Familiarways.
It wells from every pore and makes me sympathetically ache with him, like the pain in our souls throbs on the same wavelength.
Taking him home tonight won’t be enough for me. I can tell that already.
Ineedhim. I need the fact that he already gets a massive part of my psyche, and I get him, too.
I need every bit of nervous terror he’s emitting.
I need to be the one to make his desires and secret longings come to life.
Nothing short of totallypossessingthis man will do.
Igetit—Ijustmet him. Explaining my need for him is a waste of time. It’s deeper and darker and far more serious than simply wanting to get my rocks off. More than just an overnight indiscretion.
Inside the core of my being, my soul resonates with his pain and longing.
I want to soothe him.
I want to stripe his ass.
I want to become intimately familiar with the curve of his back as he kneels before me.
I want to watch his eyes as I sink my cock deep inside him and claim him everywhere.
I want toownhim.
The question, of course, is will heletme?
* * * *
We spend another thirty minutes talking before I finally gothere.
I drop my voice. “Why are you here tonight, Elliot?”
He’s focused on his glass again. “Third time I’ve come here. First two times I had a couple of drinks and left again without talking to anyone. I didn’t know what to do. I was too scared to approach anybody.”
Cool. He’s cautious because of his fear. Meaning, hopefully, he won’t turn into a train wreck with me. “My apartment’s only a block away.” I sit back. “Let’s head there and continue our conversation in private.” I’m looking him right in the eyes as I say it.
Up until this point, our “conversation” has primarily consisted of dancing around the issue that has us crossing paths tonight in this particular bar.
He’s dancing because he’s terrified, and yet also filled with blatant longing.
I’m dancing because I recognize his terror and desperately do not want to scare him off. I am reasonably certain if he bolts out that door, and he’s not on my arm, so to speak, I’ll never get another chance to approach him like this.
He’ll dive head-first back into his closet and nail the door shut behind him.
I’m four years older than him but his ordeals have aged him somewhat. Still damned handsome.
I can tell from our conversation that he’s brilliant and witty and self-effacing. Who knows if he’s in politics for the right reasons? But he’s apparently not a narcissistic asshole or TV reality star, so I’ll consider it a win.
Elliot slowly sits back, staring at me, his throat working nervously as he nudges his glasses up on his nose. I’m a sucker for guys with glasses and always have been. There’s a sweet vulnerability there that sucks my sadist right the hell in every damn time.
“No one will ever know,” I say so softly it’s nearly a whisper. “Iswearit.”
From the rise and fall of his chest, I can tell it’s taking him every ounce of strength he has to remain in place and not run scared.
If only he’ll trust me, give me a chance.
