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Read Online Stockholm Syndrome [01] - Stockholm Syndrome by Richard Rider - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Rider
Tags: Romance, Contemporary
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breathe, I'm going out my mind." Surely he's got to know what he's doing.
Nobody else in the world seems to make sucking ice lollies a demonstration of blowjob techniques every single time . If it is on purpose, he's doing a pretty good job of acting innocent. He's not even looking at Lindsay, he's completely engrossed in his ice, now snapping bits off all the way down the plastic wrapper and tipping it up to let them slide and melt in his mouth, one by one. "Best get more of these next time you're shopping, we're running out. Or – no, get Fabs.
Do they still make Fabs? Them red and white ones with chocolate and bits on?
They were wicked. Or, you remember that swirly one, what's it called? Zoom or something? No, ZAP. Zaps were stellar, do they still make Zaps? Or the twirly twisty one, the pineapple helter-skelter one." He tips the last of the melted blue e-numbers into his mouth and leans across to chuck the wrapper onto the coffee table, and immediately gets stuck into the next one. There's only a thin stick of ice now, bobbing around in the unnatural chemical-red where it's melted from his body heat. Of course he spills it on himself when he bites the wrapper open, laughing and swearing and drinking down what's left so he doesn't make any more mess before lifting his hand up to his stained mouth and chasing a long drip with his tongue, from his knuckles right down to as close as he can get to his elbow.
Lindsay only stops staring when he accidentally catches the kid's eye.
His mouth feels very dry. He downs his water quickly and keeps an ice cube in
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S T O C K H O L M S Y N D R O M E
his mouth, something to concentrate on instead of Valentine while he tries to remember where he'd got to on his page. Words don't seem to make much sense any more.
"I think you should stop reading," the kid says, slow and smirking like he knows. Lindsay frowns and keeps his eyes on the page, but that only makes Valentine come over and steal his book, closing it with a bang and dropping it down on the carpet next to the empty glass.
"What are you doing?"
"You, I hope." The armchair's big enough for two people, as long as one of the people is on top of the other. They found this out a couple of days ago.
Clearly Valentine hasn't forgotten. He's still half-smiling as he settles in place on Lindsay's lap, straddling him halfway up his thighs but not moving closer yet, only touching his fingers gently to the open collar of his shirt, down to the first button.
"Please don't touch me, it's too hot. Let me read."
" No ." He slips the button through, and the one below that, and leans to put a kiss on Lindsay's chest, just where his collarbones meet. "I ain't allowed to leave the house. It's your job to entertain me."
"You can leave the house, you can go home and get out of my life."
"Don't want to." He's working the buttons slowly, fingertips dragging in the sweat as he moves them down. "I wanna stay with you. I wanna be in your gang, I can work. I'll be your driver. I can be your mistress," he adds, quiet and dragging the word out to a teasing hissing whisper. "Like we agreed."
He's got a great knack for twisting words to mean whatever he wants them to. "I don't remember any agreement."
"Shall I refresh your memory?"
That's it, he's gone. "If you must," he mutters, trying to sound grudging.
Valentine just beams him a massive smile and pulls down the zip on Lindsay's trousers. He's starting to get hard already and the first touch of the kid's fingers, 63
C H A P T E R 5
still cool from his ice, is like an electric shock. His mouth's cool, too, and sweet and sticky, tasting like factory-faked strawberry when Lindsay reaches up to pull him closer for a kiss that doesn't seem to want to end. They even manage to struggle each other out of their shirts with barely a break, and Lindsay's glasses, then Valentine's pressing closer, kissing harder, winding an arm around Lindsay's neck and clinging , and everything's so sticky and
Nobody else in the world seems to make sucking ice lollies a demonstration of blowjob techniques every single time . If it is on purpose, he's doing a pretty good job of acting innocent. He's not even looking at Lindsay, he's completely engrossed in his ice, now snapping bits off all the way down the plastic wrapper and tipping it up to let them slide and melt in his mouth, one by one. "Best get more of these next time you're shopping, we're running out. Or – no, get Fabs.
Do they still make Fabs? Them red and white ones with chocolate and bits on?
They were wicked. Or, you remember that swirly one, what's it called? Zoom or something? No, ZAP. Zaps were stellar, do they still make Zaps? Or the twirly twisty one, the pineapple helter-skelter one." He tips the last of the melted blue e-numbers into his mouth and leans across to chuck the wrapper onto the coffee table, and immediately gets stuck into the next one. There's only a thin stick of ice now, bobbing around in the unnatural chemical-red where it's melted from his body heat. Of course he spills it on himself when he bites the wrapper open, laughing and swearing and drinking down what's left so he doesn't make any more mess before lifting his hand up to his stained mouth and chasing a long drip with his tongue, from his knuckles right down to as close as he can get to his elbow.
Lindsay only stops staring when he accidentally catches the kid's eye.
His mouth feels very dry. He downs his water quickly and keeps an ice cube in
62
S T O C K H O L M S Y N D R O M E
his mouth, something to concentrate on instead of Valentine while he tries to remember where he'd got to on his page. Words don't seem to make much sense any more.
"I think you should stop reading," the kid says, slow and smirking like he knows. Lindsay frowns and keeps his eyes on the page, but that only makes Valentine come over and steal his book, closing it with a bang and dropping it down on the carpet next to the empty glass.
"What are you doing?"
"You, I hope." The armchair's big enough for two people, as long as one of the people is on top of the other. They found this out a couple of days ago.
Clearly Valentine hasn't forgotten. He's still half-smiling as he settles in place on Lindsay's lap, straddling him halfway up his thighs but not moving closer yet, only touching his fingers gently to the open collar of his shirt, down to the first button.
"Please don't touch me, it's too hot. Let me read."
" No ." He slips the button through, and the one below that, and leans to put a kiss on Lindsay's chest, just where his collarbones meet. "I ain't allowed to leave the house. It's your job to entertain me."
"You can leave the house, you can go home and get out of my life."
"Don't want to." He's working the buttons slowly, fingertips dragging in the sweat as he moves them down. "I wanna stay with you. I wanna be in your gang, I can work. I'll be your driver. I can be your mistress," he adds, quiet and dragging the word out to a teasing hissing whisper. "Like we agreed."
He's got a great knack for twisting words to mean whatever he wants them to. "I don't remember any agreement."
"Shall I refresh your memory?"
That's it, he's gone. "If you must," he mutters, trying to sound grudging.
Valentine just beams him a massive smile and pulls down the zip on Lindsay's trousers. He's starting to get hard already and the first touch of the kid's fingers, 63
C H A P T E R 5
still cool from his ice, is like an electric shock. His mouth's cool, too, and sweet and sticky, tasting like factory-faked strawberry when Lindsay reaches up to pull him closer for a kiss that doesn't seem to want to end. They even manage to struggle each other out of their shirts with barely a break, and Lindsay's glasses, then Valentine's pressing closer, kissing harder, winding an arm around Lindsay's neck and clinging , and everything's so sticky and
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