Short Stack by Lily Morton EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Lily Morton
- Language: English
- Genre: Gay Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
This short story is set after the events in Verbier.
I sit cradling a glass of whisky and staring at the six-foot
painting of tropical flowers on my wall. It’s stunning, and
the artist is incredibly talented, but that still doesn’t explain
why Dylan had been so fascinated with it when he was here.
He’d stared at it constantly with an amused look on his face.
It also doesn’t explain why I’m examining it so intently now
when it’s been on my wall for a couple of years.
I sigh and take a slug of my drink. Actually, the
explanation is obvious. Dylan’s always on my fucking mind
and this picture has some sort of tenuous connection with
him. I rub my fingers into my eyes and enjoy the burn. That
tenuous connection may be all I have left with him after
I still can’t believe what I’ve done. After maintaining my
cool and calm demeanour with him for two whole years, all it
took was two hours in a fucking ski bar to ruin that track
record. Even worse, my much-vaunted self-control around
him has now vanished altogether. It had better come back
quickly, because, since our return, it’s been a struggle to
even be in the same room with him without jumping on him.
To avoid throwing him down on the sofa in my office and
ruining everything, I’d forced myself to offer my help on a
case in another department. The head of the project had been
astounded by my turning up, but had then just shrugged and
bemusedly accepted my assistance.
I shake my head at the
thought of the last few torturous days. I’ve sat in numerous
tedious meetings, attended by windbags who wouldn’t or
couldn’t stop fucking talking, and my only entertainment
came from picturing Dylan’s face if he’d been there taking
notes. That barely concealed humour is actually one of the
highlights of my working day, and so many times I’ve said
things just to see that pen hesitate on the paper, and his
shrewd eyes look at me with their ever-present glint of
I reach out for the bottle of whisky quickly, because now
I’m thinking about his eyes.
Fuck me. Two years of ignoring his snark and sass. Two
long years of curling my fingers into fists to avoid touching
him when he leant close. Two long years of inhaling the
citrus smell of his Tom Ford aftershave, and then having to
pretend to have a cold when he’d given me that what the fuck
look he really should patent. All that control I’d applauded
myself on is now gone, obliterated with just one glance into
his eyes in that bar. I’d sat there feeling his warmth against
me and, seeing the heat in his eyes, and I’d snapped and
reached for him.
I take a slug of my newly replenished whisky and groan
because it won’t help. Nothing stops me from remembering
how his lips felt soft against mine, his breath scented by the
sweet Glühwein. I can’t forget the feel of his broad shoulders
and narrow waist under my hands. Not to mention the thrust
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