Naked want

Christian

Bullshit.

That's a load of bullshit if I've ever heard one.

Not because the man in front of me isn't a fairly good liar.

No, his words come out straight enough. He doesn't even stutter as he vomits those lies at me.

It's the look in his eyes.

He isn't looking at me like he wants to be friends. I've had more than my fair share of blokes like him, so I know when a man wants more than friendly company.

And Ashford Ryder definitely wants more than that.

Someone else in my position would be happy—heck pleased, if everything I've heard about the dude is to go by.

But I'm not.

This is just another reminder that he's better than me.

So he's gay too.

Just perfect.

Not only that, but he isn't some fucking coward still stuck in the closet after two decades.

He's out and proud, carrying himself with an air of self confidence that says he hits on guys every day, and no one says a word of it.

Why would they?

Like he said, this is the 21st Century.

Everyone who wants to keep a good face in the media can't be publicly homophobic.

It doesn't mean they suddenly don't think it's bad, it just means they can't say anything about it.

Could this have been me sixteen years ago?

I guess I’ll never know.

My eyes still remain not on Ashford, but on the other man—his companion for the night—since the tabloids have revealed that he is currently single.

So this must be someone he met recently, how long ago?

Maybe a few hours ago, probably.

The guys eyes meet mine, and he bites his lip slowly and seductively.

I examine him closer, and think that on any other day, I won't mind taking someone like him back to my hotel for the night.

Clearly, all he wants is a good fuck, nothing more, and that's usually perfect for me.

Any other day, I'd also feel a stirring in my pants that a sexy guy like that is even looking at me.

Any other day, but not today.

Today, my eyes can't seem to drift off this impossibly beautiful man in front of me for too long.

It's like my eyes are greedy to take him in, and can't seem to understand that he's not going to disappear just because I'm not looking at him.

This odd attraction towards someone I still feel hate for is both perplexing and unfamiliar.

Every guy I've ever hooked up with has been someone I at least found attractive—which is also the case for Ashford.

But I've always moderately liked all my flings.

Sex is good with someone you don't feel such strong hatred towards after all.

This is the first time I've wanted to punch someone so bad, but also want to shove my cock so deep up their throat, they choke on it.

I feel beads of perspiration line my forehead with the force of that visual image, and definitely a stirring appears in my pants.

Just perfect.

"So who is he? Just another friend?" I spit out at him, feeling more anger towards myself than him.

His eyes widen by a fraction, and their rounded look pulls a small smile out of me.

Then I frown when I realize that I'm smiling at the little git.

Ashford is quick to regain his composure and flashes me another one of those charming smiles he reserves for the tabloids.

He steps even closer to me and I flinch as if stung. "He's a more personal friend. A different kind of friend, you get me mate?"

Is he...

Fucking hell.

Is this little asshole flirting with me?

My eyes trail his plump lips, and his tiny tongue darts out to wet it.

"You don't have to call me mate." I grit out, feeling annoyed and sweaty all of a sudden.

I know he isn't British, so the nickname is reserved just for me.

"I know, but it's cool, since you're English. I've always wanted an English friend, you know?"

His eyes shine with what I'll call wonder if the darkness in his gaze was a little more hidden.

Ashford Ryder might be spewing some rubbish about friendship, but I know what he really wants.

In fact, a small part of me wants the same thing—hungers for the same thing to be precise, but I can't.

I'm not like him.

I'm not—that gay.

I snort at his words. "Glad to know you have a thing for English men. You played against eleven of us today, go have your pick with someone else."

Dismissing him, I turn back to the beer I've been nursing, suddenly feeling like there's no moisture in my throat.

I press the bottle against my lips, and take another swing, making sure to keep a blank face against the burn this time.

Like hell, I'll wince in front of someone like him.

When he remains silent beside me, I turn back and see that his eyes are still on me, specifically my lips.

And the bottle pressed to it.

My lips suddenly tingle with the caress of his eyes, and when I raise my eyes to meet his, they're darker than normal.

Fuck.

The fucking slag.

He can't even hide who he is.

The fucker should be thankful the world is more accommodating now, because one look at him, and everyone and their mothers would know how he likes it.

His chocolate brown eyes have turned into an almost black color, and I snort at him.

"At least try to hide it, mate. You're not looking at me like a friend now, are you?" I glower at him.

It takes him a moment to clear his eyes, and stare at me with a more normal look, but finally he does.

Then a slow smooth smile appears on his face, and I frown, wondering what the hell is going on in his head this time.

"Why? Do you want me to hide how much I want you?"

I inhale sharply, fuck.