With Or Without Him Part 3

"I want to f.u.c.k you," Jeremy gasped.

Tyler clamped his other hand on the guy's tight b.u.t.t, dragging him closer, needing more, needing...

"Want you. Please. Be my first." Jeremy nipped his shoulder. "You can do me after."

Oh s.h.i.+t. He didn't want to be his first, he didn't want to be his anything, but when Jeremy twisted them both and lay face down on Tyler's back, he didn't buck him off. The weight and heat of him made Tyler moan with pleasure, and the feel of a c.o.c.k digging into the crease of his b.u.t.t made him long to feel it inside him. He s.h.i.+vered as Jeremy pulled back and rested his weight on his thighs.

"I can't believe I'm...f.u.c.k, you're so gorgeous. I'm glad I waited. I'm glad you're my first."

Tyler didn't deserve to be his first, he didn't deserve to be his anything, but when Jeremy s.h.i.+fted his weight, Tyler raised his hips and spread his legs wider. He heard the squelch of lube and slick fingers slid into the seam of his a.s.s, zeroed in on his a.s.shole and he gasped as Jeremy sank a finger into him.

"Oh G.o.d, you are so f.u.c.king tight," Jeremy said with a groan. "And hot."

Goose b.u.mps erupted on his skin as Jeremy eased two fingers into his hole. The burn was a mix of pain and pleasure but Tyler wanted more. Jeremy leaned over and licked from the base of his spine to the nape of his neck, and as he trailed his tongue up Tyler's back, he finger-f.u.c.ked his a.s.s.

"Tell me you want me," Jeremy whispered.

What? Me lying here groaning isn't enough?

"Tell me."

Tyler wasn't sure he could still speak but he heard the desperation in Jeremy's voice and mumbled, "Uh-huh."

Jeremy's fingers slipped from his body and Tyler found himself hoisted onto all fours. He pressed his face into a pillow and reached for his c.o.c.k. There was a loud snap of latex, an "ouch, f.u.c.k that hurt," from Jeremy and Tyler let out a short laugh. He s.h.i.+vered as Jeremy knocked his hand from his c.o.c.k and replaced it with his.

"That's mine."

Tyler's breathing quickened as Jeremy pumped and squeezed his d.i.c.k and at the same time pressed his own c.o.c.k against the pucker of Tyler's a.s.s. Tyler sucked in a breath and waited for the bite of discomfort.

"Oh Christ," Jeremy groaned. "I wanted to do this all f.u.c.king night, but every time I looked at you..."

Yeah, well, just as well he didn't finish the sentence because Tyler had spent the entire night with a c.o.c.k in his mouth or up his b.u.t.t or in his hand or all three at the same time.

Jeremy tightened his hold on Tyler's hip, his fingers strengthening their grip on his c.o.c.k, and at the same time he increased the pressure on his a.n.u.s. The moment the thick crest popped through, Tyler gasped but Jeremy's gasp was louder. Muscles burned, stretched and spasmed as Jeremy pushed deeper inside him, their groans increasing in intensity. Tyler arched his backside, the angle of penetration changed and Jeremy's c.o.c.k glanced off his prostate. That's goooood.

More, harder, faster. But the words remained in his head. Didn't matter anyway because his hips were moving of their own accord, thrusting back into Jeremy's frantic forward drives. He could feel Jeremy's b.a.l.l.s banging against his b.u.t.t, and he slid his hand back to his c.o.c.k and settled it over Jeremy's forgetful one to help bring himself off. The c.o.c.k inside him swelled and Jeremy's breathing grew choppier. His thrusts turned shorter and faster until he was pounding into Tyler, driving him up the bed.

"This feels f.u.c.king great," Jeremy gasped in his ear. "I've wanted to do this so much, but I'm glad I waited."

f.u.c.k no. Not for me. A hot, tight sensation rolled through Tyler's gut and coalesced at the base of his d.i.c.k. Pressure in the back of his head burst like a balloon and fire shot down his spine to ignite his b.a.l.l.s. His c.o.c.k danced in his and Jeremy's fists, and ribbons of come spurted onto the bed beneath him. He clenched his muscles around Jeremy's c.o.c.k, and Jeremy cried out as he exploded inside him.

Aftershocks vibrated through them as they tried to catch their breath and then Tyler dropped onto the wet bed and Jeremy sank on top of him. When Tyler turned his head, Jeremy gave him a long lingering kiss and all Tyler could think was-mistake, mistake, mistake. The last thing he wanted was a needy guy.

Tyler refused requests to spend the rest of the day with Jeremy. He said he had work to do and he did, but that wasn't the reason he didn't want to stay. It was a mistake to get close to anyone, particularly a guy he'd have to watch being f.u.c.ked and f.u.c.king others because he knew Jeremy would go back. It was too much money to turn down. No matter how much Jeremy pushed, Tyler didn't want a relations.h.i.+p, especially while he was working for Prescott, especially with someone working for Prescott. And if Jeremy had an ounce of sense, he'd feel the same.

This had been a one off, though he was too much of a coward to tell Jeremy that. But he did give him a final warning about getting entrained into anything more than Sat.u.r.day night parties. At least with others around, it was-well, not safe, but safer. Tyler's stomach clenched when he thought about Wednesday. He wasn't even taking his own advice. What would Prescott want him to do? Was anything a step too far if the price was right? A thousand quid?

When Jeremy pressed about meeting up again, Tyler was deliberately vague. He could still hear Jeremy's "f.u.c.k off" and the slam of the door echoing in his head.

They'd exchanged numbers while they were still thick-headed with l.u.s.t, but when Jeremy texted IMS meaning I am sorry, before Tyler even reached the Tube, he ignored it. As he did the next three messages, two of which were so abbreviated he didn't understand them.

He didn't go back to his room. No point wallowing in misery and guilt. Instead, he decided to go to college and caught the Tube to Cutty Sark Station in Greenwich. If no practice room was free, he'd wait.

Why did I go back to his place? Tyler had known it would end with them both feeling bad. It just wasn't right to get involved while they were being paid for s.e.x. And he really wasn't Tyler's type-though he had been this morning. No money involved, no doing anything he didn't want to, another like him to wipe away the touches of the men who'd gone before. He and Jeremy had used each other.

Tyler signed his name on the board to reserve the next two hours with a piano and collected his music folder from his locker.

Music was the most important thing in his life. Music kept him sane, stopped him from feeling lonely. Any music. Tyler was as comfortable with cla.s.sical as he was with hard rock. Even stuff he wouldn't have chosen to listen to, if others liked it that was all that mattered. In his opinion, being scornful about Justin Bieber was no different to gagging at Beethoven. Everyone's tastes were different, but the effect of music was universal. Music had saved him when nothing else could. It had let him escape into a different world and it still did.

He needed to practice two pieces by Liszt that he was performing in a concert on... Oh f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, no. Wednesday night. How could I f.u.c.king forget? He groaned and reversed direction, heading for the notice board to see if the order of play had been posted. It hadn't. s.h.i.+t. He'd just have to hope he was scheduled in the first half and if not, beg Dr. Flowers, the head of the music department, to let him swap with someone.

Not going to Prescott's thing wasn't an option. He needed that thousand pounds. Plus Tyler had the uncomfortable feeling Prescott would contact Jeremy if he called to say he couldn't make it. It annoyed him that he felt protective. He wished like f.u.c.k he hadn't gone back to his place. He shouldn't have been Jeremy's first for anything because despite telling himself not to, now Tyler felt involved.

He climbed the stairs to the practice room with heavy steps. Hopefully, playing would put him in a better mood. Dr. Flowers had arranged the midterm concert with the aim of enticing guests to sponsor the school. Tyler wasn't the best pianist of his year. He'd been told by Boris, his piano tutor, to make the guitar his second instrument and by his guitar tutor, Marc, to put the guitar above the piano. He refused to choose one over the other which annoyed his tutors, but Boris said he had the most heart of anyone in his year and it was a compliment he cherished because Tyler never shared his heart. It was too fragile to risk breaking.

He warmed up with a Chopin etude and then launched into Liszt's La Campanella, a fast moving study with large jumps over the keys, great for demonstrating dexterity and accuracy, and b.l.o.o.d.y easy to c.o.c.k up. He followed that with one of his favorite pieces, Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2. He messed up the trills, swore and repeated the section over and over until it was perfect, and then lost himself in the fun of the fast part, his playing so frantic he wondered for a while if he or the piano was in charge.

Whether his fingers danced in a violent explosion of motion or soothed the keys in gentle meditation, whatever and whenever he played, it was just him and the music in mostly perfect harmony. It made him feel safe and secure when nothing else could, and the pleasure in creating something so beautiful made his pulse race as fast as if he was having s.e.x.

He ended the piece with a flourish and then gulped. s.h.i.+t. Remember to breathe. Tyler let out a snort of laughter. Playing almost always made him feel better, more hopeful. Music wiped away the grime of his life, for a while at least. That something pure could make his soul sing proved he still had one, and that music could make him smile without reason gave him hope. Music had the ability to calm his frazzled nerves or excite him until his heart pounded. He liked loud, fast and strong the best. He could be emotional in playing in a way he couldn't risk in real life. He trusted music with his heart because it would never let him down.

Tyler switched to Rachmaninoff's Prelude in g major. He felt an affinity with Rachmaninoff because the composer had for a long period been depressed and cash-strapped. Rachmaninoff wanted those who played his pieces to put themselves into the performance, to instill their own perspectives into the music rather than merely follow instructions. So no two performances were ever the same. Not even by Tyler. He became caught up in the Russian cadences of the piece he was playing, the strong ba.s.s line appealing to his rock instincts, and he played and played until he'd wiped last night and this morning from his mind.

Almost.

Chapter Three.

Haris held out his arms as his valet brushed his tux jacket with strong sweeping motions, first against the nap of the material and then in the opposite direction. He hadn't thought the jacket needed attention but as usual, Wilson knew better.

"You're tsking under your breath," Haris said.

Wilson harrumphed. "After collecting your tuxedo from the dry cleaner, I carefully hung the lint-free garment in the closet. The specks I'm endeavoring to remove have come from your carpet and I find this extremely puzzling since I didn't drop it."

"My fault then." It was.

"I would never presume to say so, sir."

Haris hid his smile. "Did the stain come off?" He'd dipped his sleeve into something sticky last time he'd worn it.

"Absolutely. Mr. Patel's shop might be a long grueling journey by Tube from here, but the man's ability to remove unidentified substances from your expensive garments and not put creases where none were intended has a.s.sured his place at the head of the rest, no matter how inconveniently situated his premises happen to be."

Haris took the hint. "Thank you for fetching it for me."

"It's my pleasure, sir. As is every little thing I do for you. A complete joy."

Haris rolled his eyes.

"Oh look. A dog hair." Wilson gave a dramatic sigh. "I miss Sam."

"You could have kept him. You could have kept any of them." There'd been plenty.

"There are so many other poor animals out there. All alone, not enough to eat, unloved, uncared for, desperate for a kind touch, for a warm home."

"I'm sure there are."

Wilson seemed to be running a one-man pet rescue service.

"When they land on our doorstep, what am I to do?" Wilson asked. "Who could be hard-hearted enough to turn away a starving dog? I feel it's my duty to find them warm, caring homes. Just as you did for me, sir."

Haris harrumped.

Wilson gave another dramatic sigh. Haris knew he wanted a pet to keep but wouldn't admit it. His valet's shoulders remained in a permanent droop, his face a study in depression as if a personal black cloud hung over him. Wilson would have given him the news that his car had been accidentally crushed by a meteorite in the same tone as telling him he'd won the Euro lottery.

He finished brus.h.i.+ng the tux and Haris let his arms drop. "Will I do?"

"Most a.s.suredly, sir. Indeed, you will s.h.i.+ne like a beacon to the extent that no one will be listening to the music, they will be entranced by-"

"Enough."

"My lips are zipped. More than zipped. Sealed as effectively as two items secured by super glue could be."

Haris doubted it.

By the time they were in the car and on their way to Greenwich, the super glue had worn off and Wilson was babbling again. Haris tuned him out. He didn't particularly want to attend this evening's concert. He'd rather have written a check for the music school and stayed at home working, but in an uncharacteristically weak moment, remembering his brother, Adil, and the racket he'd made on his twelfth birthday with his new drum kit, he'd said yes when Wilson had placed the invitation in front of him. Haris hoped they played something quiet and soothing and not an unmelodious modern composition which was bound to give him a headache. s.h.i.+t. I'm turning into another Wilson.

"Excuse me for interrupting your valuable thinking time, sir, but I believe we are being followed again. The same car has been behind us for the last two miles."

Haris looked over his shoulder without concern. "The white Fiat?"

"Yes, sir. Something is obscuring the license plate. Do I have your permission to lose our pursuer?"

"Try not to attract the attention of any traffic cameras or cops."

"As usual, you offer such sage advice."

"You could try pulling up to see if he stops too?"

"A confrontation? An excellent idea. I'm certain I can talk the man out of any aggression so you don't need to fear, sir. Should the worst happen, my will is in the bedside table."

Haris smiled. He suspected the pursuit was a figment of Wilson's overactive imagination. He'd claimed they were being followed a few times over the last week.

"He turned off, sir."

"Don't sound so disappointed."

"I was looking forward to demonstrating my considerable prowess with the fire extinguisher I keep in the glove box should my arthritic knees impair my jujitsu skills."

Haris laughed.

Wilson dropped him off outside the college. Haris grabbed his coat from the backseat and told him to go home. That brought on the argument he expected, but he was the boss and he won. Just.

Bypa.s.sing the reception line inside the entrance, he headed for the bathroom. If he had to sit through a few hours of torture, he might as well do it with an empty bladder. He didn't bother asking for directions, a.s.suming there'd be a Gents' somewhere near.

After he'd wandered down two deserted corridors, he was about to turn back when he saw the sign he'd been looking for. As he pushed open the door, Haris heard someone retching and almost reversed out again, but the need to take a leak pushed him toward the cubicle farthest from the one occupied.

"That was me throwing up," said a man and flushed.

Haris opened his mouth and then closed it. Too much information and he didn't think a response was required.

"Well, you asked," the guy snapped and Haris realized he was talking on the phone and not to him.

"But you said nine. I'm busy until... No, this is important. I can't just... But... I... Okay, okay, I know." The belligerence had gone from his voice. "As soon as I can get... No, I won't... No, don't ask Jeremy. I've told you I'll come. I won't let you down. Now f.u.c.k off because I need to throw up again."

Since he didn't hear any sounds of retching, only a quiet voice muttering, "f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k," Haris a.s.sumed that was a lie. He waited until the door banged as the man left, and then Haris unzipped.

On the way back to the entrance hall, he spotted Kevin Flowers, the corpulent head of the music school, standing just ahead of him. He was talking in a loud, arctic tone to a tall, dark-haired guy whose back was to Haris. Oh G.o.d, what a f.u.c.kable backside. Narrow hips, tight b.u.t.t, long legs.

"I've already rearranged this once," Flowers snapped. "Good grief, you leave it until now? You couldn't have told me before?"

"It's an emergency," the younger man said. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't."

Haris recognized the voice from the bathroom. He wore a tight black T-s.h.i.+rt, black pants and black boots, and a tribal tattoo snaked around his forearm. An astonis.h.i.+ng surge of l.u.s.t sent Haris weak at the knees. The overwhelming desire to trail his tongue around the black lines of the tattoo and down to the crease of that tight b.u.t.t drove all the moisture from his mouth and inevitably sent blood rus.h.i.+ng south. He felt like he'd been hit by a bus.

"What sort of emergency?" Flowers demanded.

"A bad emergency," Temptation mumbled. "Matter of life and death."

Haris's gaze swept from head to toe and jerked back to the tight backside. Stop looking at it. He snapped his head up.

"I'm not happy, Tyler. Yet again, your att.i.tude disappoints me. I expected a more appropriate level of commitment from a third year student. It was against my better judgment that I gave you this opportunity. There were others who deserved it more."

The younger man clenched his hands behind his back until his knuckles whitened, then flicked his wrist over and over with his thumb. "Sorry." The word was forced out.

Haris smiled. Not sorry at all then.

"And what respect do you show when you turn up dressed like this?" Flowers hissed. "I gave strict instructions male students were to wear a tuxedo."

"I ripped the jacket and then I found I'd dropped something on the pants."

"You could have hired a tux."

"If I'd had time."