Believe Page 2

  The world exploded. Rhys smelled of beer and mint and cologne. His lips were rough and unyielding, his jaw scraping Jevon’s face, and Jevon’s whole body caught alight.

  But too soon, it was over. Rhys pulled back, his eyes wide, and panic seized Jevon’s chest. Fear of rejection roared in his ears like a gathering storm and he willed himself to walk away first. But he couldn’t. I want this. I need this. Please, let it be real.

  “Fuck it.” Rhys tightened his grip on Jevon’s hand and yanked him outside. He pushed Jevon against a cool brick wall and kissed him again.

  Jevon gasped. This is madness. It seemed like mere moments ago that he’d been disparaging men who apparently couldn’t wait until they got home, and now he was snogging Rhys in a grotty alleyway. How did this happen?

  As they kissed again, over and over, he had no idea, and the will to care evaporated. He slid a hand under Rhys’s jacket, roaming the hard flesh there, then grasped Rhys’s bearded jaw. The contact grounded him as Rhys bruised his lips, but did nothing to calm the inferno raging in his blood. Heat pooled in his groin. Tension fought the constraint of his tight jeans and a desperate moan escaped him.

  A rumbling groan shuddered through Rhys too. He kissed Jevon one more time, then broke away, dropping his head onto Jevon’s shoulder, breathing heavily. “Wow. I only meant to ask you if you wanted to get some cans and watch Match of the Day.”

  Jevon swallowed, his heart kicking the shit out of his ribcage. “Sorry.”

  Rhys chuckled darkly. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean?”

  Rhys pressed harder against Jevon, the dark sweatpants he wore doing nothing to hide the bulge inside. “I’ve been trying really hard not to do things like this.”

  “Kiss blokes?”

  “Pick up blokes in bars.”

  “Oh.” Having spent most of the last year trying to find the courage to do just that, Jevon didn’t know what to say. Disappointment warred with relief. Rhys was the bones of every fantasy he’d ever had, but his confidence and poise were terrifying. I don’t know how to be with a man like this.

  Rhys sighed and knocked his head on Jevon’s shoulder. The outline of his cock against Jevon’s thigh was distracting—consuming—but Jevon forced himself to meet his gaze as he traced Jevon’s lips with the tip of his finger. “My brain’s imploding,” Rhys whispered. “But I’m not an axe murderer either. Come home with me . . . please?”

  Two

  It took Jevon all of three seconds to decide to go home with Rhys. Nerves still raged in his gut, but the ever-rising booze buzz made them easier to ignore as Rhys kept hold of his hand.

  They wove through the busy London streets. No one glanced their way, but Jevon felt their connection like a giant neon sign and kept his head down, not looking up until they reached a converted apartment block.

  Rhys fumbled with his keys, laughing at himself as he dropped them multiple times. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m not usually such a twat.”

  A slightly hysterical chuckle burst out of Jevon. “It’s okay. I’ve made a living at being a bit of a twat.”

  Rhys shot him a quizzical glance, but the door swung open before Jevon could explain himself.

  He followed Rhys inside and up a utilitarian staircase. “You don’t use the lifts?”

  “Nah. I like my food too much.”

  Made sense, though from behind, Jevon couldn’t see what Rhys had to worry about. His legs were long and lean and led up to a perfectly round arse that begged to be touched, kissed, bitten . . . fucked—

  Jesus. Had tequila always made him this horny?

  Rhys’s flat was on the third floor. He unlocked the door and beckoned Jevon inside, flipping the lights on to reveal a tidy studio apartment. “The sofa folds out to a king-size bed.”

  “Okay.” Jevon gulped, cold sweat beading the back of his neck. Was he really going to do this? Hook up with a bloke so gorgeous it was hard to believe he was real? What if—

  “Hey.” Rhys appeared in front of Jevon and snapped his fingers. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not feeling it. Things got heavy at the pub, but I meant it when I asked you back for a drink and some TV footie. I’ve got a wicked bottle of Grey Goose, and I genuinely enjoy your company.”

  Jevon swallowed thickly again. “I don’t know how you figure that when we’ve only spent ten minutes chatting, but it’s not—it’s just—” Just what? Was he really drunk enough to reveal something so personal to a man he’d just met? “I—uh—haven’t done this much.”

  “Ah.” Understanding dawned on Rhys’s face. “And here’s me laying it all out like a professional or some shit?”

  Another nervous chuckle escaped Jevon. “I didn’t think that.”

  “Good. Not that there’d be anything wrong with it. Rent boys get laid for kicks too.”

  “Are you a rent boy?”

  “No. But I’ve hooked up a lot, so that’s probably why I’m coming across a bit cold. Sorry, mate. It’s habit. To be honest, I’m nervous too. It’s been a long time since I brought someone home.”

  “Thought you said you hook up a lot?”

  “I said I have. I don’t anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because someone told me about two hours ago that it wasn’t making me happy, and they were right.” Rhys took a step closer to Jevon. “Wow. You’re shaking. You really haven’t done this much, have you?”

  “I haven’t done it at all.”

  Silence. Then Rhys’s eyes widened. “You’re a virgin?”

  “Not exactly.” Heat crept up the back of Jevon’s neck. “I’ve been with women—lots of women—but I realised a few years ago that I was more attracted to men and that I was probably on the gayer side of bi. Just haven’t had the balls to do much about it since.”

  Jevon braced himself for another round of awkward silence, or even amusement on Rhys’s part, but Rhys merely shrugged and slugged Jevon’s shoulder. “Makes sense. I’m bi too, so you’re welcome to test the waters with me, but that’s not why we’re here, okay? Let’s get the vodka out and talk. Don’t worry about anything else.”

  It was the best offer Jevon had ever heard in his entire life. He poured vodka into tumblers while Rhys kicked off his shoes and unfolded his bed.

  “More comfortable,” Rhys said when he caught Jevon tracking him. “If we do get fruity, it’s a pain in the arse to stop and piss around with levers and pillows.”

  The idea of getting fruity was still making Jevon dizzy. He tipped a shot of vodka down his throat and poured another, trying not to imagine how it would feel to have Rhys’s solid body pressing down on him. They were pretty evenly matched in size, but everything about Rhys told Jevon that if anything physical happened, he’d be entirely at Rhys’s mercy.

  Rhys sprawled on the bed and eyed Jevon hovering in the doorway, still clutching the vodka. “Are you hungry?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Hungry,” Rhys repeated. “It’s pretty late, but the pizza place downstairs delivers until midnight.”

  It took a lot for Jevon not to be hungry, but being alone in a flat with a bloke who’d made it clear he wouldn’t mind getting naked was probably at the top of the list. He shook his head. “Nah. I’m good.”

  “Are you staying?”

  “What?”

  Rhys grinned. “You look like you’re about to scarper—which is fine, by the way. I wouldn’t be offended, but leave the vodka behind. I’ve got a week off work and I plan on spending at least one night of it off my rocker.”

  He turned his attention to the TV and switched it on, grumbling at the SKY remote until it did what he asked. Match of the Day came on, and the familiar theme tune took Jevon back to his grandfather’s house in Brixton. If he hadn’t been sick with nerves, he’d have been able to smell the jerk chicken.

  Chill, you fool. He’s not asking you to bend over.

  Another conflicted shudder ran through Jevon. He’d imagined himself doing just t
hat so many times that it had begun to seem real—like something he’d done enough that it had become unremarkable. But at the same time, picturing it gave him goosebumps. Could he do that? Did he even want to?

  Lacking any better ideas, he toed his boots off, ventured forward with the vodka bottle, and held it out.

  Rhys closed his fingers around it. He didn’t touch Jevon, but a spark hit Jevon all the same, and he leaned forward as though Rhys had tugged on a puppet string. The vodka bottle fell to the bed and Rhys was up on his knees before Jevon could blink. His hands ghosted to Jevon’s face, his thumbs skimming Jevon’s jawline. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Jevon’s, gently at first, but then harder when Jevon tentatively responded.

  The world shifted differently to the first time—in the pub and outside in the alleyway. This time, Jevon’s limbs trembled, but Rhys held him steady, controlling him and controlling the kiss, like he sensed that Jevon was hanging on by a thread. Their chests collided, but gently. Their breaths shortened, but slowly—casually—and Jevon didn’t lose his mind, his sanity, or the hope that he could see this through.

  Rhys pulled back with a low chuckle. “We’re getting good at that.”

  Jevon laughed too. “Practise, eh?”

  “If you like.” Rhys winked and fell back on the bed, beckoning Jevon to join him. “Do you mind if I ask you some stuff?”

  Jevon lay down, surprised by how natural it felt to stretch out beside Rhys. “Stuff? Sounds ominous.”

  “Not really. I just want to make sure I don’t push you too hard.”

  “Sounds like you wanna be my coach,” Jevon blurted with a vodka-loose tongue. “Like those porn films.”

  Rhys shifted onto his side. “Can you imagine? I mean, I don’t think I’ve got time to teach you everything in one night, but still. I can’t deny thinking about it is just about killing me.”

  For the thousandth time since Rhys had walked into the pub, heat crept up the back of Jevon’s neck. “You’re thinking about fucking me?”

  “Amongst other things, but right now I’m wondering if you’ve ever been naked with a bloke at all. Like, just lie around with someone, shooting the shit. When I first figured out that I liked men, it took a while for me to relax around them, and until then, sex was awful.”

  “Awful?”

  “Yup.” Rhys smoothed a wayward dread back from Jevon’s face. “I was so worked up about getting to touch a bloke’s body for the first time, I forgot to enjoy it. Too busy shaking and shouting Oh my god, it’s a real-life dick in my head.”

  Jevon laughed again, despite Rhys’s touch and close proximity eliciting all the responses Rhys was warning him about. “The shit that goes through my head when I’m anywhere near a queer man is unbelievable.”

  “It probably isn’t. We’ve all been there.”

  Jevon would have to take Rhys’s word for that, as he couldn’t imagine him being anything other than the beautiful, chilled-out man who was touching his face. “I haven’t been naked with a fella outside of football training. Tried a couple of times, but it’s never quite panned out, and I don’t get much chance to put that right.”

  Rhys hummed, his hand travelling idly down Jevon’s neck, lingering at his collarbone. “I’m going to take my T-shirt off. You can touch me if you want, or we can just watch the telly. Either way is fine with me.”

  His hands slid from Jevon and he rolled away, lifting the hem of his T-shirt as he went. Every inch it rode up revealed a swath of flawless skin, a muscular back, and broad shoulders. Jevon licked his lips, his hands tingled, and he was on his way to hyperventilating by the time Rhys turned back to him, treating him to the sight of his strong chest.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Jevon muttered before he could stop himself.

  Rhys raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “You’re killing me.”

  “Revenge,” Rhys replied with a smirk, but he didn’t advance on Jevon again. Merely lay back and left the ball in Jevon’s court.

  Jevon’s heart pounded. Again. Damn. Am I going to make it past this night without having a coronary? But he battled his nerves and fingered his own T-shirt. He wasn’t as broad as Rhys, but he was in good shape, lean and strong. What did he have to lose?

  Sober Jevon could probably have written a list, but drunk Jevon fought hard to move past caring. He ripped his T-shirt over his head and tossed it over his shoulder before he could change his mind.

  Something flickered in Rhys’s dark gaze, but he didn’t otherwise react, prompting Jevon to lean forward and reclaim his spot in Rhys’s personal space. Rhys’s bare skin was so close that it seemed to shimmer, like heat was rising from it. Jevon’s hand hovered over Rhys’s abdomen, fingers trembling.

  “Go on,” Rhys whispered. “Touch me.”

  “You want me to?”

  “Yes.”

  Jevon let his hand fall. His palm connected with Rhys’s ripped stomach and absorbed Rhys’s answering shudder. He dragged his fingers over every ridge of muscle and slid up to Rhys’s chest. Rhys’s nipples were perfectly round and pink, and they puckered when Jevon grazed them.

  Rhys moaned softly. “That’s a jackpot spot for me. Goes straight to my dick.”

  “Really?” Jevon tried—and failed—to cover his fascination. “No one’s ever touched me there.”

  “Let me?”

  Jevon kept his hands on Rhys as he fell onto his back. Rhys came with him and leaned over barely enough to press their bodies together while still leaving room for him to touch Jevon’s torso. He mirrored Jevon’s hands on him, tracing a path from Jevon’s abdomen to his chest, over the intricate tattoo etched on his skin, until he reached his nipples. Rhys skimmed his palms over the sensitive flesh and twisted them lightly between his fingers, grinning when Jevon gasped. “Imagine that with your dick down someone’s throat. Or when you’re getting fucked.”

  Jevon groaned. “Stop.”

  “Stop touching you? Or talking?”

  “Talking. Don’t ever stop touching me.”

  Jevon’s gritted-out plea seemed to ignite something in Rhys. He wedged a knee between Jevon’s legs and slid a hand down to Jevon’s hip, raising Jevon’s pelvis up from the bed to press against his. The friction was insane, and Jevon’s eyes rolled as Rhys kissed him.

  His body arched and began a slow, instinctive grind. Rhys matched it, and the unfamiliar room faded away, taking with it the fact that they were strangers who’d met in the night and never kissed before. Taking with it that Jevon had never kissed anyone like Rhys was kissing him now.

  Rhys’s tongue stroked Jevon’s. His teeth grazed Jevon’s lips, and Jevon’s every breath was lost to Rhys’s velvet mouth. His head began to spin. He wove a hand into Rhys’s soft hair, holding Rhys to his face, roamed Rhys’s back, and eventually slipped below his spine to squeeze the softer flesh there. Rhys answered with a gentle thrust of his hips. The bulge in his sweats rubbed against Jevon’s own hard cock, and Jevon broke the kiss with a strangled moan.

  Rhys stared at him, his gorgeous chest rising and falling fast enough to reassure Jevon that the heat in the room wasn’t all his. “What do you want?”

  Jevon shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Rhys kissed him again and grasped his waistband. “I’m so fucking hard right now. Wanna see?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yes.” Jevon wanted to see, wanted to stroke and taste, wanted to do everything he hadn’t ever possessed the courage to do before this night. “Show me.”

  Rhys shoved his sweatpants down his hips. Jevon reached nervously for the boxer-briefs beneath and sent the underwear the same way as Rhys’s sweatpants.

  “Eager,” Rhys said with a smile and shucked the rest of his clothes.

  Naked, he turned back to Jevon and rose up on his knees, his hard cock jutting out from his glorious body. It was cut, and straight, and thickly veined.

  Jevon’s mouth watered. He scrambled to his knees too, gazed fixed
on Rhys. “Can I touch you?”

  “Please.”

  Please. The single syllable went straight to Jevon’s own dick. He palmed himself, trying to ease the painful tension in his groin, but his hand didn’t linger long. Couldn’t when Rhys’s cock was like a siren’s call. He brushed his fingers from root to tip, revelling in Rhys’s answering shiver. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “If you’ve ever had a decent wank, I reckon you probably know more than you think.”

  Jevon bit his lip and closed his hand around Rhys’s cock, squeezing and pumping slowly until beads of moisture appeared on the tip. He smeared it with his thumb, leaving Rhys sticky, and popped his thumb into his mouth, sucking it clean.

  Rhys groaned. “Fuck, you’re so hot, and you have no bloody idea.”

  Jevon released his thumb from his mouth. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means get your fucking clothes off.”

  Rhys spoke gently, giving Jevon every chance to refuse, but Jevon’s hands flew to his jeans of their own accord. He unbuttoned them and shoved them down with his underwear. His dick sprang free, rigid and weeping, and Rhys’s eyes widened.

  “What?”

  “Nothing . . . but you have a pretty dick, in case you were wondering.”

  “Um . . . thanks, I guess? If that’s a good thing.”

  “It is. I’m guessing you haven’t seen many up close, but I have, and I can tell you that they ain’t all as nice as yours.”

  The ridiculousness of the conversation briefly distracted Jevon from the fact that Rhys’s hard dick was inches away from him, but it didn’t last long. Rhys pushed Jevon back on the bed and straddled him, his thighs caging Jevon, his cock sliding along his abdomen.

  His kiss was different now, more urgent. More heated. And his touch was more demanding. Jevon fell slack beneath him and gave into it, lost himself in it. His hips rose to meet Rhys, and soon their cocks were grinding together, building a friction that left Jevon dizzy.

  He dug his fingers into Rhys’s back and cried out, dangerously close to exploding as he wondered what it would feel like to have Rhys ride him, to impale himself on Jevon’s dick, as he fucked him from beneath.