“Maybe not, but I know people, mate, and I trust my instincts.”
A frown flitted across his features for a second before the corners of his mouth turned up. “I’m beginning to hate that word.”
I looked at him, puzzled for just a second before it sank in. “Mate?” He nodded. “It just means friend.”
He stared down at me, and I didn’t miss the flare of heat in his eyes. “I know what it means.” His gaze dropped to my lips. “But that’s not the way I feel about you.”
I swallowed, feeling slightly off balance because it’s not the way I felt about him either. Other people would have seen my belief in his honesty as foolish, but I’d spent years going to the likes of AA meetings where honesty was critical but also talking to counselors after Afghanistan. But bugger all that. I could feel the electricity buzzing between us and I couldn’t remember when I’d been attracted to another man as much. “Me either,” Iwhispered a second before he ducked his head and took my lips in a warm kiss.
I leaned against him, relishing the heat radiating from his large body as I parted my lips at his urging. Wes’ tongue tasted of rich, sweet coffee, but it was the soft, growly sounds coming from the back of his throat that made my knees weak. He tightened our hug, grabbing my arse with one hand and practically lifting me off the floor as he drew me up flush with his groin where an enormous erection tented his jeans. I groaned, rocking my hard cock against his, loving the way we seemed to fit together so perfectly.
I kissed Wes passionately, eating at his mouth as he echoed the strokes of his tongue like for like. He slipped his hands up under the hem of my shirt to knead the muscles in my back before sliding them back down to my arse again. I wanted him more than any man I’d ever wanted and just as the thought occurred to me, so did another one.
For some godforsaken reason, I wanted to slow things down which had never been my M.O. with guys before. Gay bar hookups never got a midnight breakfast and some conversation before I brought them home for a hot fuck. With Wes, I wanted more. I wanted to savor him, have a wee kiss and a cuddle, enjoy our connection before falling into bed, regardless of how easy it would be, judging by how worked up we both were.
I let go of him and slid my hands between us, gently pushing at his wide chest. He instantly broke the kiss and leaned back. The curiosity lighting his smoldering gaze, spoke volumes as he searched my eyes. He immediately dropped his arms and took a step back. The urge to chase him and press him against the kitchen bench was nearly overwhelming.
“Patsy…I’m sorry…I—”
I pressed two fingers against his full lips as I shook my head. “Don’t finish that thought, Wes,” I said, panting and shivering, feeling horny as hell. “I want ya. Make no mistake about that.” I grabbed my dick, drawing his gaze to it as I squeezed it. When he glanced back up to meet my eyes, I read the questions in them. I shrugged. “It’s just that…I know how hard ya worked today.” I reached out and gently ran a hand over his soft T-shirt. “And if this night ends the way I want it to, we’re both goin’ to need our strength.”
His eyes twinkled, but it was the sound of his low laugh that sent electricity to my balls. “Okay, Patsy, what’s your plan then?”
I stepped back, turning to our tea cooling on the marble. “How about we finish the amazin’ meal and then…we’ll see how things go from there?”
Wes nodded slowly. “Okay.”
I smiled before standing on tiptoes and pecking his lips.
Chapter Nine
WES
I watched Patsy closely as he ate, loving the little sounds of pleasure as he enjoyed the lasagna. I couldn’t help but smile. I’d planned out the dinner to thank him for opening his home to me, crossing my fingers that he’d like it. I adored cooking, even when I’d lived by myself, but I loved cooking for other people too. I’d taken mom’s old recipe box with me when I’d packed up my belongings for the last time but I’d completely forgotten about her old Betty Crocker cookbook with handwritten notes in the margins. She’d meticulously recorded how much she liked certain recipes, highlighting which ones worked or had been failures, regardless of how tested they’d been. I’d regretted leaving it behind ever since.
I regretted a lot of things from that turbulent time in my life, but had to admit, seeing Patsy’s reaction to the homemade, cheesy, garlic rolls as he bit into one, made me feel happier than I had in a long time.
“Wes,” Patsy moaned, “this food is delicious. Thank you.”
I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “It’s the least I could do. It’s nothing really. It doesn’t even begin to repay you for every kind thing you’ve done for me. You have no idea how grateful I am.”
He smiled softly at me, squeezing back before letting go and lifting his knife and fork again. “Ya don’t have to thank me, Wes. I want ya here.” He held my gaze for several seconds before looking out to the living room.
“I hope you don’t mind that I straightened up around the apartment,” I rushed to say, suddenly feeling nervous. Cleaning up had been something I did to show how much I appreciated him. I ducked my head and studied my plate. “Cleaning sort of…relaxes me.” The burst of laughter from across the table made me look up sharply. His face was truly beautiful when he was happy.
“Cleaning is the bane of my existence. I feckin’ hate it.” He waved his hand at the room. “As ya can no doubt tell, I’m totally shite at it.”
“Just a bit,” I said, taking a bite of biscuit to hide my smile. For some damned reason, Patsy made me want to smile all the time.
“I don’t mind ya cleanin’ up at all. Napoleon says I’m a pig who enjoys wallowin’ in me own sty.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I can’t be bothered with puttin’ in the effort, which—come to think of it—doesn’t say great things about my character, does it now?”
I shook my head, trying really hard not to show how amusing I was finding this conversation. “From my perspective, you have the finest character, Patsy.” When he just shrugged, I figured he wanted to drop the subject. I took one last bite of food then pushed the empty plate away and sat back. “Damn, I’m stuffed.”
“Whew, yer not kiddin’! That was the best meal I’ve eaten in donkey’s ages, Weston. Thanks again ma—Wes,” he corrected. “Goin’ to have to work on that.”
“Calling me mate?”
Patsy nodded. “Aye, and when I slip up, just know I meant it with great affection.”
