Sweet Temptations

Chapter 2

Chapter 2A good thing this man let Jack lead, d**k so hard he struggled to walk straight. Pity they had only one place to go—the nondescript side-of-the-road guest house for those on the way to many routes along the East-West Road—as no way would Jack take the man back home.

The mental image of his bedroom—damp on one wall, clothes tossed on furniture, a wonky set of drawers squeezed into one corner, so if he pushed the door open too hard, the wood bounced back to hit his face—made him shake his head. No, he didn’t want to take Brinley back home. At least, the lack of refinement at the East-to-West Road Hotel, locally known as The Poacher, wasn’t his fault; Brinley couldn’t judge him. And looking at the man, the way he dressed, he was sure to be the sort to gauge everything.

No doubt this Brinley stopped for the night on his way to London. Those clothes came with a designer label attached, and the smooth, cultured voice screamed money. An investment banker came to mind. Not his type…normally. Now…he couldn’t swear he was so sure, but he didn’t need to ask what this guy did for a living as long as the man didn’t rip off little old ladies or sell folks into slavery.

Despite this silent declaration, Jack’s conscience pranged him. Not one for many one-night stands he sometimes indulged when life bested him. And fate quashed a few hopes and dreams lately. With luck, Brinley would soften the edge.

And what sort of name was Brinley, anyway? Could they be more different in social circles, and likely their expectations? Would he measure up to what this man wanted of him? The unexpected lack of confidence staggered him. Screw this. He was good in bed, and no way would he let this townie shake his self-assurance.

As they crossed the street, Brinley caught up with him, and Jack started, amazed at his own surprise. If Brinley realised, he ignored Jack’s flinching, and outpaced him. The shock eased Jack’s annoying erection, thank goodness, allowing him time to give this Brinley a more thorough once over.

Polished. The word vaulted to mind. Though the man attempted to appear casual, Jack couldn’t help thinking Brinley would be as at ease in a suit. The black shirt struck him as a compromise, taking the place of a jacket. Black shoes, of course. Hair dark enough to call black. Eyes…He couldn’t forget the eyes, even if he could no longer see them from this angle.

Jack shook himself, a small shiver passing through him. Hell, if those eyes didn’t appear as pitch as a night sky. Foolish notion brought on from the insufficient street lighting. He’d spied while inside the pub Brinley’s eyes were a dark brown.

Brinley picked up the pace, fast steps carrying him up on and across the pavement. Another hundred yards, and they reached the hotel, Jack following, uncertain why.

Well, he understood why—he was here for s*x—but…What was up with this guy? What did Jack see in him? In the bar, those dark eyes were seductive, containing hidden depths, calling to something inside Jack he hadn’t hitherto known existed.

Peril. Something about Brinley screamed of danger. And now…hell, he might as well be walking alone. He got the sense they weren’t together. Was it too late to change his mind? Back out? Something told him Brinley didn’t like those who played games, but…might the man be dangerous, beyond the enticing excitement Jack experienced in the pub? And, once alone, once things moved along, would Jack experience a repeat of the same thrill?

Only one way to know. Besides, if he dithered, undoubtedly his d**k would remind him of his true feelings. On the other hand, if he failed to grow hard, no way could he hide such a worrisome detail. Not that he imagined that part of his anatomy failing him. Despite his misgivings, Brinley was trim and one look encouraged stirrings. Curiosity bested him—Jack needed to see what this guy looked like naked.

Too late for more hesitation. They arrived, Brinley using his key card to gain access to the main building. Jack followed him from the entrance straight to the lift, not so much as glancing at the reception area, oddly self-conscious. This place rented rooms by the night, not by the hour, but plenty of businessmen stopped on their way to somewhere else. Doubtless, more than a few took someone back to their room. Out of any proverbial closet for more years than he cared to consider, Jack dithered, ensnared by the question of why he felt so nervous.

Lost in wonder, he bumped into Brinley as the man stopped by his room, again using his key card. The man’s gaze flicked up to Jack’s eyes, and…did a smirk hover shy of Brinley’s lips?

Hard to be certain; the moment speeding by so fast. The door opened; they entered, Jack in a rush, pushing the door shut with his back and leaning against the oak panel as though he locked the devil out in the hallway. Shame he might have sealed himself in with Beelzebub.

Ridiculous! What was wrong with him? Must be nerves because this guy gave off an air of sophistication Jack wasn’t used to. And he reeked of the same working world as the elitist moneybags who so recently screwed Jack out of a deal. One personal to him. If he was honest with himself, that explained his interest—his wanting to sink his wrath into someone not unlike the invisible man Jack remained pissed at. f**k this Brinley and all those with a superiority complex into oblivion.

And speaking of reek…What did he smell? Brinley’s scent affected him first in the pub when they stood close, but the odour was so much stronger here. Not a stink unless he smelled one of money. A tantalising aroma, which made his stomach churn and his mouth water. Vanilla. Cinnamon. Other spices he couldn’t identify. And the ones he detected defied description, as though his mind assigned common words to a blend so unique no one ever inhaled it before.

“Are you all right?”

Jack came back to himself, not knowing for how long he leaned against the door, gaze riveted to the grey carpet—a pattern highlighted by the only brightness in the room, illumination from the bathroom. Brinley had switched on the light, door open, creating pools of darkness everywhere, though it was possible to see well enough.

A white room, a king-size bed, a single in the far corner. Brown and white furniture. Beige curtains. A bland picture of a cow in a field. Bovine dropped into hell and surrounded by red fire where there stood the devil. Took Jack a moment to recognise the scarlet glow as a trick caused by thin drapes, a harsh light blazing outside. As he blinked, the image softened, becoming more yellow. Lights from a car parking up or leaving, the gleam left him with a pounding head. Was he getting a migraine? Though he never suffered them, didn’t they come with flashing lights and images? Was he about to have his first one?

Shirt unfastened, Brinley now worked on the buttons at his cuffs, studying Jack, head tilted. “You can change your mind.” Uttered as though Jack needed Brinley’s permission to consider leaving.

A retort rose on his tongue, falling away, unformed. Screw this guy. Yes, he might well leave. Would serve this t**t right.

But no, he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. The gap in the shirt flashed a view of tight abs. As Brinley peeled off the garment, Jack’s breath hitched. Hell, but the man was beautiful. Aware, too. Jack took the clear smirk now for one of confidence. Not that this man didn’t have every reason to be confident. Pity Brinley took off the shirt, for Jack wouldn’t have minded stripping the man, unveiling those delights as he liked. Pity, none of these thoughts or desires helped him to move.

Next came the belt along with the whisper of leather against fabric. The tinkle of the buckle dried out Jack’s mouth. He still didn’t stir while Brinley kicked off his shoes. A kind of fancy footwear, a loafer, though more stylish. An icy notion flashed into his mind. He wore trainers, difficult ones to undo. Stupid things had never been comfortable since the day he bought them. Now he’d make an arse of himself trying to kick them off. No way to know if Brinley practiced undressing, but the guy sure as hell moved well. Brinley could make a more than decent living as a stripper and without overly s****l movements.

Socks, gone. Waistband button popped. Zip lowered, giving Jack a glimpse of dark hair cut off by…even this guy’s underwear was black. Jack wanted to laugh. The man came into his life and would leave like a shadow. Barely seen or touched. But what made him think so? He intended to touch as much as opportunity permitted, but something told him Brinley wasn’t a man easy to explore, not physically or emotionally, unless he allowed himself to be.

“Shy or something?” Brinley approached, catlike.

“Taking everything in.” Not the most seductive line, though Brinley needed no seducing. Just something to say to not make Jack appear like an i***t, stumbling to form thoughts, let alone words.

Brinley placed a hand on his chest, on the left, practically over his heart. Jack half expected to feel the organ squeezed. One glance in his eyes, before Brinley leaned in, pausing a breath away from kissing him. The touch released a tightness inside Jack, and he yanked the man forward, thrusting his tongue into Brinley’s mouth, kissing him hard.

In reply, Brinley grabbed his arse, cupping, moulding, massaging him through the jeans, pulling, tugging, leading Jack deeper into the room. Now Jack was glad of Brinley’s stripping off most of his clothes, for his hands met bare, cool, smooth skin. His hands moved with self will, following lines and contours, etching Brinley’s sculptured torso into his memory. Eyes closed, he sculpted with his hands. The two men refused to part when they reached the bed, the kiss deepening, mutual, intense. Jack tried to work himself free of his clothes, only for Brinley to interfere with his attempt, taking over, leaving Jack to grasp Brinley wherever he wanted, torn by the sudden and hateful knowledge this one night would never be enough. Brinley mesmerised him. And not merely the man’s beauty, though his attractiveness was part of this, but something more. Something intangible. Or possibly lust drove him insane, for the pressure eased as Brinley at last released Jack from his jeans.

Brinley pushed him back, making Jack pause long enough to slide the T-shirt off. While Jack did, Brinley tugged the trousers down further, cool air kissing Jack’s erection and…God, Brinley’s tongue flashing across the head of Jack’s d**k, causing him to suck in too much oxygen. Another bomb went off, this one pure pleasure, not easing when Brinley licked up Jack’s stomach, inching towards the small nubs on his chest. Jack associated n*****s with women, never caring to have his toyed with. But Brinley exhibited a technique all his own. Hard, cruel, tugging, enticing, giving sweet relief with a lick only to change back to sharp heat. T-shirt gone, jeans unbuttoned, all he need do was to tug them down his legs…but…fucking trainers.

Jack attempted to toe them off his feet. No doing. Then by a miracle, they loosened. Although the move still took effort, he pushed them off, trousers falling, but not far enough.

Brinley gave a soft laugh. “Take it easy. There’s no hurry.”

A doddle for this guy to say; Jack might expire, fighting the strength of his desire. The man was right, though. Despite his initial reasons for choosing Brinley, they needn’t rush this.

Or did Brinley choose him? The unforeseen disquieting idea was one he needed to shake off—he seldom got to enjoy such a gorgeous man. As Jack well saw when Brinley leaned back on one elbow, the other hand clasping Jack’s hip, connecting them.

“You’re beautiful.” The words whispered out unbidden, bringing heat to Jack’s face. How sappy telling a guy he’d only met less than an hour ago that he found him beautiful.

“Thanks for the compliment.” Brinley’s reaction, or absence of, hit Jack’s embarrassment with a dose of cold water.

He shouldn’t take what Brinley said as personal. Men must have complimented Brinley’s features so often, he was surely immune to the sentiment. Something felt off, though, but Jack didn’t know what, and his d**k showed no interest in figuring out the problem. Tired of being the fool here, erection jutting out, trousers around his ankles, Jack pulled back from Brinley. At once, hating the loss of his touch, annoyed with himself over his reaction, he kicked off his jeans. At least he had nothing to be ashamed of. True, he might not be in quite the same tightly toned shape as the other guy, but Jack was no slouch. Brinley’s gaze flicking up and down showed a lack of disappointment, but he didn’t appear altogether taken with what he saw either. Heat surged in Jack’s face again. Annoyingly, his d**k grew harder, as though to prove his virility. As though inclined to lead Jack where he so wanted to go, but wished he didn’t.

“Condoms?” If this Brinley had none, Jack would face the end of their fun with as much relief as disappointment.

“No problem.”

What did Brinley mean? If this man believed Jack would take a gamble with a stranger, he was about to learn how wrong he was. But…oh…a packet already lay on the bed, along with a bottle of lubricant. Funny, he didn’t recall seeing them.

What was the matter with him? Here he had a fabulous man in his hands, and he concentrated on the minuscule. He was here to f**k, not to latch on to every small inconsistency. Brinley either got out the condoms and lube while Jack was preoccupied with worrying about the shape he was in, or trying to get free of his clothes and trainers. Or he’d left them there on his way out, hoping to find a guy he liked to bring back to his room.

And Jack was that man. Lucky Jack.

Clearing his throat, Jack asked. “What are we going to do here?” A conversation they should have had before they got so hot and heavy, but one of them must be practical; Brinley didn’t appear willing to make any moves.

“What do you want?” The guy sounded lazy, amused. Jack could only discern the top of Brinley’s face where the subdued light captured his eyes. Dare he ask?

“I want to f**k you.” Intentionally using a coarse word, Jack waited, looking for, hoping for, a startled reaction, but Brinley took his preference calmly.

“Not a problem.”

So, did this guy bottom or switch? Not as he cared. Shouldn’t, anyway. So long as he got what he wanted.

As he reached for Brinley’s slacks, the man accommodated him by lifting his hips, hands moving to the waistband, pushing the trousers and underpants down. As Jack drew back to take both off, he resisted looking at Brinley until he was naked. Didn’t dare or he might detonate. Not once did he believe he’d be disappointed.

He wasn’t. Brinley’s d**k jutted heavy, thick, almost incongruous on a slim man. At once, Jack couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to put his mouth on such a prodigious c**k. To hold his breath long enough to take the prick deep in his throat.

No. They weren’t here for mutual blowjobs. Besides, he hated the flavour of a condom and this guy’s d**k was too lush to enjoy deep throating behind a layer of latex.

Take a chance.

The notion snuck up like an imp, but Jack silenced the argument. No matter how hazed his brain might be with lust, nerves firing off, he wouldn’t take the risk. Never would, having lost a share of friends, male and female, to carelessness. He also never let someone else put the condom on him, and he always placed the rubber on them.

Brinley studied him as Jack now sheathed himself, and he swore the man meant to say the condom was unnecessary. Made him more determined to insist on protection, knowing nothing about this man, his choices in life.

Nothing except how delectable Brinley looked wriggling up the bed, pushing with his heels, bending his legs, easing them back, allowing for Jack’s greased fingers to enter such wicked heat. He opened Brinley, stretching him tenderly, rewarded by Brinley’s eyes closing in passion. He worked deeper until Brinley’s head rolled back, a sound too small to call a moan, drawn out of him. Hands clasped at the arm which Jack balanced on, leaning over Brinley, having followed him up on the bed. Brinley’s d**k waved as though beckoning, slapped hard against Brinley’s stomach as the man shifted his hips.

Jack felt more than spotted Brinley open his eyes. Glowed in the heat of his gaze, a flame of desire deep in those dark pupils flaring to life.

Nonsense. Jack must be going crazy. Insane with need. A desperation assuredly cooled just by getting inside this man. He wanted to plunge, but mindful of causing pain, he made the first scarcely there nudge, easing a groan from Brinley, a gasp from himself. Hell, he would never last. So hot, so tight, so yielding. Brinley opened to him in a way no one ever did before.

Experience? How much? Who with? How many? Never mind, and Jack was in, filling him, thrusting beyond his control, Brinley writhing, meeting him. Pleasure built, drowning him, and…He thrust and pushed and each wave took him closer, near to the edge, teetering…but not coming. Not yet…until he did. Time slowing, holding him, the convulsions, sweet spasms rushing through him yet taking forever, scouring him, taking him again and again while heat filled his palm, as he manipulated Brinley’s c**k, stroking, tugging, working him, the organ pumping in his fist, showering drops on Brinley’s tight stomach.

At some point, Jack collapsed on his back, closed his eyes, chest heaving, meaning to…

What the f**k happened?

Birds sang; what the hell did they have to be happy about?

Jack strained his neck, looking for a clock. Not seeing one, he tried to peek at his watch in the darkness, the one thing he hadn’t taken off. He couldn’t tell the exact time, but instinct told him he’d lain here longer than he intended. He didn’t want any entanglements. Something about Brinley warned him he didn’t know the true meaning of complicated. Perhaps if he eased off the bed, gathered his clothes, crept away…Yes, that would be easier.

Moving smoothly, Jack tried not to disturb the bed’s other occupant, peering over.

What the…? The little fucker was gone. A quick scan of the bedroom told Jack he was the ditched one. At least the guy graciously removed the condom from Jack’s d**k, but how hadn’t he felt the touch and movement? Grumbling, Jack grabbed his clothes. Fucker had condescendingly folded them and put them on the single bed. Stealthy sod, implementing all this without waking Jack. The s*x hadn’t been so wonderful as to…

Who was he kidding? The s*x…was the most fabulous of his life, his mind exploding as his c**k detonated with a shattering release. But he should still be grateful. The guy had taken care of the awkward parting for him. So why did his doing so annoy Jack? Wouldn’t be the first time a guy ducked out. Jack did his share of the same.

He made a quick trip to the bathroom, cleaning up, grabbing a fresh towel to wash his hands and splash water on his face after using the toilet. Able to check his watch, he blinked, shocked the hands announced the time as five a.m. Meaning the dawn chorus had awoken him. He might still be snoozing otherwise. But why ponder all this?

Back out in the bedroom, he promptly dressed, sat down on the bed to put on his trainers. Stopped as another shock slapped his face. The laces…they were tight. How, by the seven layers of hell, had he ever forced them off? Last night, they’d slipped off his feet like magic. Didn’t matter. He must get them on his feet and leave.

Took him roughly ten minutes to accomplish this little drama and by then his stomach rumbled. He didn’t want to ponce about taking time to make coffee. He wanted to leave, to push the incident behind him. Besides, if he were late for work…

No time to consider. No time for coffee, but there might be a few of those packets of biscuits which hotels left in the rooms. Enough to snatch and to eat on the run.

Huh? What the hell was this?

No biscuit packets but…a cookie—not a British biscuit, but a huge American-style cookie—laid out on the tabletop. Was as though his grumbling stomach led him to spot the treat. And what business did his belly have grousing at him so early?

“Must’ve used up more than a few calories last night.”

And here…a cookie laid out for him big enough to satisfy his hunger. Felt as though Brinley hadn’t satisfied all his needs—Jack still aroused—but brought all his senses alive, including hunger.

“Still horny.” Jack shook his head, stood, walked over to the table. A note lay beside the cookie. He grabbed the paper and read.

“Thanks for a memorable night.”

So unforgettable, the guy ducked out without saying goodbye.

Simpler.

Easier.

But…what was going on here? A love note and a biscuit? He snatched up the treat, taking the sweetness to his nose, sniffed. Another rumble rolled out of him; an ache of emptiness leaping to life inside. Damn if the sweet biscuit didn’t smell tasty. Scented with seasoning both spicy and sweet, a little like…Brinley.

Now, as he considered all this, something didn’t sit right. Opening his mouth, Jack put out his tongue, paused shy of licking the treat. He sensed if he licked the biscuit, he couldn’t resist eating it. And…what? What did he think might happen?

Like Alice in Wonderland, he stood about to fall down a hole, where things labelled Eat Me or Drink Me came with consequences. He peered again at the message, expecting similar words, but of course they hadn’t changed from what he’d read a moment before.

“What the hell?” Little fucker tried to drive him mad. After crinkling up the note, Jack cast the paper in the bin, the cookie following. He didn’t know what went on here. Might be the little s**t fed him a drug. Maybe laced this cookie with Ecstasy or m*******a. For all he remembered, once s*x ended, they might have done anything. He didn’t like the blank hours. Nor the idea Brinley left without his awareness. He didn’t want any of this. Wished he’d never set eyes on the distinctly strange guy…and finest lay of his life.

Jack strode out of the room, padded softly out of the hotel, doing his best to shrug off the memory and carry on with his life.