Not His Kiss to Take Finn Marlowe Read Online

Not His Kiss to Take

Past Finn Marlowe

Copyright 2012 by Finn Marlowe

Smashwords Edition

Cheers for downloading this costless ebook. Although this is a gratuitous volume, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may non be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this volume, delight encourage your friends to download their ain copy at Smashwords.com. Cheers for your back up

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Whatsoever resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter Ane

Affiliate Ii

Affiliate 3

Affiliate 4

Affiliate FIVE

Affiliate SIX

Affiliate SEVEN

Affiliate EIGHT

CHAPTER 9

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Affiliate Xv

CHAPTER Sixteen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Chapter Xviii

CHAPTER Xix

Chapter TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Nearly THE AUTHOR

***~~~***

Dedication

For Moderatrix Lori

of the Goodreads M/K Romance Group

in appreciation of her time and dedication

to the group and to all GLBTQ youth

and based on her story prompt

***~~~***

Affiliate I

What a waste.

Four years of pre-med. 'Crusade you only had to get for the double major, didn't you? Ane just wasn't good enough, was it? Then all those challenging years of medical school. Remember that B minus you lot got in Calculus? Boy, didn't that simply sully your perfect record. Remember how disappointed you were? Similar any of that matters now. A couple more than years doing residency, and so another year spent learning the ropes in Emerg. And no sleep. Remember how you used to daydream about sleeping more than doing some hot, young guy six ways from Sunday?

Now it seemed all he did was sleep.
Because when you're not pain, you have naught else to do anyway.

More time wasted.

Could a doctor without whatever patients even a call himself dr. anymore?

But it'southward all I ever wanted to be. And now I'thou nix.

Technically, he still was a doc and normally didn't cry in his beer, lamenting the things he wasn't. Simply—everyone had a bad day now and then. Besides, they hadn't taken abroad his license. He'd voluntarily given information technology up. The meds he'd been on had been prescription, so no one blamed him. But after what happened, what could've ended upwardly being worse and thankfully wasn't, it seemed pretty much decided past the lath that he should just hang up his stethoscope and become on extended medical leave. Not that he'd argued.

Do no harm.

Good words for a doctor to live by. He believed in the oaths he'd sworn and harbored no resentment. Mostly.

Felled in his prime past a stupid headache. Who could possibly plan for a contingency like that? Possibly there was a bitter irony in there somewhere, and he simply couldn't to run into it. Cursed with a migraine that never left, the ebb and menstruum of throb and reprieve a nighttime tide rocking with a rhythm nobody'd yet figured out. This evening the ache followed the neap tide, no desperate swells, smooth sailing. For the first time in a long time, he chanced going out for a beer. He picked at a corner of the label, then took another beverage before he made it all warm and icky, mauling the bottle.

His favorite place was quiet this evening, likely on account of the phenomenally shitty weather. Spokane in late winter meant snowfall verging on pelting, every road slushy and slippery, and tonight she was at her slipperiest. Since he'd walked the few blocks here—driving at dark could bring on a level-ten thumper with no alert, all those flashing lights and red and yellow and green flickering like a pulse—he didn't take to risk driving the dangerous streets. Amazing how he'd had to stop only once on the mode to help a pack of teens push their motorcar out of the snow bank on the median. Road conditions, like the walking conditions, were brutal.

Sucked as far as people-watching went likewise. Nobody tried to choice him upwardly, and he was glad. This wasn't a gay bar, and he had no involvement in women sexually, although they seemed to like him well enough. Truth be told, Dr. Evan Harrison liked guys. That fact was why he no longer had a meaningful relationship with his parents, aside from the obligatory card on his altogether and invites to events they knew he'd never accept. Lord, the embarrassment of having a gay son. Evan suspected they'd die from onetime age and he'd even so be waiting for them to get over information technology.

No, Evan virtually definitely preferred his ain gender and no longer cared who knew it. Finally coming out in all aspects of his life—work, specifically—hadn't eased the migraines, something his physician had hoped, thinking 1 less worry might help. Evan hadn't expected it to be so liberating. He felt free.

And lone.

Oh yeah, alone. And horny. Possibly he shouldn't be and then picky. Older men didn't practice it for him, though. Why deny information technology? Sleek immature bodies and sweet smiles were what did, that indefinable combination that made his heart race and his dick hum. Equally long as they were legal, considering, showtime before all things, he believed in
do no damage.
No, what he liked—
hi
—just walked in the door.

So pretty. Oh sugariness Jesus.

And so very blond. Evan set the beer down and then he could admire his every fantasy come to life without spilling his beverage all over the table. Fatty snowflakes, at present speedily melting, clung to the boy's stake hair, creating a glittering halo. They stuck to his lashes likewise, and the earthbound angel wiped them abroad with his sleeve. His cheeks were flushed red from the cold in a way only a true blond'due south skin could flush. Absolutely breathtaking, all things considered.

Unfortunately, the angel plain expected to see someone. He scanned the room, checked every berth and table. Evan sincerely hoped he wouldn't be joining that table of loud-mouthed assholes everyone in the bar had been trying to ignore for the past hour. They hadn't been quite and so insufferable earlier, merely now they were getting drunkard, zooming past obnoxious and heading straight for hell-raising. Pretty male child chewed his lesser lip, so luscious and full Evan's dick considered that oral fissure a jerk-off dream in the making. And his lips were chapped. They still made cherry-red-flavored balm for that, didn't they?

Evan immune himself to stare. Why not? The bar was dim and shadowy and no one would find. That was why he came hither; he could nevertheless get out, well-nigh socialize and experience role of the globe over again without triggering any episodes. The boy, okay, the
homo
, because he looked to exist out of his teens—but barely—wasn't dressed properly for the stormy weather condition.

His sneakers left wet globs of melting snow everywhere he stepped and his baggy jeans were soaked to the knees. Dank. At least nether the tattered jean jacket, he wore both a hoodie and a T-shirt. He probably wouldn't take hold of his death from the cold, just from slipping in forepart of an out-of-command taxi in those worn-out Nikes of his. Evan smiled to himself.

I'd be happy to warm you up, luscious boy. C'mere, cute. Come closer where I can become a better await at you.

As if he knew he was existence thought nearly, sort of similar that prickle of warning Evan sometimes got when people stared at him, the pretty angel—God knew twink didn't do him justice—glanced his mode. The light from the neon beer sign side by side to his head shimmered across his damp hair, replacing the snowflake halo with a vivid rainbow i. His optics appeared night in the low low-cal, just really, what colour other than blue would match that hair? Corn silk and summer skies but went together.

Under the table, hidden from view, Evan'southward dick pulsed in appreciation. Such an enjoyable sensation, that rush of heat, fifty-fifty if Evan knew aught would come up of it. Information technology was simply a blithesome reminder he was still live.

The boy gave him a cursory once-over.
Definitely straight.
What a waste.

One of the obnoxious assholes at the noisy table said something rude, Evan didn't hear much beyond the words
fucking faggot
, and the boy turned his head toward them and scowled. Fifty-fifty when scowling, he looked good enough to consume, preferably stark naked and stretched out on meridian of Evan'southward dining room table. Sliding out of his jacket in a hasty, awkward fashion, the young human worked his way to a tabular array far removed from the asshole partiers and slouched down, dejected. Conspicuously he'd expected a pretty girl to be there waiting for him.

Who'd stand upward someone who looked like that? Not that Evan had any experience on getting stood up. He was good-looking; modesty was never his strong suit, and, let's face up it—he was a physician. Or a sort-of dr., a has-been junkie dr. with no patients, but still a fucking doc, and he never got stood up. And even before the doctor credentials had come up along, he'd been rolling in trust money. So, like the boy, he could get laid anytime he wanted.

It was only that empty, nameless hookups had lost their appeal long before the headaches even started.
More.
At present he wanted more. Wanted someone to see the man inside.

The child was either legal or had excellent imitation ID. Laurie, Evan's favorite waitress, brought the blond a drink that looked similar plain soda. He fiddled with the harbinger for a few icy twirls before consulting his iPhone. Aye, stood upward. Probably on count of the storm, considering,
come on
, the kid was a treat for the optics.

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