Spice and Smoke Read Free Page B

women. Too many cases of straight guys looking to experiment. It’s not my scene. Samjhe? Understand?”
    “I don’t need to experiment, yaar . The theory has been proven. Airtight.”
    When Michael still looked unconvinced, Avi gave in to the impulse that had been eating at him all evening. He hooked his fingers in the belt loops of Michael’s jeans and pulled him into a kiss. Michael held still, letting him do all the work. His mouth was curved into a smug smile that Avi had to tease open, and he growled in frustration and warning. A sip of the gin on Michael’s tongue wasn’t enough. He wanted to be drunk on him, pounding back the shots. But when Michael at last kissed him back, it was painstakingly gentle and slow, the very opposite of how Trish always met and matched his aggression. Michael threaded his fingers through Avi’s hair, cradling the back of his head. His kisses were anything but the burn of liquor. No, they were sweet bites of dessert that left Avinash’s pulse racing with an automatic sugar high. Michael sucked teasingly at his lower lip, fighting Avi’s assault with tenderness.
    He hadn’t been kissed like this in a long time. Like it was the point and not the prelude. When Michael pulled away to tame his uneven breaths, Avi surprised himself by following the motion of his body, fisting his hands in his shirt. Because his knees felt like mango chutney, and he wasn’t sure the wall would hold him up. Michael chuckled, leaning his forehead against Avi’s. “I don’t like to share,” he repeated quietly. “Not even for what would, no doubt, be a sodding amazing fuck.”
    Michael slid his cigarette out from behind his ear, snaking Avi’s matches from his jacket pocket. He lit the tip, inhaled deeply…and then left Avinash standing alone in a cloud of smoke.
    “Fuck,” he muttered, chasing it with a hail of other words just as descriptive and frustrated. What was so complicated about a little fun between the sheets? What did Michael Gill want from him? A public declaration of his naughty homosexual intentions? A bloody floor show? Well, Avi couldn’t give him that. He could only dream of it…
    The scenario: 2008’s Dostana . The crowd cheers for the two men to kiss to prove their sincerity. They stare at each other, bewildered, not sure if they can make that kind of statement in front of so many eyes.
    Avi knows the burden of proof is on him. It is time to put up or shut up. He leans forward slowly, uncomfortably aware of the bright stage lights and all the eyes cataloguing his every move. Michael watches him, expectant but guarded, as if he knows he might jerk away at the last second and declare that he can’t do it. Perhaps that doubt is why Avinash winds his fingers in Michael’s long hair so there is something to hold on to, a rope tethering him to the only thing that really matters: not everyone out there but this man in front of him. He doesn’t jerk away, no; instead he attacks Michael’s sensual mouth in a bruising kiss. Almost awkward in its intensity, in its purpose. Saying, “You’re mine, and I don’t care who knows.”
    The cheering fades into a dull buzzing. Everything melts away except the feel of Michael flush against him and their painfully blatant erections straining against the zippers of their jeans. Begging for more than just the friction of denim.
    Avi could take Michael in his hand right now, make him come apart. Or he could sink to the floor with him, spread himself beneath him, choking back groans and swears against the fleshy center of his palm as Michael slides inside him. That’s how goddamn sincere he is. That’s the kind of statement he’s willing to make. Michael Gill is the only one he wants. Michael Gill will fill all the empty spaces in his soul just like he’s filling his body. To Hell with anyone else.

Chapter Four
    Joshi had narrated the story to him over coffee at the Oberoi. “It’s going to be beautiful, Harsh. Promise!” he’d gushed,