Take My Breath Away by Ali Ryecart

Chapter Thirty-One

JAMES

“I want you to put this on.” Perry holds up a dark blue soft, silky scarf.

Standing up from the table, just cleared from the fabulous meal he’s cooked me, I slowly begin to unbuckle, keeping my focus fixed on him.

“What? No! Cover your eyes, not your…” he gestures to my tenting trousers.

“It’d be far more fun if I wrap it around my…” I point to the bulge. “A nice little bow, which you can then untie.”

Perry snorts. “It’s you who’s the birthday boy, not me. You’re the one who’s supposed to be unwrapping presents.”

I pick up the scarf and run it slowly between my fingers. Perry’s following the movement, pupils blown, a light flush colouring his cheeks.

We’ve not played games, or used toys or props, but from his rapt attention as I drag the scarf between my fingers, maybe now’s the time for a little exploration. The moan escapes me before I stop it.

Perry, naked and spread out on my bed, silk restraints holding him down at the wrists and ankles. What little blood is left in my brain rushes to my dick. It leaves me lightheaded, a little wobbly on my legs, and I drop back down into my seat. My sudden change of position snaps Perry out of his trance and he blinks at me for a second or two, pink-cheeked and glazed-eyed.

“I’ve got something for you, something special, but I want it to be a surprise. That’s why I want you to put the scarf on.”

Perry’s special, and he’s a constant and delightful surprise. The words dance on my tongue, but he’s taking the scarf from me and tying it around my head, plunging me into darkness.

“No peeking, okay? I really, really need you to do as your told,” he whispers into my ear, his warm breath drifting over me.

“I’ve never been very good at doing what I’m told.” My cock, so thick and heavy, pulses and pushes against the fly, teetering on the edge of pain, but it’s the leap of my heart that truly takes my breath away, as his soft laughter ripples over my skin.

“Try your best, just for a minute.” A quick and light kiss on my cheek, and he’s gone, leaving me gasping for breath.

Fifty-four today. The subject of my birthday cropped up just a couple of days ago. Perry hadn’t reacted and I’d forgotten about it.

I’ve never made a big fuss of my birthday, and any celebrations I’ve had have taken place in bars and clubs, my presents taking the form of men dropping to their knees, or treating myself to a highly-paid, highly-skilled, cold-eyed escort. But not this time. As soon as I’d got home, I’d been assaulted by aromas that had made my mouth water and my stomach dance. I’m used to Perry’s amazing cooking, but I knew this was something more, something extra special.

A click of a switch and the darkness covering my eyes deepens.

“Still no peeking, I don’t want you spoiling the surprise.” Something’s placed on the table, but I’ve no idea what.

“I’m rather hoping the surprise includes a lot of nakedness.” I smile as he laughs.

A rasp and the hiss of flames. Ah, it’s a birthday cake. Of course it would be, and he’s lighting some candles. My mouth twists as my throat thickens.

I can’t remember when, or if, I was ever presented with a special cake for my birthday. My parents barely remembered I existed, let alone my date of birth. Is this really the only time somebody’s gone to all this effort for me? No. Alex did, I shouldn’t forget that, not that I appreciated any of it.

“You can take the scarf off now.”

I pull it away, and it slips unheeded to the floor.

I’m literally speechless, as I can only stare at the cake that stands in the centre of the table, bathed in the soft glow not of candles decorating the top, but from two heavy church candles at either side. I’ve seen photos, the portfolio he showed me soon after he came here, but the real creation…

“Jesus, Perry, that’s amazing.”

It’s a poor word to describe the work of art. The tall single layer cake is encased in glass smooth pale butterscotch-coloured icing, but it’s what’s on top that’s truly inspired. Golden leaves, glossy blackberries, red-skinned tiny apples, acorns and sheaves of wheat, all of them made from sugarpaste. It’s the only time I’ve truly witnessed his skill for the incredible artist he is and it’s every reason why he has to make his dream into reality.

“It’s an autumn theme, which I guess is kind of obvious.”

“It’s incredible, Perry. Absolutely incredible. When did you make this?” I drag my eyes away and look up at him.

“A couple of days ago, and I iced it yesterday, when you were working late. Everybody deserves birthday cake, even you.”

I’m not so sure I do, but I’m so very, very glad Perry believes that, and I blink away the prickling behind my eyes that I won’t pretend aren’t tears.

“Happy birthday, James.”

He leans down to give me what I know is going to be a chaste kiss, but I clasp his wrist and drag him down onto my lap.

I kiss him hard and long, not holding him but clutching him to me, locking my arms around him as though he’s the most precious thing in the world. And that is exactly what he is. Perry Buckland, the man I teased and flirted with just to get a rare smile, the man who has found a place in my home, has found a place in my heart. I can’t bear for him to leave, because I can’t pretend that this is a temporary state of affairs, that what we have is transitory.

“Thank you so much,” I murmur into his hair, thanking him for so much more than the cake, nuzzling into him, still holding him tight because I never, ever want to let him go.

“Don’t you want to taste it?”

“Only if I can tie the scarf around it first. It is my birthday after all.”

“Why do you want to—? Oh!”

He tuts and I can’t help laughing. He’s so easy to tease, and it lightens the weight pressing down on my heart. He slips from my lap.

“They may not be on the cake, but you still need to blow out the candles and make a wish.”

I have only one wish, as I blow the candles out, plunging the kitchen into darkness save for the glow of moonlight streaming through the French windows.

Seconds later, Perry switches on the main light. The soft glow of the candles is gone, replaced by clean, bright light. Like my thinking, it’s clear and sharp, nothing undefined and in shadow. I have to talk to him, about his business plans, about Brighton, about us. Who we are and what we’ve become. But not now, not at this moment, not when there are distractions, not when he sets out the plates and hands me the knife to destroy the masterpiece he’s created.

The middle is a dark delight, rich chocolate sponge with layers of caramel buttercream. I pile some up on a dainty little fork I didn’t know I owned, but suspect Perry’s bought especially, and hold it out to him.

“You’re supposed to take the first taste, it’s your birthday cake.”

“I want to taste it on your lips.”

He flushes hard. I love that I can make him react like that, and it sends a thrill not just deep in my balls but deep in my heart, too. His lips part, and he leans in and nibbles at the soft icing, at the buttercream, the tip of his pink tongue licking across his lips, leaving a soft smear of damp sweetness, before he nibbles again.

It’s too much, I can’t wait. The need to taste the sweetness on his lips overwhelms me, and I jump up with such force the chair topples back and falls to the floor.

The cake, a thing of beauty, a work of art, is forgotten as I grip his hand in mine. I’m not the only one who’s forgotten. Perry’s eyes are dark with a need that’s a match for my own. Like me he’s breathing hard, his rock solid shaft outlined through his jeans. I cup him in my palm with my free hand and am rewarded with the shiver that races through him.

“Upstairs. Now. It’s my birthday and I want to unwrap my present.”