Read Not His Kiss to Take Online

Authors: Finn Marlowe

Tags: #romance adult erotica, #contemporary adult erotica, #fetish play, #kink, #romance, #male male romance, #gay adult erotica

Not His Kiss to Take

BOOK: Not His Kiss to Take
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Not His Kiss to Take

 

By Finn Marlowe

 

 

Copyright 2012 by Finn Marlowe

 

 

Smashwords Edition

 

 

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com. Thank you for your support

 

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 

 

***~~~***

 

TABLE OF CONTENTS

 

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 

 

***~~~***

 

 

Dedication

 

For Moderatrix Lori

of the Goodreads M/M Romance Group

in appreciation of her time and dedication

to the group and to all GLBTQ youth

and based on her story prompt

 

 

***~~~***

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

 

What a waste.

Four years of pre-med. ’Cause you just had to go for the double major, didn’t you? One just wasn’t good enough, was it? Then all those challenging years of medical school. Remember that B minus you got in Calculus? Boy, didn’t that just sully your perfect record. Remember how disappointed you were? Like any of that matters now. A couple more years doing residency, then another year spent learning the ropes in Emerg. And no sleep. Remember how you used to fantasize about sleeping more than doing some hot, young guy six ways from Sunday?

Now it seemed all he did was sleep.
Because when you’re not hurting, you have nothing else to do anyway.

More time wasted.

Could a doctor without any patients even a call himself doctor anymore?

But it’s all I ever wanted to be. And now I’m nothing.

Technically, he still was a doctor and normally didn’t cry in his beer, lamenting the things he wasn’t. Just—everyone had a bad day now and then. Besides, they hadn’t taken away his license. He’d voluntarily given it up. The meds he’d been on had been prescription, so no one blamed him. But after what happened, what could’ve ended up being worse and thankfully wasn’t, it seemed pretty much decided by the board that he should just hang up his stethoscope and go on extended medical leave. Not that he’d argued.

Do no harm.

Good words for a doctor to live by. He believed in the oaths he’d sworn and harbored no resentment. Mostly.

Felled in his prime by a stupid headache. Who could possibly plan for a contingency like that? Perhaps there was a bitter irony in there somewhere, and he just couldn’t to see it. Cursed with a migraine that never left, the ebb and flow of throb and reprieve a dark tide rocking with a rhythm nobody’d yet figured out. Tonight the ache followed the neap tide, no drastic swells, smooth sailing. For the first time in a long time, he chanced going out for a beer. He picked at a corner of the label, then took another drink before he made it all warm and disgusting, mauling the bottle.

His favorite place was quiet tonight, likely on account of the phenomenally shitty weather. Spokane in late winter meant snow verging on rain, every road slushy and slippery, and tonight she was at her slipperiest. Since he’d walked the few blocks here—driving at night could bring on a level-ten thumper with no warning, all those flashing lights and red and yellow and green flickering like a pulse—he didn’t have to risk driving the dangerous streets. Amazing how he’d had to stop only once on the way to help a pack of teens push their car out of the snow bank on the median. Road conditions, like the walking conditions, were brutal.

Sucked as far as people-watching went too. Nobody tried to pick him up, and he was glad. This wasn’t a gay bar, and he had no interest in women sexually, although they seemed to like him well enough. Truth be told, Dr. Evan Harrison liked guys. That fact was why he no longer had a meaningful relationship with his parents, aside from the obligatory card on his birthday and invites to events they knew he’d never accept. Lord, the embarrassment of having a gay son. Evan suspected they’d die from old age and he’d still be waiting for them to get over it.

No, Evan most definitely preferred his own gender and no longer cared who knew it. Finally coming out in all aspects of his life—work, specifically—hadn’t eased the migraines, something his physician had hoped, thinking one less worry might help. Evan hadn’t expected it to be so liberating. He felt free.

And lonely.

Oh yeah, lonely. And horny. Maybe he shouldn’t be so picky. Older men didn’t do it for him, though. Why deny it? Sleek young bodies and sweet smiles were what did, that indefinable combination that made his heart race and his dick hum. As long as they were legal, because, first before all things, he believed in
do no harm.
No, what he liked—
hello
—just walked in the door.

So pretty. Oh sweet Jesus.

And so very blond. Evan set the beer down so he could admire his every fantasy come to life without spilling his drink all over the table. Fat snowflakes, now rapidly melting, clung to the boy’s pale hair, creating a glittering halo. They stuck to his lashes too, and the earthbound angel wiped them away with his sleeve. His cheeks were flushed red from the cold in a way only a true blond’s skin could flush. Absolutely breathtaking, all things considered.

Unfortunately, the angel apparently expected to meet someone. He scanned the room, checked every booth and table. Evan sincerely hoped he wouldn’t be joining that table of loud-mouthed assholes everyone in the bar had been trying to ignore for the past hour. They hadn’t been quite so insufferable earlier, but now they were getting drunk, zooming past obnoxious and heading straight for disorderly. Pretty boy chewed his bottom lip, so luscious and full Evan’s dick considered that mouth a jerk-off dream in the making. And his lips were chapped. They still made cherry-flavored balm for that, didn’t they?

Evan allowed himself to stare. Why not? The bar was dim and shadowy and no one would notice. That was why he came here; he could still get out, almost socialize and feel part of the world again without triggering any episodes. The boy, okay, the
man
, because he looked to be out of his teens—just barely—wasn’t dressed properly for the stormy weather.

His sneakers left wet globs of melting snow everywhere he stepped and his baggy jeans were soaked to the knees. Chilly. At least under the tattered jean jacket, he wore both a hoodie and a T-shirt. He probably wouldn’t catch his death from the cold, just from slipping in front of an out-of-control taxi in those worn-out Nikes of his. Evan smiled to himself.

I’d be happy to warm you up, luscious boy. C’mere, beautiful. Come closer where I can get a better look at you.

As if he knew he was being thought about, sort of like that prickle of warning Evan sometimes got when people stared at him, the pretty angel—God knew twink didn’t do him justice—glanced his way. The light from the neon beer sign next to his head shimmered across his damp hair, replacing the snowflake halo with a vivid rainbow one. His eyes appeared dark in the low light, but really, what color other than blue would match that hair? Corn silk and summer skies simply went together.

Under the table, hidden from view, Evan’s dick pulsed in appreciation. Such an enjoyable sensation, that rush of heat, even if Evan knew nothing would come of it. It was merely a joyful reminder he was still alive.

The boy gave him a cursory once-over.
Definitely straight.
What a waste.

One of the obnoxious assholes at the noisy table said something rude, Evan didn’t hear much beyond the words
fucking faggot
, and the boy turned his head toward them and scowled. Even when scowling, he looked good enough to eat, preferably stark naked and stretched out on top of Evan’s dining room table. Sliding out of his jacket in a jerky, awkward fashion, the young man worked his way to a table far removed from the asshole partiers and slouched down, dejected. Clearly he’d expected a pretty girl to be there waiting for him.

Who’d stand up someone who looked like that? Not that Evan had any experience on getting stood up. He was good-looking; modesty was never his strong suit, and, let’s face it—he was a doctor. Or a sort-of doctor, a has-been junkie doctor with no patients, but still a fucking doctor, and he never got stood up. And even before the doctor credentials had come along, he’d been rolling in trust money. So, like the boy, he could get laid anytime he wanted.

It was just that empty, nameless hookups had lost their appeal long before the headaches even started.
More.
Now he wanted more. Wanted someone to see the man inside.

The kid was either legal or had excellent fake ID. Laurie, Evan’s favorite waitress, brought the blond a drink that looked like plain soda. He fiddled with the straw for a few icy twirls before consulting his iPhone. Yep, stood up. Probably on count of the storm, because,
come on
, the kid was a treat for the eyes.

BOOK: Not His Kiss to Take
3.75Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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