Smashed into Pieces by Scarlet Blackwell

Author:Scarlet Blackwell
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: gay mystery erotic romance
Publisher: Silver Publishing
Published: 2011-09-04T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

When Brandon opened his eyes, Finn lay watching him with an expression of outrage on his face.

"Now don't get excited," Brandon said calmly. "You weren't in a fit state to go home last night. I brought you back here, had your arm dressed. You went to sleep. I was the perfect gentleman." He smiled.

Finn turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "I was a dick last night."

"You weren't."

"Yes, I was. A glass of wine and I start spilling my guts to anyone who'll listen."

"Am I just anyone?"

Finn turned his head so their eyes met. He sighed. "No."

A tight, delicious knot formed in Brandon's chest. His heart beat faster. He felt like a teenager again. Their eyes held for long seconds.

Finn slid away and climbed from the bed. "You need to stay away from me Brandon, before I drag you down." He cast around for his clothes, while Brandon studied his lean shape in the t-shirt and pyjama bottoms he wore. There was a telling bulge in the pants. Finn was half-hard.

Brandon swallowed. "They're downstairs."

Finn moved out of the room without looking at him. Brandon got out of bed and pulled his robe on, adjusting his own erection before he followed Finn down.

Finn was shrugging out of his t-shirt in the living room, and Brandon once more saw the criss-cross pattern of scars across his back. Like he'd been flagellated with something.

"Let me help you."

Finn flinched away. "I can get dressed without help, Brandon. Jesus, stop treating me like a child."

He pulled on the shirt Brandon had retrieved from the muddy ground the previous night. It was stained, but Finn didn't appear to notice. Brandon went into the kitchen and set some coffee brewing before he pulled out bread for toast.

Finn appeared in the kitchen, fully dressed, jacket on.

"Stay for breakfast," Brandon said.

Finn hovered. "I should get back."

"Why? What's the big rush to get home to your empty house? So you can sit there like you do every day and wait for him to come get you?"

Brandon hadn't meant to sound so cruel. He saw the instant fury on Finn's face.

"You son of a bitch."

Finn marched across the kitchen, fist raised and Brandon—although he could have taken Finn with ease, grabbed his arm, twisted it until he dislocated the shoulder—had no intention of hurting him. He merely turned his face away and waited for the blow to come. If it made Finn feel better, so be it.

But Finn lowered his fist. Instead, with a noise of frustration, he gripped Brandon by the front of his robe and shook him. "I hate you, I hate you."

"No you don't." Brandon took Finn's head in one hand and guided it to his shoulder.

Finn struggled with him, pushing and pulling until he found his way into Brandon's arms and Brandon had tight hold of him.

Finn slumped against Brandon's body. Great gulps for air came from his throat before he wept with wrenching sobs that shook his entire body.

Brandon held him closer, stroking Finn's silky hair.

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