P.A. Partner Read online

  "Say that again. Slowly." Byron put his hand into the small of Martin's back to urge him to continue to walk.

  Martin held his breath as he obeyed. Did he imagine it, or did Byron slide his hand lower and for one brief moment rub his finger up and down the crack of Martin's ass before he moved it higher once more? The heat of Byron's touch seemed to sear through Martin's jacket and shirt. Martin wouldn't have been surprised to see an imprint of it on his skin. However, he controlled his breathing, bit his lip to stop himself asking for more and continued down the stairs and into the tiny foyer. The main staircase and lift were on the other side of the building. This one was rarely used by anyone except themselves.

  "Which way?" Martin asked. Damned if he didn't want to wriggle back and see if Byron was as hard as he was. How the hell could one gentle touch have so much impact?

  "No way, until you repeat that." Byron held Martin's arm and pulled him close. "Do you mean it?" He stared at Martin so intently, that Martin's skin tingled.

  "I mean it. I want a night of hot, unbridled sex with you."

  Byron swallowed and the skin over his Adam's apple rippled. Martin had no idea how he stopped himself from grabbing Byron and holding him tight while he kissed him senseless. Before he ripped Byron's shirt open, feasted on his nipples and then demanded he stripped and bent over the bannister, and…

  Oh shit, control your mind. You don't know what he likes or if you'd go with that.

  In sudden panic that he'd gone too far, he opened the door to the street and walked out into the sunshine.

  The chuckle Byron gave him could only be described as sin-filled. "Wuss."

  Oh yeah.

  The brightness made him blink, and the sight of Byron in wrap-around shades made him salivate. He squinted and Byron frowned at him.

  "Sun glasses?"

  "Forgot them," Martin said. "Hell, it was raining when I left home."

  Byron tutted. "Stay there and don't move." He disappeared into a nearby shop. Martin leaned against the wall and crossed his feet. The warm air was pleasant and there was enough of a breeze to add freshness to it. Within five minutes Byron returned with two small packages in his hands, which he gave to Martin.

  "One is to wear now, the other maybe later. That one first." He pointed to the larger package.

  Martin opened the paper to find a box, which contained a pair of high-spec sunglasses. He didn't know what to say.

  "And no, it's not cos you're helping me out. It's because I want to, okay? The other one is because I want to as well. But in a much more," he hesitated, "personal way. Something that one day I hope you'll wear and show…oh hell, just tell me to shove it where the sun don’t shine if you want."

  Byron almost sounded belligerent, but Martin read the uncertainty in his eyes.

  "Okay," Martin said quietly. "Thank you." He began to tear the paper from the box. It was no more than an inch cubed, and for the life of him he couldn't think what might be inside.

  "Mind you, I still want a night of unbridled sex with you. I have done for ages, but you have that rule and…" Martin let his voice trail away. "Oh my…" Inside the box was an intricate, twisted nipple ring. "Oh, this is perfect. You know I wear one?"

  "Well, it does shine a bit through your shirt," Byron said. "And I fantasize about it. I saw this and I knew I had to offer it to you. And hope one day, you'll swap the one you wear for this. As a commitment, maybe? When you're ready?"

  Martin grabbed Byron's butt and hauled him so they were chest to chest and cock to cock. Byron's breath teased and caressed Martin like a lover. Soon, I hope it will be like my lover. Please the gods.

  The kiss he gave to Byron was brief. Almost, Martin thought, over before it started. However, that fleeting touch seared his soul, to say nothing of stirring his cock. They were both breathing heavily when Martin pulled back. Not that he wanted to, but it wouldn't look good to see headlines that stated, 'Businessman and his P.A. up for gross indecency in the High Street'.

  "When we're ready. And you sort out those bloody no frat rules."

  "Rules are made to be broken," Byron butted in. "I made it, I can rescind it. However, think hard, Mart. I will do, and do so gladly. But I know once I've tasted you once, it won't be enough to sate me. And be warned, I don't give up my authority easily."

  Now, what exactly does he mean by that? He's the boss in and out of the bedroom? "Fine by me. I can give as good as I get." Would Byron understand what he meant? He would receive with gladness, but not all the time.

  "You'd be prepared to switch? Take turn and turn about?"

  Martin nodded. It was something he'd given a lot of thought to over the months.

  “As long as you would. Shit, boss, you've been the subject of my wet dreams for many a month. Why do you think I can't stick with anyone?”

  Byron blinked and tucked Martin's arm through his. "Me?" He sounded as if he didn't believe what he'd heard.

  "You," Martin said.

  "And back at ya." Byron winked. "In spades."

  Martin stopped walking, and Byron nearly pulled him off his feet.

  "Sorry, but why are you surprised?" Byron leaned forward and kissed Martin on the cheek. Behind them, someone wolf-whistled. Both men ignored the intrusion. "I've had a hard-on to challenge any hard-on in the world for months. Why do you think I've stopped wearing jeans and gone for front pleats instead? I have zipper teeth marks engraved on my dick."

  They burst out laughing. Martin was amazed that all around them the hustle and bustle of a busy city street continued. People walked around them, some muttering and some ignoring the two men who stood hand in hand and stared at each other. He couldn't have cared less. If someone wasn't happy at his and Byron's display of affection, it was their problem, not his.

  "And why do you think I've never started wearing jeans, even though you said it was fine?" Martin asked. "I'm in the same state as you regarding zip marks. I'd have them tattooed along my cock if I wasn't careful. One look from your baby blues and I'm a goner. And while we're having our confess-fest in the middle of the street, I drool over the thought of untying your hair and running my fingers through it. Holding you by it with it tangled in my hands." He shrugged, suddenly embarrassed by his loquacity. "I want you."

  ****

  Byron grinned and very slowly plaited his hair and tied the end with the ever-present strip of leather he carried. Martin stared, and swallowed heavily at him. "I'm just getting it ready for you," Byron said, as he made sure the leather thong was secured.

  "It makes me want you even more," Martin said in a hoarse voice.

  Oh yes. Byron would look forward to that. Just like he'd look forward to playing with the nipple ring that showed as a silver shadow through the fine linen of Martin's shirt. "Hold that thought," he demanded. "Ring your assistant. We're going to be unavoidably detained helping my mother move, and won't be back in the office this afternoon."

  "Eh? Where's she moving to?" It was no wonder Martin sounded bewildered. A rush of heat to Byron's cock had made Byron make it all up.

  "The train, her hotel, the French Riviera? Nowhere, you idiot, but we are. Into my bedroom, at the very least. For a little session of cocking?"

  "Okay, but what's cock fighting got to…ah, fucker." Martin bumped Byron on the shoulder with his knuckles. "Shall we toss for it? Who's the tosser and who's the fucker?"

  A dig in the ribs made Martin jump. A tall, well-dressed, middle-aged lady stood behind them, her umbrella point held toward Martin.

  "Young man, your language is not of the standard I'd expect from a male who wears his suit as elegantly as you do. Surely you were taught that to cuss so eloquently is the sign of an uneducated, vocabulary-challenged yob?"

  Byron smothered a grin as Martin flushed a deep red and swallowed again. "Yes, Ma'am. I'm so sorry. He infuriated me." He looked bewildered at the fact a perfect stranger had accosted them in the street.

  The tip of the umbrella swerved in Byron's direction and he moved his hand over
his groin in a protective gesture.

  "Hey, Ma, watch that. It's a lethal weapon." Byron wrapped his fingers around the metal tip and angled it away from the sensitive area of his body. The gimlet stare reminded Byron of his ex-headmistress when she couldn't get any volunteers for litter duty. No one could do it as well, except his mother. He stood back and waited for what happened next.

  She ignored him and addressed Martin. "He frequently infuriates me as well, but I find a hard stare works so much better than an expletive. And may I say in answer to your question … take turns." She flicked her umbrella out of Byron's grip with what looked like a practiced movement, and tapped it on the pavement. "Don't let him ride roughshod over you. If he's going to ride you, make it work for you, not against you."

  Byron burst out laughing at the expression of astonishment that crossed Martin's face.

  "Martin, love. Meet my mum."

  "Ah… Oh grief, what a way to meet you. I'm so sorry, but he'd try the patience of a saint, and I'm no saint," Martin said. "How do you do?"

  "Very well, thank you, young man. Or I will do when my reprobate of a son introduces me to you. Byron, manner maketh man. Therefore, at the moment, you are sadly lacking."

  Byron bowed and then kissed her soundly on the cheek. "Of course. Mum, Martin Monaghan, the love of my life." In that moment Byron accepted he told the truth, and nothing but nothing was going to stand in the way of he and Martin discovering if a relationship between them would work. "Martin, my mum, Cecily, Lady Jensen. Also known as Lady C, Lady J, Wisteria and other things I won’t mention."

  Lady Jensen winked at Martin and used her umbrella to dig Byron in the ribs. "Wisteria was in my youth. Now I prefer my given name. As you see, I use my umbrella quite impartially. You may call me Mum as Byron does. If he is to you, what you are to him. Otherwise, your Ladyship or Ma'am will suffice."

  Martin looked confused, which Byron accepted was often the way around his beloved mother.

  "She means if I'm the love of your life, in the same way you're the love of mine, then she'll answer to Mum," he said. "Am I?"

  His skin crawled as he waited for Martin's answer. The noise of the traffic faded away, and all he could hear was his heart beating too fast, and his breathing loud in his ears. A faint smell of exhaust fumes tickled his nose and vied with the citrus scent of the aftershave he associated with Martin.

  Martin smiled. It curved his lips, and lit his face up. Slowly he stroked one finger down Byron's cheek and across his lips. Then he turned to Lady Jensen.

  "Hello, Mum."

  Byron could have sung the Hallelujah Chorus. If there was one thing he knew about Martin, it was that those words were the truth. Martin would have fudged the issue otherwise.

  Lady Jensen stared from one to the other. "Excellent. Another son, and one with perfect manners to boot. What more could a mother ask for. Let's eat, and then I'll let you both get on with eating each other instead of food. If I were a generous woman I'd let you go now, without feeding me. However, I'm not and I'm greedy. For your company, and my lunch. Here." She thrust her umbrella and three designer store carrier bags at her son and a large box at Martin, who, Byron noted, took it without a word. Then she held her arms out so each man could escort her. It said a lot for her attitude, that neither demurred.

  "It may be anti-social to take up three-quarters of the pavement, but I'll plead the fifth or whatever they say, and declare I need my toy boys to hold me up."

  "Mum, you're priceless and I so love you." Byron kissed her cheek as they began to walk. Surprisingly, no one complained at the way they blocked several feet across the crowded pavement. "I wish you came up to town more often.”

  "Good, regarding your love. I'd hate to be merely tolerated. Town? No thank you, it's not for me. I'm only here this time to see you, and reassure my solicitor I'm still alive and kicking. So tell me, are you living together yet? Will my hat get an airing anytime soon?" She spoke without pause. "Yuri and Plum want you to go and see his new sculpture. He says I don't appreciate it. It's so true. No man could have a cock that size and use it to a woman's advantage. I keep telling him, it's not what you've got. It's the way that you use it that counts. Gabe, now? Generally, he makes it count." She winked. "Well, come on, why are you both standing still like one of Yuri's statues? I don't mean the new one." She tugged their arms. "Gabe is very physical. He has to be on that ranch of his.”

  Byron smothered his laugh at the dazed expression on Martin's face. Byron himself was used to his eccentric parent. For Martin, It was the first time he'd met Byron's mother. As a first meeting, Byron thought, it was somewhat unusual. He made a note to explain about Gabe.

  "Slow down, Mum, this is sort of new to both of us. Having to admit to how we feel, when I set that stupid ‘no frat’ rule up, wasn't easy. Which reminds me, I need to officially rescind it. Anyway, we've both been burned, and we've decided to take it slowly, even though we know it's what we want."

  "Humph. Commendable. But entirely stupid." She glanced from one to the other. It was a stare designed to make its recipient squirm.

  It worked on her son, and judging by the look on Martin's face, Byron thought it worked equally as well on him.

  "What if you get run over by a bus, eh?" she demanded. "What if I die and I'm not there. I'm not getting any younger, you know." She tried for an air of pathos but it was so obviously put on, both men snorted. Lady Jensen harrumphed.

  "Ingrates. Martin, do you agree with Byron?"

  Martin stared at Byron with a pleading expression over Lady Jensen's head. Byron raised one shoulder, and nodded.

  "Mum, that's not fair. Mart doesn't know you as well as I do. Stop stirring."

  "Mart? Is he an American market? Use a given name, Byron, not an abbreviated version." His mother stopped outside Raimondo's. "Now, let's eat food."

  "You heard the lady." Byron went to open the door, but the doorman beat him to it. "Time to eat food. Her ladyship dictates it."

  "I heard that. You're not too old for a smack over the buttocks." Lady Jensen winked at the doorman. "Eh, Federico?"

  "As you say, my Lady." Federico gave a slight bow and raised his eyebrow in Byron's direction. "My Lord, and?"

  "Mr. Monaghan," Byron said and grabbed hold of Martin’s hand. Whether to make sure Martin didn't run, or to show Federico he was spoken for, Byron wasn't sure.

  "My Lord?" Martin muttered the words. "What the hell's that all about? Oh, and bags I do your buttock smacking, not your mum."

  "Of course, as long as I can reciprocate. With the buttocks. The title? Dad died five years ago, so I inherited it. I don't use it but it gives Federico a thrill to tell his pals his mate is a Lord. And no, not a mate as we're going to be. A pal, an acquaintance, an old school friend."

  "My Lord, Mr. Monaghan, your mother has her usual table."

  Byron nodded. "Thanks, Fred. See you later."

  "Oh, I bet he loves you calling him Fred," Martin said as they headed toward Byron's mother, who was seated at a table by the window and chatting avidly—with a lot of hand movement—to a tall portly man in a dinner jacket. As ever, Byron was amazed she didn't send the glassware or the elaborate display of flowers flying. The man ducked one impressive arm wave without blinking, or even moving back. He was a braver man than Byron.

  "He was Fred at school when I was Biro. Raimondo was plain old Raymond, and we all played ‘show and tell’ behind the bike sheds. I went to uni and they went to catering college. Fred and Ray have been a couple since before we knew what gay meant. They set up the restaurant and I set up Jensen's."

  "Hey, Biro.” A man in Chef’s whites stuck his head through an open doorway. "Come to check up on your assets? I've gambled them away. You've got Angels Visits for pud, cos the rest's gone as collateral." A tall, shaven-headed guy with an impressive tattooed arm, he was the last person you'd take for a Michelin-starred chef. "Down to my last five raisins and handful of flour." He referred to the steamed pudding called by kids as ‘Angels Vis
its’ because, they said, the raisins were like visits from angels—few and far between.

  "Great, that's Martin's favorite, Ray. And I bet there's at least ten raisins, as even you wouldn't gamble yourself down to five. They play whist for raisins between service," he said to Martin. "Steamed pudding, with or without raisins, is a specialty here. And this one is a cheating shark. Ray Doncaster, Martin Monaghan."

  Ray looked Martin up and down and whistled. "Nice. Hi, don't mind me. There're twenty raisins. I had a losing streak. Fred and I have been waiting long enough for Biro to bring a mate in. He's one hell of a stubborn bloke. So we know you matter. Just for that I'll pawn the Rolex, and feed you well on the cash." He disappeared as fast as he'd appeared.

  Byron shook his head as they walked across the restaurant. "He forgets I get to see the books. Millionaires, the pair of them."

  "Talking about your money is vulgar, son."

  "So true, Mum, but I wasn't talking about me." Byron let the Maître D' seat him. "I was talking about you, Swinley, wasn't I?"

  Swinley walked around the table and checked Martin was seated. "If you say so, my Lord. Now, Lady Jensen suggests you all go with Chef's choice. Is that acceptable?"

  Byron looked across to Martin who raised one eyebrow, and nodded. By the look on his face he felt as Byron did. That he hoped Chef's suggestion was to leave and go at it like rabbits.

  And that was as likely as his mother marrying her longtime beau, Gabe Horton, and moving to his Dude Ranch. Byron schooled his face into bland indifference. "Fine, but tell Ray if he even hints at kidney on the plate, I won't pay the bill."

  "I think he knows that," Lady Jensen said. "The way your stomach reacts to it, he'd be a fool to try. Now, boys—and don't you roll your eyes, Byron, to me you are boys—entertain me and I'll not make you stay for coffee and petits fours. What's the latest happening in the world of business?"

  Chapter Three

  Several hours later, Martin had no idea what he'd eaten. He thought scallops and fish had been involved somewhere, and had a vague recollection of Lady Jensen—Mum—telling several risqué stores and laughing the dirtiest laugh he'd ever heard. However, his attention was mainly on Byron and nowhere else. It was so good to be able to study him openly and not under lowered lashes. It made him realize just how much he held back and retreated into himself. When you wanted someone as much as he wanted Byron and couldn't show it, you became a mockery of your true self. Now it seemed he could start to show the real him.