The Missing Ingredient Page 14

  “My job,” said Marcus, slowly rolling them down Tom’s large hairy thighs, until Tom’s cock bounced out, fully engorged and ready for action.

  Sitting on the side of the bed with Tom standing in front of him, Marcus took Tom in his mouth, wrapping a hand around the girth. In the short time they had been together, Marcus had learned a lot about Tom, what he enjoyed in bed and what really got his motor running. Above him, Tom’s breathing became raspy and—yes—when Marcus moved his hand up to Tom’s chest, his nipple was already as stiff as a metal bolt. After sucking both balls into his mouth and pumping the girth a couple of times, Marcus knew Tom would soon take the lead.

  Today Marcus sensed an urgency in Tom, a hunger for gratification. Because of their short bursts of time together, this had become something mutual, but even so, Tom was not a selfish lover; he always made sure that Marcus came with him all the way. But today Marcus shared Tom’s need. Until Tom did something completely unexpected. Taking Marcus under the arms and lifting him back onto the bed, he climbed on top and straddled Marcus.

  “Tom, what are you doing?” said Marcus.

  “I want this. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. Sometimes I lie awake at night, use some lube, and put my fingers in there, wondering just how you’d feel inside me. Why? Don’t you want to?”

  “Fuck, yes. Of course I want to. I just need to know you’re comfortable doing it.”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Tom went quiet then, and Marcus glanced up into his lustful gaze. Before the man changed his mind, Marcus grabbed a condom, ripped open the foil, and rolled the latex onto himself. Above him, Tom prepared himself with generous amounts of lube. This was going to happen, Marcus told himself.

  “Come on, then,” said Marcus. “You’re in charge. Take your time.”

  Tom lowered himself onto Marcus, far quicker and surer than Marcus would have believed. Sweat glistened on his brow, but eventually he felt himself fully inside Tom, with Tom’s still-erect cock resting on his stomach. With that, Tom leaned forward, placed his large hands on either side of Marcus’s head, and kissed him leisurely.

  “Tom,” said Marcus after a few moments, “you need to start moving.”

  Tom complied immediately, after a while bouncing up and down on Marcus, each time his huge member slapping Marcus on the stomach. Eventually Marcus could hold on no longer and cried out Tom’s name as he shot into the condom.

  When they lay next to each other, both panting, Marcus swung his head to examine Tom.

  “And?” he asked.

  “Interesting,” said Tom, who had not climaxed. “Might take a bit of getting used to. Maybe preparing myself better beforehand.”

  “Let’s save that for an overnighter. I can help out there.”

  “Yes?” said Tom, his eyes lighting.

  “Fuck yeah,” said Marcus, chuckling. “I would be honored.”

  “In the meantime,” said Tom, reaching out for a condom, “any chance of a fuck?”

  Since that first time, Marcus had eagerly looked forward to being fucked by Tom. Something had happened that he’d never experienced before, like trying a type of cuisine you’d never considered before but which now gave you an insatiable appetite. Marcus also let Tom lube him up, loved watching Tom’s eagerness.

  Before long they rocked into their comfortable rhythm until Tom’s pumping motion sped up, becoming more erratic. In Marcus, the electricity built, growing stronger until release overcame him. Orgasms with Tom inside him were so incredibly intense. Next time he had the chance to fuck Tom, he needed make the experience better.

  For the next half hour, they lay holding each other, spent. Strange, too, because Marcus had never been a cuddler. Usually after sex, he’d be the first one out of the door. In small ways, Tom was changing him. Intimacy was becoming his friend.

  The one to notice the late time, Tom roused them both. Marcus sighed at the inequality of their short time together. But this session had been a first, Tom giving himself to Marcus. Marcus needed to reciprocate, to give something in return.

  Tom sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his trousers. For some reason Marcus felt an overwhelming apprehension, but he knew he had to finally tell Tom what he knew about Damian Stone.

  “Tom,” said Marcus.

  Marcus had only uttered that one word, but Tom must have sensed Marcus’s seriousness, because he stopped what he was doing and turned his way.

  “Do you remember that policeman friend of mine? From the water park.”

  Tom said nothing, but his gaze became dark. Whatever he was thinking was probably way off the mark, but Marcus had to keep going now.

  “Well, I asked him to do me a favor and try to find out about Damian Stone.”

  “And?”

  “And we found out where he lived. I went there with him to see if we could find anything out. Turns out Damian Stone did go to the same yoga class as Raine. He was also in a committed relationship with another man.”

  That remark managed to get Tom’s full attention. “He was gay?”

  “Yup. We spoke to his partner. Damian Stone also moonlighted, a bit of catering on the side. The reason why Raine was in his car that day—at least this is what I assume from everything else I know—is that they were heading down to Chipping Norton to check out a venue for a party.”

  Tom was staring at the wall now. “Whose party?”

  “That’s the thing. I still have no idea. The woman at the venue said Raine was arranging a seventieth birthday party, but I don’t know anyone—”

  Tom had dropped his head into his hands, and Marcus could see his shoulders shaking and hear a soft sobbing. Marcus got up immediately and went to him, put his arm around his shoulders. “Tom?”

  “All this time” came Tom’s muffled voice.

  “I know. But you didn’t have all the information.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “Not long. A couple of months. But I didn’t have all the facts. I’ve still no idea who the party was for. Not John or Moira, that’s clear.”

  “You seriously don’t know?”

  Marcus shook his head and then looked curiously at Tom. “No. Do you?”

  “Pretty bloody obvious. The answer’s here in this room. The year she died, you were about to turn thirty and—”

  “You were turning forty. Shit. You mean the surprise party was for the two of us?”

  “And all this time I’ve had a nagging doubt that maybe, just maybe, she’d betrayed me. When right now, it feels like it’s the other way around.”

  “Don’t say that, Tom.”

  “I asked you to leave this alone, Marcus. I told you I didn’t want to know.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry.”

  They spent their final evening in New York together at an Italian restaurant with the Flynns and then, after promising to keep in touch, headed back to the apartment. Although Tom remained friendly and civil around the Flynns, he became quiet in Marcus’s company.

  Even on the flight home the next morning, Tom remained sad and sullen. Despite the success of the New York opening, Tom’s reaction to Marcus’s admission had tarnished Marcus’s jubilation. Should he have kept quiet? Not said anything? But the answer to that was clear. He had a duty to his late best friend and to Tom to set the record straight, even if that meant losing everything he had only recently gained.

  Chapter Fifteen

  AFTER his admission about Damian Stone, Marcus had thought Tom would disappear into his shell the way he usually did—stop seeing Marcus altogether. What actually happened couldn’t have been more different.

  During the following month, Tom sought desperately to find time slots for them to be together for sex—and the session heat ramped up to molten levels. But something in Tom had changed. He brought a fierceness to their brief encounters, and sometimes the detached passion unsettled Marcus. Not at the time, because Tom still made every effort to make sure he brought Marcus with him all the wa
y. Neither did he offer to bottom again—not that Marcus minded that. Later, however, in quiet moments, Marcus realized they barely spoke during their lovemaking sessions. And whenever Marcus did, usually asking if everything was okay as they both quickly dressed to be elsewhere, Tom would placate him with a curt “Stop worrying. Everything’s fine.”

  But other things—barely noticeable at first—had begun to happen. Even though they were having more short-notice encounters, there were no overnight sessions. Tom cited his need to keep his parents from suspecting anything. He’d also canceled once or twice at the last minute due to sudden work engagements—always something that did not form part of the careful household schedule they all followed meticulously. In Tom’s defense, his company had been inundated with work—Moira kept Marcus regularly apprised—and they were struggling to meet the deadline on one of the jobs.

  Life had a habit of becoming busy when you least expected. Marcus knew that only too well. And while Marcus’s restaurants on either side of the Atlantic had reached a nice, manageable stride, giving Marcus more time to get involved in other things—approving the final draft of the recipe book Tina had asked him to create with the ghostwriter, final arrangements for the Birmingham opening—Tom’s business had taken on a little too much.

  One Thursday, Marcus picked the girls up from school and dropped them off at Moira’s because Tom had a work meeting to attend, and she was busy preparing tea for them all. Moira insisted Marcus stay for a cup of tea and a chat. She always had a subtext for any invitation of this nature, and around seven, just as Tom joined them, the truth surfaced.

  “Now Marcus, dear. We’re having a private dinner to celebrate our fiftieth wedding anniversary. Nothing fancy, about twenty of us—close friends and relatives. I know you’d probably want us to come to one of your restaurants, but we don’t want all the palaver of arranging transport to come uptown. So we’re going to Fettuccini on the high street. It’s one of John’s local favorites. They have a private dining room with easy wheelchair access. So I wondered if you’d like to come and if you’d want to bring anyone. Maybe Lincoln, if he’s available?”

  Marcus glanced at Tom then, whose gaze dropped uncomfortably to the floor. Moira noticed the exchange.

  “You can come alone, if you wish. Tom’s bringing someone.”

  “I see,” said Marcus, folding his arms, a sudden anxious feeling in his gut. But he vowed not to show his feelings in front of Tom. “Thank you for the invite, Mrs. B. Yes, I’d be delighted to come. But it’ll just be me.”

  ONE of the downsides of being a celebrated chef was that you also innately became a harsh critic of other people’s food. Good value was about the best he could come up with after sampling some of the soggy lasagna, overcooked pasta, and bland, uninspiring sauces on the sharing platters at Fettuccini. When the chef came out to say hello—someone had probably let on that Marcus Vine was in the house—Marcus made pleasant comments about the fare to the jolly Welshman who ran the kitchen.

  But John and Moira appeared to enjoy the simple food, and after all, this was their special day. As an anniversary gift, Marcus had bought them tickets to see a show in the local theater, one that Moira had mentioned a couple of times to Katie. All in all, the evening went well, apart from the fact that Tom brought along Jeanette, the woman he had dated before choosing Marcus. Marcus liked her because she spoke her mind and came across as capable. What rattled him was that Tom hadn’t mentioned anything to him.

  Toward the end of the evening, once most of the guests departed, the five remaining shuffled down to one end of the long table, where John held court in his wheelchair. On the opposite side of the table from Marcus sat Jeanette, with Tom to her left, while Moira sat next to Marcus.

  Every now and again, Marcus caught Tom’s eye, the two of them sharing a moment of levity at a remark made by one of the guests. With a few drinks inside him, Tom seemed more like his old self. When Tom excused himself to use the bathroom, Marcus allowed conversations to bubble around him while he sat back and checked his phone. A message from Tina caught his eye, to call him about a few nonurgent matters they needed to get sorted. She had also sent him the article by Kitter that would be appearing in the Observer tomorrow, which he flicked through quickly. Beautifully written, of course, but more importantly, essentially positive. Knowing he was out that night, Tina had purposely not called. Not difficult to guess what the message was about: a few more interviews, a few more signings, maybe an update on Birmingham. After popping the phone away, he decided to call her the minute he got home. Get business out of the way in case Tom’s promise of getting away for an hour or two to pay him a late-night visit materialized.

  “Tom seems much happier these days. Did you have anything to do with that?” said John, peering down the table. Having taken a mouthful of water, Marcus lowered the glass from his mouth and was about to reply when Jeanette beat him to the punchline.

  “You know, I’d like to think so,” she said, tilting her head as she dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin. Marcus almost choked on his water. “We had a bit of a rocky start. Both needed time to breathe, I suppose. But yes, I’ve been out with him a couple of times recently.”

  “Have you?” said Marcus, unable to stop the words tumbling out. Why had Katie or Charlotte not mentioned that? Or did they even know? More importantly, why hadn’t Tom?

  “Just tagging along, really. Drinks down the pub with his football friends. And dinner with his work colleagues and their other halves when Tom needed someone on his arm.”

  Marcus stayed his tongue this time. But unwelcome thoughts began to seep into his head. Was she really only acting as a companion to his formal events? Or was there more?

  “Been trying to persuade him to take a weekend break with his girls and my son, James. They’re around the same age. If only I could get him to take some time off. He works so hard. Almost missed Katie’s parent-teacher evening.”

  Perfect timing: the man in question returned to his seat at that moment.

  “You took Jeanette to Katie’s open evening?” asked Moira, surprised, preempting Marcus, who had been about to ask the same thing. “You never said anything.”

  Taking his seat, Tom simply shrugged but offered no explanation.

  “Oh, I didn’t mind,” said Jeanette after a quick glance at Tom, clearly sensing she had stumbled upon something contentious. “James is in the year below Katie, so we did each other a favor, really. Anyway, the teacher we saw—Miss Stewart—seemed to be really impressed with Katie.”

  “I thought Colbert was Katie’s homeroom teacher?” asked Marcus, glaring at Tom. “Doesn’t Stewart only take her for numbers? Why didn’t you—”

  “Colbert was sick,” interrupted Tom, returning Marcus’s fierce gaze.

  “Then why not reschedule?” asked Marcus softly, but Jeanette had already continued on, the poor woman floundering in the wake of Tom’s reticence.

  “She had nothing but good things to say. A super bright girl, she called her. Said she’d always been good at reading and writing but had struggled with basic arithmetic. And then mentioned how much she had improved over the past term.”

  Yes, thought Marcus, thanks to my hours of tutoring and perseverance. Even a cursory glance told him that Tom could read his bubbling anger.

  “And now you’re considering a weekend break with Jeanette and James, I hear?” Marcus said, directly to Tom.

  “Nothing’s decided yet,” said Tom, glaring back at Marcus. “Depends on a whole lot of things. Work, timing, school holidays.”

  “Sounds lovely,” said Moira.

  Yes, thought Marcus. One big happy family.

  When poor Jeanette began to backtrack, Marcus let his head fall forward, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a huge breath. Nausea caught in his stomach. Abruptly pushing his chair back from the table, he stood and addressed Tom’s mother and father, interrupting Jeanette. “Moira, John. Thank you very much for this evening. Would love to stay longer, bu
t I need to rush off to deal with an urgent issue.”

  Under his breath, he muttered, “Get my head examined.”

  After bidding a general but cursory farewell to everyone—while ignoring eye contact with Tom—Marcus headed out of the restaurant. When he was barely twenty paces along the road, a hand grabbed him by the forearm and spun him around.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” hissed Tom.

  “You,” cried Marcus, yanking Tom’s hand away. Anger bristled inside him, and the raw fury stopped Tom in his tracks. “You’re what’s wrong with me. Not only are you keeping me out of the loop on things, you’ve turned me into your dirty little secret. And do you know what’s fucking ironic? You’re using me for sex and poor clueless Jeanette for respectability. Parading her in front of colleagues, relatives, and teachers because you’re too ashamed to have another man by your side. Because of what people might think.”

  “It’s not like that. She’s just helping out.”

  “Are you fucking her?”

  “No! There’s only you. I told you, we’re simply helping each other out. I—I’m doing my best to get things back on an even keel, back to normal.”

  “Is that what you want? Normal?”

  “For the girls’ sake, yes. What’s so wrong with that?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with that. It’s just…. Where do I fit into your normal?”

  The two men stared at each other. Marcus’s vision had blurred. Tom had no answer for that, and finally Marcus stepped away from him.

  “Just as I thought,” he said and then let out a deep sigh before calming his voice. “You know, I think it’s my turn now. To tell you to back off. Give me a chance to find someone who respects me, who can not only be brave enough to stand next to me but also to stand up for me. I’m calling a time-out.”