Take My Breath Away by Ali Ryecart
Chapter Thirty
PERRY
James insisted on dragging me out when all I wanted to do was climb into bed, pull the duvet over my head and pretend the world didn’t exist.
I knew the double whammy was a setback, that none of this was ever going to be plain sailing, and that I just had to accept it, pull on my big boy pants and get on with things. But, for a little while, all I wanted was to wallow in my misery. James, however, had very different ideas and right now, in the buzzy little bar, I’m very glad he did.
“Try this, it’s really good.”
James forks up a chunk of meat from a small bowl, one of many spread out on the table, all served tapas style, and holds it out to me. I go to take the fork, but he pulls it back and smiles, his feline eyes narrowing.
“Come on Perry, open up for me.” His voice is low and growly and meant only for me to hear. My heart gives a jolt and so does my cock. I open my mouth and James’ eyes, intent on mine, seem to glitter.
Closing my mouth around the meat, I pull off. Very, very slowly.
“Good?” he asks, as I chew.
“Hmm.” I swallow. “Juicy, succulent, oozing flavour, and with a very distinct salty tang.”
James’ smile turns dark and dirty and he shifts position, just a little, putting his eyes in shadow. He looks good, so fucking good, the way he always does. With a couple of cocktails already under my belt, the urge to grab his hand, drag him into the toilets, and drop to my knees is becoming an imperative.
He laughs, a low, deep chuckle. It fizzes in my blood, because he’s read my thoughts again.
“James.” My voice is thin and reedy, full of desperate need.
“All good things come to he who waits. Were you never taught that in Sunday School?” He sits back in his seat. His eyes once more visible, sparkle with amusement.
He’s teasing me, the fucker.
“Never went to Sunday School. My parents are confirmed atheists.”
“I, much to my regret, did. Delaying gratification was the only lesson I learned, and it’s proved to be a very useful one. The wait, and the anticipation…”
“Bastard.”
“Guilty as charged, but—”
“More drinks, guys?”
My head snaps up at the waiter who’s made a sudden and unwelcome appearance. He’s cross-eyed and his wide smile displays a set of very large, very crooked teeth. He’s a drenching of cold water.
“Yes, thank you. Same again.”
“I might have wanted something different,” I grumble, when the waiter departs.
“Not a good idea to mix your drinks. Remember what happened last time?”
I groan. “Don’t remind me.” If my cock needs another reason to run and hide, then drunk off my head and slumped in a Soho café, is it. “It feels like ages ago, now.”
“In a good way?”
“Of course.”
I’m surprised by James’ question, but I’m even more surprised by the tone. In those four words there’s uncertainty and apprehension.
The flirting, teasing man of just moments ago vanishes, replaced by a man who’s a little less sure. It’s a side of him I’ve only rarely seen. When he smiles, there’s almost a shyness about it. This isn’t the teasing, wicked, so hot he makes my skin sizzle James, the one who makes me want to do things that’d make a rent boy blush. This James is softer, hesitant, and stripped clean of all his confidence and certainties. I reach for his hand, our fingers entwining.
The waiter returns with our drinks. I don’t know what he’s saying, his words are no more than gibberish, because all my attention is centred on the soft brush of James’ thumb running over my wrist. My heart’s thumping hard in my chest and I wonder if he can feel its erratic rhythm in my pulse. His hand slips from mine, and a broken sigh falls from my lips.
“Cheers,” he says, holding his glass up. I clink mine to his. “Feeling better?”
“Yes, I am. I don’t feel crushed, the way I did earlier. The whole thing’s going to be one step forward, two back. I just have to accept it.”
He’s looking hard at me, his gaze intense but not with the heat of minutes ago. James puts his drink down and leans forward, eyes still searing into mine. My skin’s prickling, my spine’s tingling. There’s something he wants to say to me… My stomach fills with nervy apprehension…
“If you’re still set on moving, to Brighton,” he says, the words measured and even, “I can help you out. Financially, I mean.”
“What?” I drag my jaw up from the table, and snap it closed.
“I don’t expect an answer now, but just think it about for a day or two. I know how much of a blow it was, about your parents.”
“It—it was, but why would you want to help me?”
“Why? Because it’s your dream and you’re willing to work hard to make it a reality. Even if that dream does include taking you down to bloody Brighton. I still don’t understand why you want to go to the ends of the earth. If you want to be by the water, what’s wrong with the Thames?”
His words are grumpy, but he’s smiling even if I’m not sure it reaches his eyes.
“It’s only Brighton, and I’m not there yet.”
“But it’s not here, is it?” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, and whether his words are for him or for me, I have to know, I have to ask, but before I can take a breath he’s become crisp and clipped. “Give it some thought and let me know, then we can look at the details.”
Picking up his drink, he takes a sip, leans back in his seat and looks out over the busy bar, sure, confident and composed. I say nothing, as I lose the nerve to ask him why?
* * *
We stumble out of the bar. I’ve had another cocktail, making it three or maybe four. I should be drunk but James’ offer of help has sobered me. I’ll do as he says, and think it over. I already know what my answer will be, but my heart’s full of warmth that he’s willing to be there to catch me. To rescue me again, I suppose. But I need to stand on my own two feet, even if sometimes those feet are a bit wobbly.
“The night’s still young. We could go to a club,” he says.
“What, you want to get shirtless and bump and grind?” The idea’s hot, but I’m not the only one who’d want some of that with James, and that’s a thought that leaves me stone cold. No, I definitely don’t want to go to a club.
He laughs. “I was actually thinking of a jazz club I know. Don’t worry, it’s not bearded blokes in Arran sweaters. It’s more mellow and bluesy. More sultry. It’s not far. Do you fancy it?”
He’s doing that one brow arched thing, his lips curved up in a smile that borders on being a smirk. And I do fancy it, very much, but it’s not all I fancy.
“Yes,” I croak.
Taking my hand in his, he leads the way. We duck down side streets, left and right and what feels like going full circle until I’ve no idea where we are. We emerge into a narrow alleyway, somewhere in Hampstead, in front of a plain door that’d be easy to walk past without noticing.
James waves my hand away when I attempt to pay for our admission. He’s already treated me in the bar, and his offer of help…
“You can get the first drink,” he says, giving me a wink.
I follow him down a flight of steps. The basement club’s dark, much darker than the lights leading down the steps from street level. My eyes have yet to adjust, and I stumble.
“Careful.” James’ breath wafts against my cheek as his hand grasps my wrist. Both his skin and breath are warm, but they send a shiver through my blood.
Now my eyes are adjusting, I can see the place is busy. It’s also bigger than I expect, given that the entrance isn’t much more than a hole in the wall. Small round tables fill the space, most of them taken up, but we find one tucked towards the back, and deep in shadow. Up at the front is a stage, set up with microphones and instruments, waiting for the band to come on.
A waitress comes to take our order; a whisky for James, but mindful of the last time I mixed my drinks, I go for a fruit juice.
“Oh, you’re going to like this,” James says, leaning forward as the band walks on to rapturous applause, cheers and whistles. “These guys are incredible musicians, but the singer’s out of this world. Mabel. She works for Rory and Jack, and she pretty much manages the bakery day-to-day.”
“What?”
I stare at the female singer, striking a pose but in a self-deprecating way as she laughs and nods her thanks to the audience. Cakes by day, clubs by night, the ultimate in a double life. She’s tall, but that’s more down to the killer heels and the gravity defying cherry-red beehive hairdo. In her oranges and lemons decorated fifties-style dress, she’s an explosion of colour and heat and I’m already a fan.
The audience settles as trombone and double bass, deep and rich, fills the space. There’s still a murmur of voices, but they fall silent when Mabel starts to sing.
Deep, rich, sultry, smoky, her voice is all of that and more.
“Oh my God, she’s incredible.”
In the shadows, James chuckles and picks up one of the drinks I never saw arrive.
I know nothing about jazz, absolutely nothing, but I’m mesmerised, hooked and completely sucked in as the band move from one number to the next.
“We’re just going to take a short break,” Mabel says, after yet another round of frantic applause, this time accompanied not just by cheers and whistles, but by the fast stomp of feet, too. “But when we’re back, we want you guys on the dance floor.”
“That was amazing. How come I never knew music like this existed?”
“Because you’re far too young, and in need of a proper education.”
“Yeah? You offering to teach me?”
“Oh, I could teach you all kinds of things.”
I swallow hard. He could, of that I’ve no doubt, but I don’t reckon much of it would be to do with jazz. I go to open my mouth, but I’m saved from whatever answer I’m about to give by the arrival of a couple of guys, a little older than me, stopping by our table. They greet James with enthusiasm.
One of them is big and muscular, his hair bright blond and spiky. The other’s shorter and slighter in build, with dark curls. Both of them are hot enough to boil water. James introduces them and the blond, Archie, gives me a wide, open smile. Zack’s smile is darker, more guarded, and I can feel his assessment of me.
The three chat for a minute or two, before hugging goodbye. Zack hugs a little too long, and a little too hard, and I want to rip him away from James. A laughing Archie gets there first, though not before Zack whispers something to James, who smiles as he throws me a quick, unreadable glance.
“I’ve not seen those two for ages,” James says, beckoning one of the roving waitresses to replenish our drinks.
“How do you know them?”
“Oh, just from around. We’ve been to some of the same parties. They got married not so long ago and now they only have eyes for each other.” His words seem to hang in the air, and I’ve a feeling I’m meant to fill in the gaps.
And I do.
“Oh. Oh, I see.”
The three of them.
I swig back what’s left of my orange juice just as another appears. It’s a shame it doesn’t contain a slug of vodka. Jealousy, as sharp as a razor, cuts me. It’s the drink, it’s the day’s events, it’s that James is being so damn good to me.
“Oh, Perry,” he says, laughter bubbling behind his words. “That was all a while ago, now, and I’ve not the slightest interest in rekindling the past. The present is much more to my liking.”
And there it is, that purr in his voice, that classic car purr that sends a tremor through me.
I twist around to look at him. In the low lights I can’t see his eyes but I don’t need to, to know his gaze is fixed on me. I feel their laser intensity like a flame held too close to skin. He’s still, everything about him is still and watchful. I want to ask what he means, I want him to tell me, to spell it out, but the burst of applause explodes the strange little bubble we’ve found ourselves in.
“Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys. We’ve got some super sultry numbers coming up, and that means audience participation.”
The band starts to play, and Mabel’s rich voice fills the air, as all around us people are getting up and making their way to the dance floor
“Ready?”
“Oh, you want to go?”
“No, I don’t want to go. I’m asking you to dance, you wally.”
Before I can answer, James tugs at my hand and leads me towards the dance floor which is already heaving, every single body swaying in time to Mabel’s honey-rich voice. We find a space, to the far side, where the shadows are.
James slides his arms around me, and pulls me close, our bodies fitting together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. My heart’s beating thirteen to the dozen. I’m sharing this man’s bed, I’ve discovered his body as he’s discovered mine but this, encased in his arms as we sway in time to the music together, feels more intimate than anything we’ve shared so far. I close my eyes, giving myself up to the here and now, because that’s all there is.
James sighs as he pulls me in closer. Holdng me tight, it’s as though we’ve fused together. I’m hard, but so is he, and with every sway, each and every tiny movement, the friction on my cock is the sweetest agony.
“Hmm, this is nice. I think we should dance together more often, don’t you?” James whispers into my ear, his lips brushing my lobe, sending a shiver all the way down into the pit of my belly.
He nuzzles into my neck, laying down feather light kisses, and licks and nips. It’s not enough to mark my skin but more than enough for my breath to hitch and for me to groan as I push and rub my hips into his, feeling his rock hard erection against my own.
Tightening his grip on me, his lips never leaving my neck, he locks our hips together as his arms snake up my back. His fingers scrape their way up the back of my neck, his nails pushing through the short hair at my nape and I shiver even though there’s an inferno burning up my skin. My scalp, so nervy the smallest touch burns, all but explodes when he scrunches my hair into his fist, pulls my head back and claims my mouth.
Our tongues tangle and slide, our teeth crash. The kiss is deep and desperate, hot and slippery and full of insatiable hunger. The music, everybody around us, have long since faded to nothing. There’s only us, and I want him here and now. My hands fly to his belt, unstoppable, shaking with need, desperate to free his cock, to fall to my knees and take him deep into my mouth.
“Easy, baby. Don’t want us to be arrested.” The words are breathed against my lips. They’re shaky, barely in control, but he’s got enough to still my hand.
I drag my eyes open. His are black, bottomless pools and his lip red, puffy and spit-coated. A light sheen of sweat covers his face and his chest rises and falls fast with his ragged breath. He looks wrecked, undone, disorientated.
Applause ruptures the air around us, and I jump. For a second I think it’s us the crowds are applauding, for the show James and I have put on and I step back, not out of James’ arms, but enough to swing my head around to meet the stares I know must be pinned on us. But they aren’t. Nobody’s taking any notice, all attention’s focused on the band. Somewhere along the wild ride we’ve just taken, we’ve become detached from the crowd and we’re in deep, deep shadow. A wave of relief floods me, not because of embarrassment but because what we’ve just shared is for us alone.
With hands I swear are trembling, James cups my cheeks between his palms and eases my face closer, tilting my neck slightly, and I part my lips for the kiss I know is coming. It’s soft and tender, almost sweet, all the raging heat of moments before nowhere to be found. It’s the perfect calming cool down and I give myself up into his care.
When he lets me go, he smiles as he pushes my hair from my sticky brow.
“Home?”
It’s the sweetest of words and before I can answer he takes not just my hand but my heart, too.
