Not His Kiss to Take (14 page)

Sleeping pain-free was such a novelty.

He’d really like to get back to it.

The microwave beeped.
God—please, not popcorn again.
A vile smell if ever there was one. Where did Jamie even find the stuff? Moldering in the back of an unused cupboard? Hopefully the beep meant he’d nuked himself a sludgy cup of leftover cocoa instead. Evan braced himself for the impending impact.

At some point every night, Jamie woke in a panic state, or he couldn’t fall asleep to begin with, only tonight he should’ve crashed hard and fast and stayed that way. The physical strain from the enema should have knocked him flat; that, plus the mental strain from enduring such a strange and uncomfortable experience in the first place. This late, he’d be running on nothing but fumes, utterly exhausted.

Except, Evan knew, having figured out Jamie’s temperament already, he’d still be fighting the exhaustion and stubbornly stewing over what had happened during the exam.

And he’d be furious at his attackers. He’d see the whole enema and the exam that followed as their fault, and he’d be right. Jamie hadn’t even begun to deal with his rage over the unprovoked assault or the hurt that festered beneath all the bruises. When the rage finally came, it’d be a nuclear event.

Was this how grief manifested itself? Perhaps Jamie was going through the anger stage.
And taking it out on me.
Evan’s physician side accepted Jamie’s wild anger as part of the ongoing process of recovery. The rest of Evan didn’t like taking a shit-kicking he didn’t have coming.

Or did he rightfully deserve a share of Jamie’s rage?

Damn it.
Yes, he did.

Two a.m. had a sneaky way of making the truth jump right out and bite you on the ass. Fine. Yes, Jamie had a righteous complaint, if he honestly considered it.
I crossed the line, and the times I didn’t cross it, I was thinking of crossing it.
Evan wanted to fuck Jamie, and Jamie knew it.
And there’s nothing to be done about it. How can you force yourself not to want someone? Not ache to touch them or burn to feel their touch in return?
If there was a way, there’d already be a drug for it and he’d have bought shares in the damn company.

Tell him you’re sorry again first thing in the morning. Explain why you did it, again.

Lying there blissfully comfortable, head-banging demons strangely silent and satisfied with a decision made, Evan felt himself drifting back toward sleep, a slow slide this time, not his usual drug-induced thrill ride. His door opened, the crack of light nailing him in the eye not squashed into his pillow. Leaving the door ajar out of meanness, Jamie entered. The last couple of times, he only peered inside, grunted derisively, and left. This time he actually came in. Evan turned from the blissful haven of his pillow and opened both eyes.

Jamie had his hands on his hips. His legs were slightly spread, his stance hostile. Yeah, he walked the war path.

“
Are you in pain, Jamie?”

“
No,” he growled.

Okay, don’t give the boy a tomahawk.
Might end up buried in my head.
“What’s on your mind, then?”

Messy blond hairs stuck up in all directions, and Jamie, agitated, ran his hand back over his forehead and pushed up more strands, making the tangle wilder. Looked a lot like a porcupine—all prickles. “You’re a bastard!” he cursed. Then he spun on his heel, left the room, and slammed the door with a resounding thump.

That went well. Real words this time. Progress. Evan knew a lot of psychiatrists who’d be thrilled with that shiny new development. Not that Jamie would see one; he’d absolutely refused to so much as consider it when Evan had mentioned it. Guess he needed to spend more time in the anger phase first.

Three a.m. The creaking door reawakened Evan. All that brutal yanking put it out of alignment. “Jamie,” he sighed, groggy. “Still awake?”

Jamie appeared a little less hostile now—he’d had an hour to simmer down since his last delightful visit. Just hands on hips this time, no hair pulling, and was that really any better? “You had no right to do that!”

Like he was back on rounds, Evan snapped fully awake. “Do what?”

“
You know what.”

“
Not really. Why don’t you tell me and get it off your chest so you can finally go to sleep?”

Jamie sucked in a deep breath, revving his engine up to go. Would he finally tell him or explode from the pressure? “Touch me like that!” he yelled.

Ah. Finally. The issue bothering him the most. “Did I not already apologize?”

“
So? Fucking apologize again!”

“
I’m sorry—”

“
You did it on purpose. You wanted to make me hard so you could humiliate me!”

“
The last thing I wanted to do was humiliate you.”

The perfect little chin tilted up defiantly. “Then why’d you do it?”

It wasn’t because he
wanted
to, not at all.
Liar.
“I wanted to make sure everything worked properly, as I told you. You didn’t want to see Dr. Sharpe and manipulated your way out of it, so that meant I had to ensure you could still get it up. That answer your question?”

“
You bastard!” he hissed. Then he turned on his heel, stomped out, and slammed the door—or tried to. This time the abused thing lacked the oomph for a good slam and banged meekly. Jamie had to jerk it a couple times until it closed. Evan stared at it in amazement. Yeah, very, very pissed. The anger stage on steroids.

Three thirty. The door didn’t slam open any better than it slammed shut. Evan almost flew out of bed thinking the charge nurse caught him napping in the break room. “Oh, for Christ’s sake! Stop terrorizing both me and the bedroom door and come in. Let’s talk about it.”

“
I’m mad at you.”

“
I can tell.”

“
I’m not gay!”

Now they were getting somewhere. “Never said you were.”

“
I don’t want to like that…that…thing you did to me.”

Like it? No wonder the kid was mad. Tough concept to wrap your head around, especially at three thirty in the morning. Thinking about Jamie liking that
thing
stirred up his cock again, though. “It’s a prostate. Stimulating it brings pleasure.”

“
I keep thinking about it.” Agitated again, he paced the area in front of the door. The need for a viable escape route at all times meant Jamie now hovered near doors. “Why do I keep thinking about it?”

Ooh boy, explosive subject ahead. Evan didn’t feel like treading carefully anymore. “Curiosity? You just turned twenty-one, right? Healthy young guys are supposed think about sex all the time and get hard over nothing and everything.”

Jamie paused in his pacing. “Getting hard over having your fingers up my ass is not nothing! It’s not supposed to be that way.”

Evan’s patience wore thin. “Get over it. Pleasure’s pleasure.”

“
You’re such an arrogant prick.”

“
Go to bed.”

Like a kid, Jamie started swinging his arms. “Why bother? I’m wired. I can’t sleep.”

“
Well, I can, so if you’re done ranting, don’t let my door hit your ass on the way out. I think you broke it, but check and see if it’ll whack you anyway.”

Hands back on hips, Jamie glared at him and mumbled something under his breath.

“
You keep hanging around, and I’m gonna assume you want me to do it again.”

“
What!”

Well, he did say he liked it… There’d been plenty of evidence. So Evan pushed the topic. It was three thirty in the morning, for fuck’s sake, and he was tired. And perhaps more than a little horny—no—
grouchy
. That was it—grouchy. “You want me to get you off? That what this is all about? You’re frustrated? Wanna see what it’s like to come with my finger up your ass and rubbing that sweet spot? I guarantee you’ll like that too.” That’ll teach the little snot. “It’ll blow your mind.”

Jamie froze.

“
Go to bed. And I’ll warn you right now, if you come charging back in here again tonight, wrecking my door, stomping your feet, and cursing up a blue streak, I’m gonna bend you over my bed and make you come so hard your knees will be too weak for stomping and you’ll forget how to talk, let alone cuss at me.”

“
Fuck. You.”

“
Get. Out.”

Evan imagined Jamie’s face was white with fury, except his cheeks, which would have lovely, flaming red splotches on each side. Too bad Evan couldn’t see it in the dark. Jamie’s mouth hung open slightly in dismay; only on Jamie, it looked good. Sexy and innocent at the same time. The kid was absolutely and utterly fuckable. A few seconds later, Jamie’s brain activated his legs, and he stormed out, yanking the door behind him. It wouldn’t shut. “Leave it!”

“
Prick!”

No way was he going to fall back to sleep now. Evan fell back into the plush goodness of his pillows, rattled to the core. Still no sign of an emerging headache. Amazing. If this didn’t set one off, nothing would. His cock stirred inside his sleep pants, throbbing in time with the quickened beat of his heart. Wouldn’t take much to get off in this state, not with every nerve on edge, body frustrated and head blissfully pain free.

It’ll just be another lonely orgasm…

But I need this release more than I’ve ever needed it.

The image of Jamie kneeling naked before him occupied top spot in his fantasy department. Didn’t take much to expand on that image, what he’d do if granted the privilege of Jamie’s submission. Evan could easily imagine his cockhead sliding over those pouty red lips. They’d be hot.
Oh yes.
And wet. Would Jamie gag the first time he took him in? Or suck him deep, trying for the back of his throat?

Sliding his hand under the covers bunched at his waist and beneath the elastic waistband of his pants, he stroked himself, a long, slow pull starting under his balls and up to the hot, sensitive tip.
Jesus.
Almost there already. From one stroke. The slippery fluid seeping from the slit was as hot as blood as he smeared it around the head, circling the tip. Any more stimulation than that and he’d come. His balls felt tight and ready to burst. Each circling caress of his thumb sent a shiver across his skin. His nipples tingled. Craving the stimulation, he pinched one, and the shiver leapt into his spine, arching his back involuntarily.
So close…

The door creaked open, and light from the hallway fixture spilled across the bed, his naked torso, and the nubs of his stiff nipples. Jamie stood silhouetted against the doorframe, posture tense and hostile.

Evan had warned him…

What exactly did Jamie want, anyway? To talk? Receive absolution for a getting a hard-on? Or did he also ache for release?

Or was it just curiosity? Jamie had that in spades.

The duvet brushed heavily against Evan’s pulsing cock as he pulled it back and swung his legs off the edge. As he stood, the light shone on him, highlighting the thickened length of his erection, clearly visible beneath the thin cotton. Enough! Evan wanted Jamie to notice his aroused state. Wanted him to know what he did to him. “Get on the bed,” he said, voice thick.

Some sound escaped from low in Jamie’s throat, not quite a word, not completely a whimper; something needier and huskier. A minute passed, an eternity, as Evan waited in his agonized state of arousal for Jamie to decide whether or not to cross the threshold, whether he would give in and quit denying what he desperately wanted to discover.

Finally, with a shaky sigh…he crossed over.

Mine.

“
I—”

“
Shut up and get on the bed.” They would settle this thing between them right now. Words weren’t necessary. Moving decisively forward, Evan closed the distance between them. Jamie lurched, startled. More than startled—scared, anxious, defiant, and excited, each emotion flickering across his face as he felt them, clearly visible to Evan’s prying eyes. “I won’t hurt you,” he promised, although his low growl sounded anything but reassuring. “But I did warn you…so get on the bed.
Now.
”