She pressed her lips together, as though holding back what she badly wanted to say. Caroline gave him an abrupt nod and then marched stiffly over to her car. He watched her reverse and drive up the steep driveway, waiting until she’d closed the gate after her before closing the front door. Paul walked across the hallway with reluctant feet.
It was time to face the music.
Before he reached it, Adam popped his head around the library door, said, “Paul, come in here, please,” and disappeared from sight.
Shit. Here we go.
Paul stepped into the sunny room to find Adam sitting in his chair, only this time he sat up straight, his gaze fixed on Paul’s location.
“Adam, I?—”
“Were you serious about wanting to type up my books?”
That stopped him dead in his tracks. “Uh, yes?”
Adam relaxed into his armchair. “I’ve made no bones about the fact that I don’t want a companion.” Paul remained silent and Adam continued. “But if we go down this route, you would no longer be my companion. You’d be my Personal Assistant, and that’s a completely different state of affairs. I’d expect you to type up a manuscript from dictated notes, use my reference books, search for quotations, send emails…” He paused. “Think you can do all that?”
The temptation to snort was huge. Paul wasn’t exactly an unqualified moron. He restrained himself and replied politely, “Yes, sir.” The honorific felt… right.
Especially since he threatened to spank the shit out of me.
“And from now on, you live here.”
That, Paul hadn’t expected. “Oh, okay.” He thought about it. “Will I still be expected to prepare meals, clean, shop, et cetera?”
“For the moment, yes.” Adam’s jaw set. “However, I want to get to the stage where I am able to cook for—and look after—myself. Once I get back online, I can do all the shopping that way.”
That didn’t surprise him in the least. He was starting to realize Adam was all about the control.
“Are you happy to continue under those conditions?”
Paul stared at Adam, his heart pounding. He’d expected their conversation of the previous night to have been mentioned. Was Adam going to let it go? Paul swallowed a bitter pill. He didn’t want it mentioned either.
Maybe that’s for the best. Just put it behind us and move forward. You’re gay, I’m gay, but so what?
“Yes, I’m happy with that.”
Adam nodded. “By the way, you’re off duty tonight. Make the most of it at this party.” He smiled. “Tomorrow you’re going to go up into the attic and bring down my boxes. I imagine that should keep you busy for a while.”
There was definite smirking going on, but Paul couldn’t have cared less. What mattered was Adam sounded himself again, not the battered, browbeaten man who’d sat there with his head in his hands. He had no idea what Caroline had said to her brother, but he hoped to God she didn’t say it again.
Because if she did, the gloves were coming off.
Okay, so he’d gained a heavier workload and a different job title. Paul was under no illusions. What had really changed was Adam’s perception of him, and if it made Adam happier to think of him as an assistant, Paul could live with that.
And now that all the drama was over, Paul was going to go to Taylor’s party, get plastered, and hopefully find a hot man and off-the-scale hot sex. Anything to purge from his mind the image of a naked Adam, or the recollection of a threatened spanking that still made his dick hard as iron.
The bedroom window was open and through it came the ever-constant sound of the sea. Normally it would have been enough to lull Adam into the arms of sleep, but not tonight. He’d gone to bed early, but his brain refused to shut down. The cause of his insomnia was off somewhere enjoying himself, while Adam lay with the sheets flung off him, the heat of the August night verging on oppressive. His mind was a whirling cascade of thoughts that collided, sparking off each other and sending yet more thoughts to torment him.
He could still smell Paul.
How is that even possible?
How could a scent torment him, long after it had vanished? And yet he could recall how the musky aroma had filled his nostrils. The sounds, still so vivid: the metallic sound of Paul’s belt buckle; the rasp of his zipper; that sensual sound of his jeans or shorts or whatever, sliding down over his hips.
But what tortured him most were the thoughts of what might have been, if he’d had the courage to act.
What would I have felt if I’d reached out? Would I have encountered smooth, bare skin? Or perhaps there’d be a downy covering of hair. Would my fingertips have grazed the head of an erect dick? Would there have been pre-cum already beading at his slit? Would his balls have been covered in fuzz, or shaved, the skin soft and delicate? How would his belly have felt? Firm? Soft? Would there be a treasure trail to follow?
