Young At Heart (5 page)

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

“Okay,” Devon replied, his mind whirling.

Okay, stop,
or
okay, I'll tell you when I want you to stop
? Even in his own head he wasn't sure which he meant. How could something that ought to feel so wrong feel so right? How could he feel so afraid of what was about to happen and yet want it so badly at the same time?

Cool fingers slipped into his boxers, brushing teasingly over Devon's erection. A soft groan escaped his lips before he was silenced with a scorching kiss. Jesse rolled on top of him, gently easing the shorts down his thighs. He rubbed against Devon, hot and hard, their bodies grinding together with familiar ease. The pain in Devon's arms was forgotten as they moved in unison, practiced and perfect. His only coherent thought was that he wished his arms were free to hold Jesse. The younger man left him momentarily to reach over to the bedside cabinet. He fumbled in the drawer and Devon knew he was searching for the lube they kept there.

Seconds later, he was back, his body pushing against Devon's, their cocks sliding together with heavenly friction that had Devon bucking his hips from the mattress, desperate for more. Jesse's fingers curled around his cock and Devon slicked his shaft by fucking wantonly into Jesse's lubed hand. God, it was pathetic. A week without Jesse and he was almost crying in frustration, he wanted him so bad. Jesse reared up, straddling him, using one hand to position Devon's cock against his puckered entrance.

“Jesse, wait... you're not....”

Before Devon could finish what he was saying, tell Jesse he wasn't ready, wasn't prepped, Jesse sank onto Devon's erection in one sharp move. They both yelled at the intense burn and Jesse went still, his muscles clenching tight around Devon's cock as he adjusted to the feel of it inside him. He leaned forward, his movements slow and careful. Devon knew this had to be hurting him, but Jesse didn't complain. He kissed Devon; a chaste, closed-mouth, gentle kiss. Then he sat up and rolled his hips experimentally.

A sharp hiss escaped Devon's lips, his back arching as Jesse finally began to move. Placing his hands on Devon's chest, he rode him hard. Devon unravelled beneath him, his eyes rolling back in his head as he tried to thrust up into Jesse's tight little hole. In no time at all, Devon felt his groin clench and coil. He cried out, spurting hot and wet, wave after wave, deep inside Jesse. The teenager bore down, riding out Devon's orgasm, wrapping one hand around his own cock and pumping furiously until he shot long streams of semen over Devon's stomach and chest.

Spent, Jesse rolled to one side with an expressive sigh. They lay quietly, both lost in their own thoughts until a fresh wave of discomfort reminded Devon of the position he was in. The pain in his arms returned with a vengeance and he nudged Jesse with one knee.

“Will you untie me now, please?” He half expected Jesse to refuse again, but he knelt up obediently and reached for the tie.

“Are you going to hit me again? You can if you want.” Jesse picked at the knot in the smooth silk binding Devon to the bedstead. “I deserve it.”

Devon's heart ached to hear the dejection in Jesse's voice. He'd thought Jesse had enjoyed the sex as much as he had, but now an air of defeat and misery came off him in waves. He longed to hold the boy in his arms, to comfort him, promise everything would be okay. One thing he was certain of after a week apart was that he didn't want to be without Jesse. It would take time and effort on both their parts, but he was sure they could work things out if they tried. Lying like this with Jesse, it was easy to put the hurt and anger of the last week aside and think about a future together.

Finally, his wrists were freed and he lowered his throbbing arms, hugging them to his chest. Devon hissed through clenched teeth as the blood flowed into his numb hands, burning through his veins like acid. Right at that moment, he was physically incapable of hitting Jesse even if he'd wanted to. Trouble was, he was also unable to hold and reassure him and he could sense Jesse pulling away in the darkness. Where he had taken the sex as encouragement their relationship could be saved, Jesse saw it as the end.

“I should go,” Jesse said suddenly, getting up from the bed and searching for his clothes in the dark.

“You don't have to.”

“Yes, I do. If I stay I'll hurt you again.”

“You didn't hurt me, Jesse.”

“But I had sex with you.”

“And I loved every second of it.”

“I forced you.”

“No.” Devon sat up, wincing at the pain in his useless, leaden arms. “I wanted you to.”

“I'm as bad as him.” There was no need to ask who
him
was: Antonio. Despite the photographer claiming he was the one to be seduced, Jesse remained convinced it happened the other around. Even more telling was the fact he didn't see it as seduction. In his young mind, Antonio had forced him into sex. And now he thought he was guilty of the same. “It's really over, isn't it?”

“It doesn't have to be. Stay. Talk to me.”

“I can't.”

The bedroom door softly clicked shut and a few moments later Devon heard the front door close as Jesse left the apartment. He lay back against the pillows with a heartfelt groan. A week ago Jesse had been begging for another chance and he had refused. Now, Devon was the one desperate to start over and Jesse had walked out on him. When did everything become such a mess? He closed his eyes, too tired and confused to think about it anymore. Sleep first, think later. And then he would do whatever it took to get Jesse back.

DEVON woke late, rolled out of bed, and headed for the shower with a heavy heart. Whoever came up with the theory life began at forty was a moron. His life was falling apart. Okay, so he had more money than he could hope to spend in a lifetime. He had a nice home, owned an expensive sports car he hardly ever drove, and was head of an internationally acclaimed business. But there had to be more to life than material belongings. All the good things in his life were easily cancelled out by the bad. His mother was a cold, heartless bitch, who made her disapproval of his life choices abundantly clear, and there was a chance his best friend was not the man Devon thought he was. Added to which, the only lover he'd cared anything about in as long as he could remember had left him. In the grand scheme of things, life wasn't beginning—it was turning to shit.

Finishing his shower, Devon retrieved his phone from the top of the chest of drawers and saw he had half a dozen missed calls and text messages, some from his mother and the rest from Antonio, but nothing from Jesse. Disappointed, he dressed in a casual T-shirt and jeans and thought he would make the effort to go and see his mother after all. A few hours in the countryside would give him a chance to clear his head and decide what he should do about Jesse.

Despite it being a Saturday afternoon the London traffic was light and he made good time getting out of the city, reaching the Alexander family estate within an hour. One day the sprawling country mansion and acres of surrounding land would be his, although whether he moved out of the city and actually lived there remained to be seen. He felt sure, even after she was gone, Erica's spirit would remain in the house, watching over his every move with a disapproving eye.

As usual, he was met at the door by Arthur, a tall, sombre-faced man who had served Erica for the last three decades as housekeeper, butler, and chauffeur. Devon often wondered if there was anything more to their relationship, although his mother always denied it and Arthur was far too loyal to ever divulge personal information about his employer. And Devon had to admit, it was unlikely his mother would ever lower herself to consort with the staff. That was assuming the woman had ever had a modicum of sexual desire in the first place.

“Madam is in the drawing room, Mr. Alexander,” Arthur said formally, although Devon had asked him countless times to address him by his first name. “I'll bring afternoon tea shortly, unless you would prefer something stronger.”

“Tea will be fine,” Devon replied, resisting the temptation to ask for a large scotch. If he had an alcoholic drink Erica would insist he stay the night, something he really didn't want to do. An hour or so of his mother's company was about as much as he could tolerate at the best of times.

Making his way to the drawing room, Devon found his mother sitting primly on the edge of a hardback chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She had been waiting for him. No doubt she had seen his car coming up the long gravel drive and positioned herself in a manner that would sufficiently express her irritation.

“You're late.”

So much for a warm welcome. “I didn't realize we had set a time.”

“Arthur prepared lunch,” Erica said, with a pointed look at her elegant wristwatch. “All gone to waste now, of course.”

“I'm sorry.” He was already regretting being there. It was always the same, Erica asking him to come out to the house just so she could give him a hard time. So she could moan about anything and everything and leave him feeling like a complete failure. “I slept in late.”

“Alone?”

Devon looked at her sharply. “Actually, yes. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” She smiled coolly. “Although Antonio did mention you were going to dinner last night. I thought maybe he introduced you to someone more....”

“More what, Mother?”

“Suitable.”

“Than Jesse, you mean? You'd rather I was with some chinless wonder, obsessed with money and material belongings? Because that's all Antonio's friends have to offer.”

She crossed the room to stand by the French window, staring out over the immaculately kept lawn, another of Arthur's jobs. It was written all over her face. She knew who Antonio was setting him up with last night and she obviously approved. Maybe it had even been her suggestion.

“Have you seen him?”

“Who?”

“That boy.”

He smiled softly, remembering the feel of Jesse's body pressed against his. Throwing back his shoulders, he faced Erica defiantly. “I love him.”

“Oh, don't be so stupid.” Erica snapped.

A stony silence filled the room as Arthur entered bearing a silver tray. He placed it on the glass coffee table and glanced warily from mother to son. Noting their icy expressions, he backed out of the room again without speaking. One of the reasons he made such a good butler was his unerring ability to keep his head down and mind his own business.

“Shall I pour?” Erica asked, reaching for the handle of the teapot.

“I mean it, Mother.” Devon was not about to let her ignore what he had said. “I love Jesse.”

“No.” Erica spoke so calmly it was chilling. “I won't allow it.”

“You won't allow it?” he echoed faintly. “Are you serious?”

Putting the teapot back on the tray with more force than was necessary, Erica glared at him coldly. “I put up with it when you decided you had no desire to be with a woman. I put up with the bitter disappointment of knowing you will never give me grandchildren. And I put up with the embarrassment of entertaining God only knows how many men you've dated, but not this time. This time, I will not put up with you keeping this boy in our lives. He's scum, Devon, a dirty little gold-digger who's only interested in your money. I won't stand for it. I will do whatever it takes to stop him ruining your life.”

“Well, you'd better start doing it,” he retorted, striding toward the door. “Because I'm going back to London and I'm going to get Jesse back. Oh, and in answer to your question—yes, I saw him last night. The sex was amazing.”

Arthur must have been hiding somewhere listening to their argument, because when Devon reached the front door he was there to open it. He gave a sympathetic smile. If anyone understood how Erica could get when riled, it was this quiet, long-suffering man.

With a small shake of his head, Devon swept down the front steps and climbed into his car. The wheels threw up a cloud of dust and gravel in his wake as he sped away from the house. It had been a mistake to come. His mother would never change and he was suddenly desperate to get back and find Jesse. He might even ask him to move in, give Erica something to really complain about.

Ninety minutes later, he pulled up outside the three-storey house where Jesse lived in a top-floor bedsit. Although he had paid the rent for the past three months, Devon had never been there before. Admittedly, he was used to the finer things in life, but even so, he was surprised at how rundown the place was. It was not in the best of areas either, making him more determined than ever to persuade Jesse to live with him.

He climbed the stairs and knocked on Jesse's door, feeling suddenly apprehensive. Would Jesse be happy to see him? Maybe when he left in the early hours of the morning, he meant it about ending their relationship. Devon had to make him see that was not what he wanted.

There was no answer and he banged louder. If Jesse sent him away then so be it, but he wasn't going to leave until Jesse had listened to what he had to say. Cocking his head to one side, Devon listened hard. There was no sound from within the bedsit. He stepped back with a frown. Stupidly, it hadn't occurred to him Jesse might not be home. He wasn't sure what to do next.

On the second floor, a door opened and a heavyset, bearded man stepped onto the small landing, eyeing him with ill-disguised curiosity. He scratched his large belly and sucked greedily on his cigarette before speaking.

“Who you after, then?”

“Jesse Young. He lives upstairs. Do you know where he is?”

“No idea. Chucked him out a couple of days ago. Little sod owed me rent.”

“That can't be right,” Devon argued, descending the stairs. “I just gave him rent money.”

“Looks like he ripped us both off, then,” the landlord replied, looking him up and down with a sneer. “You're a bit better than his usual type. Wouldn't have thought a posh bloke like you needed to pay for it.”