Made Marian, Volume One by Lucy Lennox
Blue
Before I could tease him further, Tristan reached his hand out to grab the back of my neck and yank my face toward his. His mouth came down on mine in a possessive crush of a kiss. All lips and tongue and teeth. It was aggressive, erotic, and carnal. It was hot as motherfucking shit.
I should probably stop this. This isn’t right. Is it? We’re kinda drunk. This isn’t rational.
My brain didn’t stand a chance because my mouth was all in. Whatever the hell was happening here in this bar with this stranger, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the taste of lemon drop shots on his tongue, the feel of his large callused palm gripping the back of my neck. Tristan’s earthy smell of soil and… was that grapes?
His mouth was like a snake charmer, circling and humming in a way that made you sit there, transfixed. Like you were caught under a spell and would do anything the magician commanded.
My fingers grasped at the shirt on his chest and balled up the fabric in an attempt to give me something, anything, to hold on to before I floated away.
The steel pipe in my jeans began throbbing in time with my pounding heart, and I was pretty sure I heard myself whimper a little bit. When he heard the sound I made, Tristan moaned into my mouth and I drank it in.
Just when I decided I wouldn’t stop the most incredible kiss of my life, even if it meant fatal asphyxiation, Tristan pulled back. He settled back on his barstool as if nothing had happened while I remained leaning halfway out of my seat, hanging in midair between our stools, panting and gasping like a waterless fish.
The entire bar was silent, but I didn’t dare look around. Instead, I begged my composure to come out, come out wherever it was. I slowly brought myself back up straight in my seat and reached for my beer glass, hoping like hell no one noticed my shaking hands.
I spoke in a low voice so that no one would overhear us. “You’re a damned fine kisser for a straight guy.”
Tristan barked out a laugh, and just like that, we were giggling again. I ordered another IPA, and Tristan got a refill of the red wine he had been drinking.
I felt like a grinning fool. Tristan was funny and confident. He was the kind of person who made you feel like you were the only person in the room. I envied that confidence.
And the kiss. Motherfucker, the kiss. Why did he have to be straight? That was like a crime against gay humanity. But how sweet was he to take one for the team and kiss me like that to make Jeremy jealous? So sweet.
Gah, the man was all that and a bag of the best kind of chips.
Fuck.
I was grateful I hadn’t been eating dinner alone in a hotel bar when I saw Jeremy walk in. That was something at least. And meeting a nice man like Tristan, even if he was straight, was nice.
Screw nice.
My cheeks felt warm and I tried to chalk it up to the alcohol instead of arousal and a smidge of beard burn.
When I reached out for my beer glass, Tristan turned to me and smiled, all teeth and even a goddamned adorable dimple. I was so fucked. So very, very fucked.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten a crush on a straight guy. That was like day one in the Intro to Gay class. Never fucking fall for your fucking straight friends unless you want your heart ripped out of your goddamned chest and chucked into a meat grinder. But maybe this time is different, you think, like the asshole you are. No, idiot self. This time is not different.
A deep sigh escaped me and Tristan’s smile faltered a little. “You okay?” he asked. No, dude. Not okay. I want your dick inside my ass, and I want to suck you off right fucking now. Except that you like pussy. Not okay.
“Yep. Totally fine,” I lied.
“Good.” He beamed. “Now tell me why the hell you’d order beer when you’re at a winery?”
I laughed. “Good question. I love wine, but I don’t know much about it. Never know which one to order. Or maybe you just can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
“Fair enough,” Tristan said. “As far as beer goes, that’s a good choice. Knee Deep Brewing Company is from Auburn, northeast of Sacramento. Do you know it?”
I looked at the glass of draft beer as if it could remind me of what it was. No dice. I shrugged and blushed. “Okay, so maybe I don’t know much about craft beer either.”
“Ah. A neophyte as it were. Allow me to educate you.” Tristan clapped me on the shoulder before speaking slowly and deliberately in a caveman tone while gesturing to my glass.
“Dis. Is. Beer.” Then he delicately picked up his wineglass stem between his thumb and middle finger, allowing his pinky finger to stick out like a princess at a tea party.
“This, my good fellow,” he continued in a posh English accent. “This is ambrosia, the divine nectar of gods and goddesses throughout the millennia. The solution to all that ails human kind. The sweet, sweet elixir of love, peace, and happiness.”
When he was done pontificating, he sipped as if from the Holy Grail and replaced the glass down on the bar with a flourish before slipping into the low sexy purr of French.
“Le vin… est l’orgasme.”
My eyebrows must have risen into my hairline. Tall, dark, handsome and a French speaker? Motherfucking jackpot. I blinked before raising my hand to get Frank’s attention. When the older man turned to me with a questioning glance, I pointed to the Holy Grail and said with a grin, “I’ll have what he’s having.”
Tristan looked at me with humor in his eyes. “Ah, a man willing to experiment. Maybe they’re wrong about old dogs and new tricks after all.”
I replied in the same smooth fluency he had used on me. “Mieux vaut tard que jamais.” Better late than never.
