The Darkest Hour Page 4

  Eventually the time came when I needed more art supplies. I was even prepared to go and get them myself, and had every intention of doing so until I thought of Oliver. His face was still clear in my mind. The image of his body and that moment by my side gate, still vivid.

  I rang through my order and was told it would be delivered the following day.

  It was an overcast morning. There was the promise of rain. I started painting early, mainly to take my mind off the imminent delivery of my canvases and paint. I’d left a note on the front door telling the delivery man to bring my supplies around the back to my studio.

  He arrived at about ten. It wasn’t Oliver. It was Terry, according to his name badge.

  “Where do you want these?” he asked.

  “Just leave them by the door,” I said. My voice was as flat as I felt. Then I realised there was an opportunity there. “Do you know Oliver?” I asked.

  “Oliver Campbell? Yeah,” Terry said. “You know him?”

  “Sort of,” I replied. “Does he still work for the company?”

  “Sure does,” said Terry. “You want me to say hello?”

  My mind went a mile a minute. Yes? No? Yes? No? “Yes,” I blurted out. “Tell him Daniel Greene says to say hello. Tell him to give me a call sometime.”

  Terry nodded and looked me up and down. “Sure,” he said. “Will do.”

  He turned and left. I watched him through the windows, feeling strangely excited.

  I hope you’re not letting yourself in for heartache.

  Chapter 6

  It was Wednesday. I’d just got back from a quick trip to the shopping centre to buy food and get my prescription filled. I was unpacking my groceries when I heard the doorbell. I stopped what I was doing. I wasn’t expecting anyone. It chimed again and I hurried to the door.

  I could hardly believe my eyes. Oliver. He was in uniform, but empty-handed.

  I’d often read where someone’s heart did a somersault, but I never really knew if that was even possible, or what it would feel like. I did now.

  “Hello,” I said, doing my best to sound as casual as possible. “What a surprise.”

  “I got your message,” he said.

  “My message?”

  “From Terry. He said you said to say hello.”

  I nodded. “Guilty as charged. Come in.”

  “I can’t stay long,” he explained. “Got deliveries to do.”

  He followed me into the kitchen. “Can I get you a coffee?”

  “No,” he said. “I really don’t have a lot of time.”

  I stopped short of reaching for the kettle and turned around. He was barely a metre away from me.

  “You could have called instead,” I said—purely to hear what his reply would be.

  He smiled. “Yes, I could have.” He hitched his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts. “But I was in the area and thought I’d rather see you.”

  I could feel a stirring in my loins.

  “Here I am,” I replied, raising my arms to present myself.

  “Wearing clothes today?”

  He laughed as he said it. His laugh made me laugh.

  “Guilty again,” I said. “Actually, I had to go into town. The police don’t take too kindly to nudity in the supermarket.”

  We laughed some more.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a quick coffee? Or tea?”

  Oliver shook his head. “I really can’t. And I’d better be going, but before I do I’d just like to…” He glanced away. He appeared suddenly agitated. Nervous. “…I’d like to know if you’ll allow me to take you out for dinner on Friday. It’s late notice and you’ve probably got other plans, but I thought I’d ask.”

  I felt a little breathless at the thought of going out for dinner, in public. I was feeling better than I’d felt all year. I just wasn’t ready to go out. I wouldn’t enjoy myself and Oliver would know something was up. I’d forced myself to go to the opening of my exhibition, but that was an exceptional circumstance—an obligation. I hadn’t enjoyed it and had hurried home as soon as Stella said I could.

  I had to think fast. There was no way I was going to pass up an opportunity to be with Oliver. Damn. He was starting to look worried. Say something! Anything!

  “How about I cook dinner?” I said. “I’ll cook some Italian and we’ll have a nice wine. We’ll eat it by candlelight out on the patio beneath the stars.”

  Oliver’s smile became a grin. “Sounds perfect,” he said. “Now that’s settled, I should leave you to get on with your day.”

  He walked back towards the front door. I followed. When he arrived at the door I reached over his shoulder and opened it. He turned, not realising how close I was. Our eyes met. Our lips were inches from each other. I wanted so badly to kiss him. I wondered if I should. I wondered…

  Then Oliver took me by surprise. He leaned in. Our lips came together, briefly.

  “What time?” he whispered.

  I looked at him, uncertain of whether we had actually just kissed.

  “What time?” I repeated, a little confused.

  “Friday,” said Oliver with a devilishly sexy grin. “What time Friday?”

  “Oh,” I said stepping back. “What time do you finish work?”

  “Five.”

  “Six-thirty then?”

  “Perfect.”

  He stepped onto the veranda and I smiled when I noticed him glance at my crotch, seconds after I had glanced at his. Both of us were sporting sizeable bulges, though neither of us made comment. The erections, straining against the fabric of our shorts, said it all.

  He hurried down the path to the front gate and, without turning, closed it behind him. From over the top of the gate I saw him wave then heard a car door slam shut.

  I spun around and went back inside. What a feeling. The thought of Oliver coming over for dinner was a more effective cure for depression than any meds. I was on cloud nine for the next forty-eight hours. I was too excited to paint and since I had no need to, I didn’t. I went around the house, tidying this and dusting that. I did some gardening and sat for long periods of time staring out the window at the rain. Several times I wanted to call Craig or Jackson or Stella to tell them my news, but I daren’t. I didn’t want to jinx it. I didn’t want to tempt fate nor did I want to build something up which hadn’t really started yet.

  * * * *

  I began preparations early. Around mid-afternoon to be exact. I chopped the vegetables and soaked the sheets of pasta. I had decided upon lasagne. It went well with salad and I wanted something light. I cheated with the dessert. I bought the tiramisu from Uncle Giuseppe’s Italian Delicatessen. It was the moistest, most delicious tiramisu I’d ever had. I was also going to make bruschetta and garlic bread. I cheated a little with the garlic bread, too, by buying pre-made garlic butter. I’d attempted to make my own in the past and it had been an unmitigated disaster. I wasn’t going to take any chances.

  At six o’clock I set up the table outside. I put on a nicely starched, white tablecloth, which was dangerous when we were having lasagne. A single white candle and a small vase with three white carnations from my own garden and a frond of maidenhair fern. I used my best silver. Well, it was my only silver and not even mine. I’d borrowed it from my mother two or three years ago for a dinner party and had never returned it. She’d never asked for it back either. I guess I’d inherited it.

  The lasagne was in the oven on low. The table was set. Alcohol-wise I wanted to be prepared since I didn’t know what Oliver drank. The white wine was chilling and the red wine, breathing. Everything else was as prepared as it could be and only needed the finishing touches, closer to the time.

  The last thing left to do was to take care of myself. I showered, deodorised, debated whether to wear cologne—since many men didn’t like it on another man—and decided not to. I put on a navy blue and white striped T-shirt, and a pair of navy trousers. I stepped into my navy blue dockers and gave myself a final inspection
in the mirror.

  In the kitchen, filled with the wonderful smells of food cooking, I poured myself a glass of courage. My lips had barely touched the glass when I heard the doorbell.

  I felt like a teenager about to embark on my first date. I had to take the time to drink at least one mouthful of wine and calm myself down, and so I did. The doorbell chimed again. I hurried to the door and opened it.

  Oliver was standing there looking cock-achingly wonderful. An absolute vision. He wore a white shirt, which looked stark against his deep tan, and pale blue denim jeans. His hair was slicked down and he smelled fresh, as though he’d just stepped from the shower. He was holding a bottle of wine.

  “You shouldn’t have,” I said.

  I stepped aside so he could enter, and he kissed me quickly on the lips on his way past.

  “Oh, this?” he said holding the bottle up. “This is for me. I assumed you’d have your own.”

  He had me laughing right away.

  I led him to the kitchen where I poured us both a white wine.

  “Now,” I said passing him his glass. “The living room or the patio?”

  “It’s not too cold tonight,” he said. “Let’s go outside.”

  It was one of the best things about living in south-western Australia. The winters were mild. A little rain, a lot of grey cloud, but no snow and no impossibly low temperatures. In the past, I’d even managed the odd walk along the beach. Although the sea water in winter was freezing, having come up from Antarctica, the pale light was perfect for taking photos, and the stormy seas often washed the most interesting items up onto the beach.

  We chatted about nothing in particular for a long time. I was impatient to get to the good stuff—the things I knew would come later in the night once we’d settled into each other’s company a bit more.

  I served dinner and was duly complimented.

  “This is the most delicious tiramisu,” said Oliver. “I’d pay you to make some for me.”

  I laughed. “You’d have to pay, all right. Not me, though. Papa Giuseppe.”

  A look of playful shock materialised on Oliver’s face. “Don’t tell me you cheated. And here was I thinking what a wonderful husband you’d make.”

  It was only a light comment. Humorous. I knew that. But the black dog, it seemed, was never far away. I felt a flash of inadequacy. I shouldn’t have told him I’d bought the dessert. I should have made it myself. Hell, he’s going to think I’m useless. He’s going to…

  I noticed Oliver’s smile had slipped.

  “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

  I shook my head and forced a laugh. “Of course, not. I was wondering.”

  “Wondering what?”

  “Wondering whether we should have some more dessert.”

  Oliver laughed so I was pretty sure I’d saved the situation.

  “Why not?”

  I stood up. Oliver stood up with me.

  “You stay here,” I said. “You’re the guest.”

  “No, no,” he said, “I’ll help. You’ve already gone to so much trouble.”

  He followed me into the kitchen. I put the bowls on the counter and turned to get the tiramisu from the fridge.

  “Hang on,” said Oliver, threading his arms around my waist.

  “What?” I said.

  I knew very well what. I could feel his erection pressing against my own. He kissed me on the lips—a long, slow kiss that had my whole body tingling. His arms tightened around my torso, pulling me closer to his body; our cocks pressed harder together so I could almost feel the blood pumping through his organ, filling it so it was thick and hard.

  He planted a little trail of kisses across my cheek to my left ear. His lips lingered there, gently brushing against the sensitive skin and making me shudder. A small moan escaped my lips. I twisted in his powerful arms. I’d been ticklish as a child and I had a hard time trying to supress the urge to burst into laughter. His lips were sweet agony. My arms tightened around his torso. Each time I felt the desire to laugh, I squeezed my arms around him.

  He went from my ear down my neck to my collarbone. My whole body had become ultra-sensitive. He lifted up my T-shirt, exposing my chest and nipples. His lips immediately went to the small nub of dark pink flesh atop my pectoral muscle. He flicked the tip of his tongue back and forth over it until it became just as erect as my cock. He tweaked my other nipple with his fingers.

  I was moaning out loud by then. My arms were pulling him ever closer; my hands gripping him tightly. I wanted him in me, part of me. I wanted him to never stop.

  He went from one nipple to the other, his tongue generating tiny, electric pulses that ricocheted through every cell of my body. Then his lips began their descent, down the grooves of my flat stomach to the waistband of my trousers. I reached down to undo the button and zipper, but his hands gently swept mine away.

  He soon had my trousers open and my underpants down. His lips were kissing the soft fuzz of my trimmed pubic bush, and the skin surrounding it. He moved my erect cock out of the way, teasing me. I knew he was going to take it into his mouth eventually. And how I yearned to feel his soft lips, his firm tongue, and his tight throat on my erection.

  Lifting my cock, he gently licked my ball sack, taking each testicle into his mouth and gently sucking on it before finally his lips kissed the tip of my cock. He began slowly, first with that single kiss, then with small sucks on the very tip of my cock. His lips slid over my engorged cockhead, sucking on it as his tongue moved over and around it. Then he moved his lips slowly along the shaft, swallowing more and more of my erection. Finally, when his nose was pressing into my clipped pubic bush, he held his mouth there before slowly sliding his lips back to the head.

  When his lips slipped back down to the base of the shaft, I knew he meant business. His hands gripped my hips and his mouth began sliding faster and faster up and down the length of my shaft.

  I placed my hands on his head and closed my eyes.

  He certainly knew what he was doing. His neck and jaw muscles must have been phenomenal. He kept up the pace, getting even faster as my cock swelled inside his mouth. It didn’t take long before his efforts were rewarded and when he stood to kiss me, his lips were still slick with my cum.

  “Now where’s that tiramisu?” he asked, patting me playfully on the bottom.

  “I’m surprised you have any room left after that,” I said.

  I bent down to pull my pants up, but Oliver grabbed my arm.

  “Leave them,” he said. “Take them off. And your shirt.”

  I looked at him slightly puzzled.

  “You like being naked. Be naked for me. Let me admire your body.”

  He kissed me again on the lips.

  I was entranced. And something about being naked in front of him while he was still fully clothed turned me on. I removed all my clothing, including my shoes and socks, and stood before him completely bare.

  “Turn around,” he said. “Show me.”

  I did as he asked, turning slowly on the spot so he could admire my body.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said. “Where’s that tiramisu?”

  I cut two more portions of dessert and carried them out to the patio. We took our seats and proceeded to eat. I noticed a slight chill in the air now I was naked. It wasn’t chilly enough to be uncomfortable, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d need something to warm me up.

  Dessert was followed by more wine.

  “Have you got a beach towel or a blanket?” Oliver asked suddenly.

  “You want to go skinny-dipping?” I replied, feeling more than a little inebriated.

  “Nope,” he said. “Have you got a blanket?”

  I was intrigued. Without a word of reply, I got up, almost tripped over the leg of the chair, and went to the spare room for a blanket. When I returned, Oliver was standing beside the small dinner table as naked as I was.

  Details were difficult to see with only the candlelight to see by. I coul
d see enough, though. Naked, he appeared even more powerfully built. His sculpted chest was thick with hair and even by candlelight I could see his pale nipples poking out from the tangle. The hair ran in a thick line down the centre of his belly before fanning out around his large uncut cock and balls. His legs were hairy and his thighs were those of a rugby player.

  “Don’t just stand there,” he said.

  He gestured for me to follow him onto the lawn.

  “Throw it down here,” he said.

  “Your wish is my command,” I said and flung the blanket down.

  “Come here you,” he said, wrapping his arms around me.

  We kissed and then Oliver lowered me to the ground, to the blanket. His warm body felt good next to mine and there were tears in my eyes, but for once they were tears of joy, not of despair. Nevertheless, I was glad he couldn’t see them.

  Our arms and legs became entwined. Our lips stayed pressed together. Our tongues explored. It might have been a late winter evening, but I was sweating. Oliver was sweating. The salty taste of our perspiration masked the salty taste of my tears.

  When he rolled me onto my back, I was ready. I’d been ready long before that moment. He kissed a trail down the length of my torso to my navel then on to my cock. He only gave it a couple of sucks before I felt his hands grab my ankles and lift my legs into the air. I barely had time to steady myself before his mouth was on my anus, licking and sucking at the puckered flesh. I felt him poke the tip of his tongue in and my hands went down to hold his head there, indicating I wanted more, more, more.

  When he entered me with his cock, I knew what heaven was. My entire body became electric. I could feel the thick shaft sliding in, burrowing deeper into me until his pubic mound was pressed hard up against my arse cheeks.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  His voice was tender and caring.

  I lifted my head off the ground and started kissing him. I had one hand on the back of his head holding him to my lips, while the other had reached around as best I could to cup his muscular butt cheek, pulling it towards me and thereby ensuring he was buried as much as he was physically able to be inside me.