself on his back and offers up his belly, not to Elliot this time, but to me.
“He only needed reassurance.” I look at up Elliot and smile.
He’s staring down at me, at Jasper, and back at me, his mouth slightly agape.
“Well, he’s never done that the first time he’s met somebody. When he came here, it took some time to gain his confidence. He spent most of the first couple of weeks hunched in the corner, either whining or with his snout buried between his paws. I think that’s why Gavin abandoned him, because he didn’t match up to expectations.”
My fingers still on Jasper’s soft tummy. The acid in Elliot’s voice could burn through metal, the unspoken words,just as I didn’t, hanging in the air.
Elliot turns on his heel, goes to one of the cupboards, and pulls out something that looks suspiciously like a dog treat. I catch his eye and he gives me a sheepish grin, and the awkward silence fractures and falls away.
“Let’s get something to eat. I’ve got ham, cheese, chicken,” he says, washing his hands before he pulls open the door of a retro-style fridge. “And pickles and chutneys, and some good sourdough. Would that be all right?”
“Thanks. Sounds good. Can I help?”
“Yes, by opening these,” Elliot produces a couple of bottled lagers from the fridge.
I grin when I read the label. “Badger’s Bum. Why do you want to drink a lager that calls itself an arse? You strike me as being more of a cocktails man, or craft gin drinker.”
Elliot shudders. “God, no. Give me a properly brewed, small brewery beer any time. I was a member of the Real Ale Society for a time, when I was a student. I even grew a beard, but when a boyfriend said he’d seen something moving in it, I shaved it off pronto. Like all students, I drank far too much, but I’m not a big drinker now. Too many early morning meetings, so I can’t afford to be muzzy headed. Cheers.” He chinks his bottle to mine, before he upends it and drinks in deep.
I bring my own bottle to my lips, but that’s as far as I get. Forget the beer, it’s impossible not to drink Elliot in.
Head thrown back, eyes closed, full red lips clamped around the neck of the bottle, his Adam’s apple pulsing as he swallows. Heat hits me low in the stomach and deep in my balls, as my cock fills.
A lurid image fills my head of being pressed back against one of the cupboards as I stare down at Elliot. On his knees between my naked, splayed legs, this is what he’d look like with my dick in his mouth.
A strangled groan’s pushing its way up my throat. No, no,no. I drag my gaze away and attack my beer clumsily and with too much force.
“Oh, shit,” I rasp, my eyes watering.
“You okay?”
Elliot stares at me, his slightly parted lips damp from the beer.
“An epic fail in the spatial awareness department.” I run my tongue along my lower lip, which I’ve rammed against my teeth with the heavy glass bottle, and wince as I taste the metallic tang of blood.
“It’s bleeding pretty badly.” Elliot abandons his own bottle, and grabs up some kitchen towel. “If it doesn’t stop in a minute or two I’ll take you to A&E to get a stitch in it.”
“It won’t need that, I—”
