Calum had barely come to terms with the knowledge that Brix found it hard to cope at all, but the theory made sense. Back in London, how many nights had he found himself counting stock that didn’t need to be counted? Organising shelves that no one gave a shit about? Too many, but Black Star Ink had been like that, a world away from the nuclear family of Blood Rush. A world away from Brix.
Black Star. Calum’s stomach turned over. The name had been nothing but trouble and heartache for him. Was it too much to hope that he’d been the anomaly? He knew nothing of the men out on those boats, but he felt Brix’s anguish like it was his own.
He reached for Brix almost absently, but Brix was already halfway into his arms. “I wish I could tell you it’s going to be okay.”
“It’s all right that you can’t,” Brix said. “I don’t need you to fix things. It’s enough that you’re here.”
“Why?”
The question came out as a barely audible whisper. In answer, Brix grasped Calum’s face and kissed him deeper than they’d ever kissed before. Hotter. Harder. And with more purpose than Calum could stand if one of them pulled away.
He closed his hands tightly around Brix’s, like he could hold Brix to him and never let go, and leaned closer, knocking Brix off-balance so they tumbled to the mattress.
Brix pushed Calum onto his back and straddled him, his strong, slim thighs pinning Calum in place. He kissed Calum again and again, ploughing his tongue into Calum’s mouth until Calum fought his dominance and flipped them over, covering Brix with his heavier weight.
Calum broke the kiss, gasping, and dropped his forehead to Brix’s, pressing them together like he could force his way into Brix’s mind. “What do you want? What do you need?”
“I need to touch you.”
“Do it, then.”
“I don’t want to do it for me. I need you to want me, Cal, even if it’s just for now. I need you to want—”
Calum placed his hand over Brix’s mouth and unbuckled his own belt, rising up on his knees to shove his jeans and boxers down his hips. His cock sprang free inches from Brix’s face. “Brix, I want you. I’ve always wanted you. How can you not know that?”
“You never told me.”
“You never asked.”
“That’s because I wanted you too . . . I wanted you so badly I was afraid of it.”
Calum didn’t believe that. How could it be true when they’d inked side by side in Camden for years, working hard and playing harder, and Calum hadn’t noticed a thing? Besides, Brix wasn’t afraid of anything—
The thought imploded as it crossed Calum’s mind. Back in the day, he’d have sworn blind that Brix was the toughest bloke he’d ever met, but he’d learned over the past month that Brix Lusmoore was as fragile as any man, perhaps more so. “Don’t be afraid of it, Brix. Just touch me. It’ll be okay, I promise.”
It was the only reassurance Calum could give, and the uncertainty that remained in Brix’s gaze hurt his heart. He grasped Brix’s hands and placed them on his cock, holding them still a moment so Brix could absorb how much Calum wanted—craved—this. It had been a while since anyone had touched him this way, and as Brix’s fingers traced a shaky path along his shaft, he wondered how long it had been for Brix. Brix of old had jumped from bed to bed around Camden, with and without his sometime-lover, Jordan, but he was a different man now, and Calum couldn’t believe the tremor in his hands was all about him.
As if. But Calum gritted his teeth and silenced the devil on his shoulder. Brix’s tentative touch was enthralling, consuming, and as it grew in confidence, Calum couldn’t look away. Brix’s fist closed around his cock, squeezing, gently at first, but then tighter, and twisting, and fuck, grazing his balls with the other hand.
Calum dropped his chin to his chest with a low groan. Orgasm rushed up on him, but he couldn’t find the willpower to fight it, or care enough to try.
Brix gripped him harder, abandoning Calum’s balls to dig his nails into Calum’s hip. “You’re so fucking hot.”
You should see yourself. But he didn’t have the coherency to voice it. Release smashed into him, and he came on Brix’s chest with a guttural cry.
“Fuck.” Calum fell forward into Brix’s waiting arms. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“They’d better be good fucks.” Brix wrapped his arms around Calum, apparently unconcerned with the sticky mess between them.
“They’re good fucks,” Calum croaked. “Lemme touch you too.”
He reached for Brix’s dick, which was rigid and digging into his thigh, but Brix pushed his hands away. “Don’t worry about me.”
Calum grumbled, but lethargy washed over him like a bellyful of Valium. He rolled off Brix and pressed into his side, hooking a leg over his abdomen. “I’m supposed to be looking after you,” he murmured, sleep dragging him under as Brix’s rough fingertips brushed back his sweat-dampened hair.
“You are,” Brix whispered. “More than you know.”
It was still dark when Calum woke sometime later. He opened his eyes, and for a moment the unfamiliar mattress beneath him felt like his old bed back in London. “Running off to Cornwall like a jilted bride? Fuck’s sake, Cal. You might as well have joined the bloody circus. Where the fuck are you working, anyway? Some backstreet bumpkin scratcher’s?”
