Page 23 of A Gentleman Never Keeps Score
Hartley nodded. “I, ah, liked it when you talked.”
“I can talk,” Sam said, maybe too quickly. “I can definitely do that.” His face heated at the memory of some of the things he had said the last time.
Hartley slid off the table and in one fluid movement landed on his knees in front of Sam. The look he shot up at Sam was equal parts teasing and wanting, with a shadow of unease. Sam guessed that shadow was always there with him during this sort of encounter. But if Sam could help the shadow not turn into an obstacle, then that’s what he’d do. He held on to the sides of his chair. But, no, Hartley had said touching was acceptable, and Sam had better find out if that was true before they got much farther. With one finger, he brushed aside a lock of hair that had gone askew in the rain. Hartley’s hair had dried slightly wavy, in pale tendrils that lay across his forehead. He pushed it back, letting his fingertip linger on Hartley’s scalp.
“That all right?”
Hartley nodded and swallowed. “It’s good.” He unfastened Sam’s trousers and took him in hand.
“Are you hard now?” Sam asked. “Show me.” He paused. “If you want.”
Hartley bent his head to lick away the moisture that had gathered at the tip of Sam’s cock. Last time Sam had thought Hartley really liked doing this, liked the feel and taste of him in his mouth. Now, watching Hartley fumble with his own trousers, feeling Hartley’s sigh of relief against his sensitized skin, Sam knew it. Sam stroked his hand through Hartley’s hair, letting the strands slip between his fingers as Hartley took him into his mouth.
“Your mouth feels so good. I hope you’re giving your prick what it needs.” He felt as well as heard Hartley moan, the vibrations traveling up his prick and through his body.
Last time, Sam’s pleasure had been tangled together with holding himself back, with staying still and keeping his hands to himself. He might have thought that touching Hartley would undo some of that magic, but it had the opposite effect. He was only letting himself touch the other man so slightly, so gently, firmly within the rules Hartley had set, that he was still very conscious of all the things he wasn’t doing.
After a bit, Hartley’s rhythm faltered, and Sam guessed it meant he was nearing his climax, and that thought alone pushed Sam close to the brink. He grabbed the base of his erection and started stroking in time to Hartley’s sucking. “I’m close,” he warned, and he came in his hand as Hartley threw his head back with his own release.
Sam didn’t know how much time passed afterward with Hartley’s forehead resting on Sam’s knee, Sam sifting strands of pale hair through his fingers. When they fumbled for handkerchiefs and cleaned themselves up, that ought to have brought an end to the moment they were sharing, but Hartley still didn’t stand.
“You can stay,” Sam offered. “It’s late.”
“I can’t. I mean, thank you. But I wouldn’t be able to sleep. And I really need to sleep.”
Sam held his hand out to help Hartley stand up. Hartley didn’t take it, but he also didn’t step away, and Sam told himself that was fine. “I’d like to walk you home. I know you can take care of yourself...”
Hartley let out a long, soft sigh. “I really can’t, though,” he said with such an air of defeat that Sam wanted to fold him into his arms.
They walked the distance mainly in silence. The rain had abated into a heavy mist that muffled noise and deepened shadows, creating the illusion that they were alone in the middle of the city.
“I’ll call on you next Sunday,” Sam said when they got to the kitchen door. “Same time.”
Hartley nodded.
Sam glanced around. The lane was empty and dark, and they were in a place that would be sheltered from anyone who happened to be looking out a window. “Can I kiss you?”
In the moonlight he could see Hartley frown. “I think it’s best that we don’t.”
Well, that would have put Sam in his place if he had been forming illusions about the nature of their relationship.
“Stop that,” Hartley said, as if he knew what Sam was thinking. “What I meant is, I can cope with small touches that are relevant to orgasms. Kissing isn’t.”
Sam raised both eyebrows. “I don’t know, Hartley. Your lips felt pretty relevant on my cock just now.”
Hartley laughed, a surprisingly husky rumble. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
Smiling at one another in the lonely, midnight shadows of an empty alleyway, not kissing or touching or even speaking, was somehow more intimate than anything Sam had shared with a lover. It felt precious and dangerous, baffling and strange, and judging by the look of acute confusion that replaced the smile on Hartley’s face, Sam was not the only one to feel that way.
Chapter Ten
Sam hadn’t expected Hartley to turn up at the Bell again. Maybe he still thought Hartley above a place like the Bell. Maybe he thought Hartley considered himself above a friendship with someone like Kate.
But there the two of them were, cozied up at table in the warmest corner, sharing a pork pie Nick had made that morning. Hartley was wearing one of those waistcoats with a good dozen buttons. Since meeting him, Sam had been obsessively counting the waistcoat buttons of every man he met, and now knew to a certainty that Hartley had twice as many as anyone else. Did he have his waistcoats specially made? Then he realized he was being daft, because of course a man like Hartley had everything made special for him.
If he was honest, he wasn’t quite comfortable having Hartley in the Bell. First, because he was afraid that by some stray look or word, one of them would inadvertently give away the truth of their relationship. Second, because it was odd to see anyone as rich as Hartley in the Bell. But mainly because it was a strange collision of his worlds to see Hartley here, his silver-blond head bent toward Kate’s dark curls.
The Bell was Sam’s own. After Davey died and the very idea of boxing had been enough to turn Sam’s stomach, he had used his saved-up prize money to buy the place. It had been run to seed and in need of a good deal of work, and the building’s owner had been glad enough to give it to him on a repairing lease. He and Nick rolled up their sleeves and made the place into something decent, something good. Something necessary.
