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a pass at him. He had invited him to dinner. And he was
excited about seeing him again. Any one of those things meant
nothing.
    Nothing.
    It was just a chance to do something
different, to break up his dull-as-ditchwater weekend. So what if
the guy was gay and flirty with it? Rob could never sleep with him.
He wouldn't.
    Would he?
    If he did, it meant he could kiss goodbye to
the friendly joshing at work and see it replaced with nervousness,
even suspicion. Why was he being so nice to them? Was he trying to
pull? Was he eyeing them up in their greasy overalls and sweaty
hair?
    He was over-thinking it. He had met people
like Lexington Black before. He toyed with people and threw them
away when he was bored with them. He was ruthless, a playboy. He
wasn't really interested in a boring English wannabee
novelist-cum-bookkeeper. He just wanted some idle fun whilst he was
in a strange country. Possibly a one night stand, something to
smile about when he was back on home territory.
    It wasn't as if Rob didn't know how he felt.
After all, he'd had his fair share of unsatisfactory encounters
before he settled with Sandy, no-one who stood out as being
particularly special. Even with Sandy there had been no grand
passion. They were mates, in the buddy sense, not the "swan
partners for life" sense. Or they had been, before she had become
so angry with him.
    In the few months since he had been single,
there had been no desire to sleep with anyone, even for a one night
stand. He felt like a blank canvas, someone ready to embark on a
life-changing adventure. Something had to happen or he would be
stuck in Shitsville for the rest of his life.
    It wasn't as if he didn't have money to start
again. When he last looked, his severance pay and the proceeds from
the house had netted him around seven hundred thousand pounds which
just sat in the bank, waiting for him to do something.
    The problem was that he was indecisive and
too careful. His flat was shit and he complained about it, but he
could be living somewhere far nicer. He just hadn't got round to
finding anywhere. And once the money was spent, that was it. He had
no means of getting it back, so why waste it on a chi-chi apartment
when he could be ... doing what?
    What did he really want? He didn't know. Or
did he but he did not want to admit it? His head was full of the
sensual, flickering glances Lex gave him, the double entendres, the
touch of his fingers. The whole exotic mixture had left him hard
and spellbound. In the end, there was only one thing to do.
    Naked, he brushed his fingers against his
erection. He had never, ever, felt that way with Sandy, with
anyone. It shocked him, how hard it was, and how hard it had been
for most of the afternoon.
    He wrapped his fingers around his shaft. He
wouldn't sleep until he had blown a load, that much he did know. As
his fingers glided up and down his meat with practiced ease, he bit
his lip to stop the strangled cry although there was no-one to hear
it. No-one but him to witness the dawning of Rob, the hot, confused
mess of a man, greedily forming flashing images of two naked male
bodies, writhing in ecstasy on a huge bed, satin sheets, the
swordplay, the hungry, grasping hands and biting kisses in the
hollow of his throat, the greedy pulling at his balls, the slippery
joy of warm semen spurting over his chest.
    'Fuck!' He grunted as he came, each pulse
sucking the life out of him. He sank back into the bedclothes, his
thoughts feverish. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
    He tossed and turned for a while, but in the
end, there was only one person he felt he could talk to.
    'Hello?'
    'Geri? It's me.'
    'Yeah?' And then, 'Rob, are you okay? It's
past two in the morning!'
    'I don't know. I'm in real trouble, G.'
    'What's wrong?' She sounded worried. 'Where
are you?'
    'At home.' He could hear Simon in the
background, asking if everything was all right.
    'Yeah, it's fine sweetheart. Go back to
sleep.' Movement and the creak of a closing door.