Free The Chase: Brit Boys: On Boys by Lily Harlem Page B

paused. “I don’t know.” He took a sip of cider. “Maybe it will have to be his choice.”
    “Or maybe we could share him?”
    “What?” Steve held his drink still, halfway between his mouth and the bar. He couldn’t deny the thought was very appealing and had crossed his mind too, but he hadn’t expected Robert to just come out with it like that.
    Robert tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth as if holding in a smile. “You heard. Perhaps he’ll be up for a threesome.”
    “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. We don’t even know if he’s coming for a drink, if he fancies us, or, more to the point, if he’s taken. And even if all of that went in our favour, he might not be up for a threesome.”
    “But we do know he’s as bent as a tent peg, and let’s face it, must be a shitty life on the road all the time. I bet he takes it where he can get it and from whoever is willing.”
    “Just because that’s what you’d do in the same position.” Steve tutted and placed his cider down. Robert always had been sex mad—not that he’d ever complained about that fact, he was bloody good at it.
    “Don’t act the delicate fairy with me, Steve. I know damn well how dirty you can get and that’s every bit as filthy as me.”
    Steve reached for the pound coins on the bar. “I take offence to that.”
    “No you don’t.” Robert leant forward and wrapped his hand around Steve’s slight wrist.
    “Hey,” Steve said as an excited sensation fizzed over his nerves and sped up his heart rate. He used to love it when Robert gripped his wrists like that, preferably when they were naked and he was getting shoved up against a wall and a dick rammed into his arse. “What?”
    “Do you remember?” Robert asked in a low voice.
    Steve swallowed. He didn’t need to ask what Robert was talking about, because yes, he remembered, he remembered everything, it was scorched into his mind forever. The way Steve used to pin him down, tie him up, fuck him till he could take no more. The dirty, filthy, amazing things he used to say to him, do to him. That one time when he’d gone to a sex shop and bought toys for them to play with—naughty, deviant toys that had batteries and did things to his insides that took his breath away.
    “I know you do,” Robert said, releasing Steve’s wrist. “You remember every sordid, delicious fucking detail, don’t you?”
    Steve picked up a towel and began to rub the rim of a wine glass. “Only the way you do.”
    “Do you wank off to the memories?” Robert asked, tipping his head and raising his eyebrows.
    “You can’t ask me stuff like that. Not anymore. We’re over, or had you forgotten?”
    He shook his head and his mouth pulled downwards a fraction. “No, I hadn’t forgotten. You gonna top up my pint or what? I’ve paid for it.”
    “Oh, yeah, sorry.” Steve put Robert’s glass under the beer tap and flicked it on.
    “I do,” Robert said.
    “You do what?” Steve asked.
    “Wank off to the memory of you bent over in front of me. Your skin pale, delicate, your arse with my handprints on, and your hole, trembling, open a little, where I’ve prepped you. You’re breathing fast, your fists clenched, just waiting for me to sink deep.”
    Steve pulled in a deep breath. His cock reacted to Robert’s words and pushed against his jeans. “Shh…” He glanced around.
    “Or else what?”
    “Just.”
    “Or else I’ll make you hard?” Robert asked.
    “Because he’s coming, look.” Steve nodded at the door to the left of the stage.
    Carrick was striding towards them. He still wore the jeans and black Nirvana T-shirt he’d worn on stage. Fuck, he was easy on the eye. Just enough stubble, hair short and neat, and lips that were soft and kissable and curved in a permanent grin.
    “Hey,” Robert said, turning on his bar stool.
    Carrick nodded at him. “Damn, I need a drink, Steve. Pour me my usual.”
    A shiver of pride went through Steve. Carrick had remembered