Men of London 02 - Sight and Sinners (9 page)

His cock inflated slowly in his sweatpants like a rising periscope. He stood stock still as Draven inspected him. The air around them seemed to thicken and warm, much like Taylor’s dick. He knew Draven noticed the tenting in the front and his teeth showed in a wide, predatory smile. That smile made Taylor’s blood tingle, his backside clench and his mouth want to latch onto Draven’s like a Bengal tiger on a succulent morsel of dinner.

“I like the tattoo,” Draven murmured, waving a hand at the intricate pattern on Taylor’s inside left wrist. It was a pattern of thin, finely drawn vine leaves, winding up along a central stem from the wrist to the crook of Taylor’s elbow. He’d had it done about four years ago when he and a previous boyfriend had decided to be adventurous. Taylor hadn’t wanted any garish colours, so he’d stuck with the soft grey and black tones.

Draven stepped forward and in one quick move, he slid his hands beneath the loose tee shirt and pulled Taylor toward him. Taylor gasped as his own groin met one equally as hard and the warm, strong hands on his skin sent shivers through his body. ‘
All thoughts of resistance are futile
’ was the first thought that went through his mind.

God, I sound like someone from Star Trek. I need to get a bloody grip.

He loved the feeling of someone taking control of him, someone tough and sexy leading the way. He ached for a man strong enough to see what he needed, and not hold back giving it to him. He didn’t want to take it too far but being held down, dominated, needed—that turned him on like nothing else in the world. He’d tried it before in his relationships—the few he’d had that had lasted more than a few weeks. The ones where his lovers hadn’t left him quickly because he was a freak when he had his “episodes,” as one taunting lover had put it, but never been quite satisfied. His partners had either been too rough or not rough enough.

“You smell like sex and spice,” Draven growled as his mouth slid down Taylor’s neck and he licked the skin like said tiger. “You drive me fucking mad, you know that. I don’t know how you do this to me. Why I want you so damn much.”

Taylor closed his eyes as the assault on his neck and jawline continued. He couldn’t speak. Hot lips grazed his skin, biting, nibbling and then finally, when he thought he’d go mad from the constant contact, Draven’s mouth found his and Taylor’s knees buckled. Draven’s arm around his waist was the only thing holding him up, he was sure. Never before had he been kissed like this, ravenous, hard, unrelenting as lips and tongue filled him, tasted him, sucked him in and swallowed him whole. When a hand reached into the waistband of his sweats and gripped his cock, Taylor cried out, the sound seeming to inflame Draven more as he stroked him harder and faster, sliding fingers and palm over the slippery essence that coated his dick and making Taylor’s senses overload. He pulled his mouth away from the rapacious one that was devouring it.

“Draven, please. You’re going to make me come like this,” he gasped, as the hand pulled up, released, and stroked down even harder.

Draven’s eyes were black, his lips red and swollen, a slight tinge of blood where Taylor had bitten him. “Then come,” he demanded and slid another hand round to stroke Taylor’s arse cheeks, pulling them apart and grazing his fingers over his hole. Taylor bucked in Draven’s arms, his balls tightening, his cock feeling impossibly hard as he climaxed, wet streams of musky come covering Draven’s hand, his arm and the inside of the once-clean sweatpants. Draven held onto his dick until he was spent, all the time pushing against Taylor’s hole and even inserting a finger at his moment of climax.

“God, love to feel you tighten around my finger like that,” Draven panted. “Just think about what it will feel like when I have my cock inside you. Oh God, you feel so damn good,”

He pushed his groin against Taylor, rutting against him then shuddered, and Taylor buried his hands in Draven’s hair, holding him tight as his own orgasm took him. Finally they were still, standing in the hallway and supporting each other. Taylor with his sweatpants covered in come and Draven with a huge wet spot in front of his usual immaculate trousers.

“Oh, God, that was pretty awesome,” Taylor muttered as he leaned his forehead against Draven’s sweaty one. “Why the hell did I have a shower if you intended doing that?”

Draven chuckled.” “Because you reeked of sick and no matter how much I wanted to kiss you, that wasn’t going to happen the way your breath smelt.” He moved back and swatted Taylor’s arse. “Now I guess we clean up and maybe we can progress to round two.”

“Round two?” Taylor said faintly.

Oh God, all my dreams have come true.

That predatory look crossed Draven’s face again. “Oh yes. I want to be buried deep inside that pert arse of yours and I’m intending on doing that just as soon we can.” He shivered. “I’m not sure how long I can hold out though. I need to clean us both up then we can start again. In bed this time if that’s all right with you?” He leaned in and ran his tongue across Taylor’s lips, then bit his earlobe. “So let’s get rid of this sticky mess then we can get dirty again.”

He disappeared into the bathroom. Taylor stood there, horny again and confused. This had all happened very quickly. For two men who supposedly didn’t really like each other, they were doing a damn good job of concealing it. He also wondered mutinously if he looked like a bottom because Draven sure as hell seemed to think so. Never mind that he swung both ways and could just as easily be buried in Draven’s tight arse. He might like being manhandled but he liked to do a bit of his own too. He heard a slight noise behind him and turned. It had sounded like a faint whisper or a swish of something soft against a wall. He frowned, seeing nothing there to explain the noise. The noise came again, slightly louder this time but he still couldn’t make it out. He waited patiently, then, no longer hearing it, he went into the bathroom.

*****

Draven stared at his swollen, bitten lips and sleepy, satisfied eyes in the mirror. He peered closer, as if expecting to see someone else there. His clothes lay in a heap on the floor.

That little session in the hallway had been explosive, and Draven had actually come in his pants, something he didn’t do often. Taylor was so damn sexy, with that tight body, coffee-coloured skin and lips that begged to be ravished. He grunted.

Ravished? What the hell am I, some lead in a bloody romance novel?

He grinned at himself in the mirror as he swooped warm water up from the basin on the cloth and cleaned himself.

God, I am so fucked. I have never felt this strongly about anyone before. Let alone a damned professed psychic.

In getting to know the younger man who was now in his bathroom, Draven’s instincts had already told him Taylor Abelard was no charlatan, no fraud out to make a quick buck. He’d checked with his friends in the investigative services and they’d heard a little about the “kid with the weird ability to sense scary crap,” as one of them had put it, but Taylor had never been paid for any of those services. And according to those sources, he’d quite a good track record in helping the local police at the Lambeth Police Station—one sergeant in particular, a man called Rick Grant, someone with whom Taylor seemed to have a personal connection.

Draven couldn’t deny that a little bit of the jealous green man in him wondered just how good friends they actually were.

He saw Taylor behind him, his eyes dark and smoky, his lips puffy and well kissed. His eyes travelled down Draven’s body in frank appreciation, lingering on the curve of his arse. Draven loved that appraisal. He turned around and beckoned to the basin. “There’s a wash cloth in there if you want to clean up a little. I’m done.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll see you in bed.”

“You do know it’s only just gone ten p.m.,” Taylor observed drily. “Old man.”

Draven snapped the wet wash cloth against Taylor’s backside.

Taylor jumped and swore. “Bastard. That stung.”

He glared at Draven and Draven looked at the pale pink welt against the soft caramel skin. “Count yourself lucky it was only a wash cloth.” His voice was husky and he was already growing hard again. “I have other implements that can make much sexier marks on that gorgeous skin of yours.”

Taylor’s eyes grew wide as his gaze flicked to Draven’s growing erection, the desire in his eyes evident.

I see you in there, my sexy sub. I can see right into your damn soul.

Draven wasn’t big into the BDSM scene but he liked being adventurous and using some of the sex toys on offer. It was finding someone else willing to do so that was sometimes the problem.

Draven caressed Taylor’s arm. “I’ll kiss your boo-boo better when we get to bed if you like? Lick it better, even.”

“Boo-boo?” The husky tone of Taylor’s voice turned Draven on even more. “I take the old man comment back. You’re actually a kid.”

Draven smiled wickedly. “Believe me, sexy, what I’m going to do to you tonight will never make any programme under the watershed. That will be strictly triple-X rated.”

He bounced out of the bathroom toward the bedroom, laughing softly at the complete lack of noise coming from the bathroom.

Hell, this was becoming fun.

In his bedroom, he turned back the covers, adjusted the lighting and made sure the condoms and lube were in his side drawer where he normally kept those and other more extreme implements should anyone choose to play. He was pretty sure Taylor would make a beautiful playmate. He got under the covers and gave a sigh of satisfaction. There was still no noise from the bathroom and he called out.

“Taylor? I’m lonely here. Get your arse into bed.”

There was nothing. No response. Frowning, he clambered out of bed and went into the bathroom.

“What’s taking so long—”” His voice cut off at the sight of Taylor sitting naked on the floor, arms huddled around his knees, a blank look in his eyes. He was shivering, his skin covered in goose bumps; Draven wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or something else.

“What’s happening? Did you slip?”

Taylor continued to stare blankly into space, and Draven reached up and took a fluffy towel off the rack. He draped it over Taylor’s shoulders as he tried to get him to stand up.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to come out of here and into the bedroom where it’s warmer, ’kay? Come with me. Get up, that’s right.” Slowly he lifted Taylor to a standing position and then led him into the bedroom.

Taylor was mumbling quietly now, words that Draven couldn’t make out. He managed to get Taylor on his side on the sheet then pulled the covers over him. Still Taylor stared into blank space. Draven felt a prickle of fear down his spine. Taylor’s eyes were vacant, glassy. He had no idea what to do other than let him get over whatever it was he was doing. He got into bed behind the shivering man.

“I’m here, just relax and sleep. I don’t know what you’re going through but I’m here.” He leaned back and switched off the light. “I’m here for you. Sleep now.” He wrapped strong arms around the chilled form and stroked Taylor’s hair softly. All thoughts of sex had gone, and all Draven had left was a fierce desire to protect the man in his bed. After a while, the sound of deep breathing echoed in the still room. Draven leaned over, careful not to disturb Taylor and saw long eyelashes framed against pale cheeks. He felt a sense of relief as he lay back and pulled the covers up over them both again. Perhaps in the morning he could explain what the hell had happened.

Chapter 6

Draven awoke to an empty bed and silence. He blinked sleepily and sat up in bed, the sheets falling to his waist. The house was still; outside he heard the distant sounds of children playing. He swung his legs from the bed and sat there, rubbing his eyes. He picked up his phone and squinted at the display. Eight a.m. Christ, he’d slept in for a change. Normally at between five and six-thirty without fail he’d be waking up and padding through to the kitchen to make his first cup of black coffee. He stood, stretched, yawned, pulled on a pair of old sleeping shorts and went in search of Taylor. He hoped he was still here and hadn’t slipped out like a thief in the night. He was disappointed. The house was empty of another human presence.

Draven swore. “Fuck. That little bastard.”

His pique at last night’s date and sex partner running out on him caused him to storm into the kitchen and grab for the kettle. He frowned. The kettle was still hot, which meant Taylor couldn’t have left all that long ago. He cursed again and reached into the cupboard for a mug. He started as cold hands wrapped themselves around his naked waist and the cup dropped just short of falling to the floor as he managed to keep his grip.

“Did you miss me then?” Taylor sounded like he was smiling, although his voice sounded a little…lost? Draven couldn’t stop the sudden pounding of his heart, both from fright and from—something else.

“I thought you’d bailed on me,” he said, his tone surly as he busied himself making coffee, not even bothering to turn around. The low, husky chuckle made his skin tingle.

“I heard what you called me.” Fingers made light trails against Draven’s spine and he shivered. “I needed a smoke. Had to rush out to that corner shop and buy some.” Smoky breath blew against the back of his neck and Draven’s needy skin rose in goose bumps. Soft kisses dotted the puckered skin, making him groan softly as he closed his eyes and leaned back into the hard frame behind him.