The Divorce (Starting Over Book 1) Read online

  “Not a literal repeat offender, I hope,” Suze said snottily, then seized Aled’s elbow. “You know what we need to do? Lose this dead weight and go clubbing again.”

  “Thirty-three, Suze. Not twenty-three.”

  “Thirty-three and doing good!”

  “Thirty-three and getting fat,” Aled corrected. “If I get my top off in a club like I did at your twenty-first, people’ll be sick.”

  “With jealousy that you’re not interested in them!” Suze sang, as Tom pushed the phone across the table.

  “There. Start hunting.”

  Aled rolled his eyes and tentatively flicked through the offerings. Of which there were a lot. Seemed like West Yorkshire was a hive of guys who liked a bit of dick in their lives. But it was a bit depressing, too. Profile after profile detailing sexual positions, measurements, deciding that kinky meant the odd plug and a bit of whipped cream—Aled wanted to laugh. These people weren’t kinky. They were just young, horny and thought vanilla meant the missionary position through a hole in the sheets. What the hell was he supposed to say to any of them? Do with any of them? They’d look at him and just see a thirty-three-year-old ginger shortarse with glasses, and assume he was as harmless and boring as he looked.

  The phone buzzed, Daz’s name flashing up along with the first four words of a message, and Aled pushed it back to Tom with an outstretched finger. “Text for you.”

  Tom buried himself in some frantic texting and Aled sat back, nursing his pint and scowling at it. Maybe he needed to get back into the scene. Or into it in the first place—he and Melissa had never really been into the actual BDSM scene. They’d more or less figured out what they liked on their own, but if Aled could…well, borrow someone for a bit, maybe, scout out a few other dominant types in the area and make use of a couple of their subs, perhaps.

  “Oh, fuck me,” Tom said and whistled. “Mate, I’d go gay for this one.”

  He pushed the phone back to Aled and a face stared up at him. Some summer snap, just a casual photo, sunglasses propped up on ink-black hair and even darker eyes almost smirking up at him. But it was the smile that got Aled’s attention—perfect lips, flushed like he’d been giving head not five minutes before the picture was taken. He was shockingly attractive, so good-looking that Aled suspected it might be faked, or a photo of some random model, but—

  God, that mouth.

  His cock stirred, for the first time in a year, and Aled swallowed.

  “Nice, right?” Tom said, grinning.

  “Nice,” Aled agreed, “but he’s hardly going to want to go for someone like me.”

  “Daz is an ugly fucker and he banged him four times. Says he’s sex mad. Just tell him you’ll fuck his brains out and he’ll probably pop right down here and join us,” Tom said, grinning broadly.

  angel23.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Dunno, Daz didn’t say. Says he’s hot as fuck and a great shag, though. Leeds lad. Message him!”

  Aled scanned the description. It wasn’t much unlike the others—he bottomed, he wasn’t interested in relationships, he—

  What the—

  I’m trans. Got a V and an A. Feel free to try either, or both if you’re that good ;)

  “He’s trans,” Aled said.

  “You what?” Suze said, leaning over to look.

  “He’s transgender.”

  “What, he wants to be a girl?”

  “Other way around,” Aled said.

  “Huh, maybe I wouldn’t have to go gay for him…” Tom said thoughtfully and Suze smacked him. “Ow! What?”

  “You’re being an arse,” she said loftily.

  Aled hesitated, then opened a message tab. Why not? He’d done men and women. angel23 couldn’t have anything Aled hadn’t seen before and he was fucking gorgeous, whatever he was packing. And that mouth would definitely help rattle Aled right out of this rut.

  I’m that good, he sent. Want to let me prove it?

  Chapter Two

  Can I do your pussy then?

  Delete.

  What’re you doing on here if you’re a bird?

  Definitely delete.

  U do anal?

  “Learn to read.” Delete.

  Wanna swap BJs?

  “Not after the last time. Bye-bye.” Delete.

  I’m that good. Want to let me prove it?

  “Oh, hello.”

  A newcomer. Gabriel smiled. He had a fair few regulars, like failed blowjob guy, but he was always interested in new people. The pool of fuckable guys who were up for a bit of fun with him could be depressingly shallow.

  Newcomer didn’t have many details. Just a blurry shot of some white guy in a pub. Drunk bet with friends, maybe, or a shiny new wannabe queer who was married to a blissfully ignorant wife. Gabriel didn’t much care. He liked dick. Who cared what backstory was attached to it?

  More disappointingly, the profile was bare bones. Gabriel wasn’t exactly the fussiest guy on the planet, but he was an exclusive recipient. And in his experience, people named gingerbiscuit weren’t going to be ramming it in there until it shook a tooth loose. He should pass, at least until some detail was forthcoming.

  Still—

  He’d had his shot last week. And that always made him antsy. The fortnight after a T day was like a sex paradise, presuming he could get it, and a puritanical hell if he couldn’t. His blood had been thrumming for two days and wanking just wasn’t doing the trick. He needed a fuck. A good, solid, hard fuck.

  Only Kevin was still on holiday with the wife and kids, and Michael was being an arsehole lately and didn’t deserve to stick his dick anywhere.

  angel23: Dinner? V for starter, A for main course and if you’re that good, I’ll suck you off for dessert.

  Gabriel tossed the phone onto the bed and swung his feet to the floor. The flat was chilly, which was probably why he’d woken up so early. He didn’t have to go to work until midday.

  The shower was hot and fucking his own fingers dissatisfying. He preened in the mirror for a little while, wondering if he ought to try a club without Kevin, but dismissed it as a dumb idea. Kevin would only find out, then he’d really beat Gabriel’s arse. And not in the fun way. It wouldn’t be worth it.

  He heard the phone beep as he stepped out and drip-dried his way back to the crumpled bed. Grinning, he swiped it open. Newcomer was awake.

  gingerbiscuit: I’m good enough you’ll be begging to suck me off.

  And promising.

  “Nice,” Gabriel murmured, thumbing quickly back to the fuzzy picture. He squinted. Light hair. Maybe the name was a hint. And glasses. Ginger guy with glasses and a point to prove, perhaps? Well, Gabriel would take that bet. Inferiority complexes always made for a good, savage fuck.

  Still, not many guys knew how to fuck front and back and still have enough stamina left for a blowjob. Gabriel could count on one hand the number of men he’d fucked who knew how to have sex without inserting a penis somewhere, and Gabriel had shagged a lot more than a handful of men.

  angel23: Quite possibly ;) But maybe after two courses, you’ll be begging me not to?

  gingerbiscuit: I don’t beg.

  “Oh, thank you, God,” Gabriel whispered. Dominant. Top. Whatever the ginger guy liked to call himself, that was what he was. Short man syndrome or something like it, who the fuck cared? He was arrogant, which meant he’d be sexy and probably inconsiderate about getting inside. And Gabriel loved the sting of a harsh one.

  Kevin always laughed at him and called him undomesticated. Jim, the closest Gabriel had ever had to a proper boyfriend, used to say he was wired up weird. But Gabriel had never really cared. He didn’t like it gentle and slow and boring. He liked it rough. He liked handprints and walking funny in the morning. If he couldn’t feel the fuck all the way from his scalp to the soles of his feet, then what was the point in having one in the first place?

  And Gabriel would quite happily beg for it.

  angel23: I do ;)

  He usually played it a little cool with newcomers. Sexts and details. Testing out the solicited dick pics and screening for creeper vibes. But he chewed on a ragged edge of thumbnail, feeling the heavy pulse in his crotch. No Kevin. No Michael. And an arrogant ginger guy who refused to beg sitting in his inbox.

  angel23: Are you free today, or do I have to beg for that too?

  Fuck it. Gabriel needed it. He’d been fucked in public toilets before, no big deal. Unless the guy had a thing about sex in police cells or up telegraph poles, Gabriel had almost certainly been boned in weirder places than wherever was suitable to meet gingerbiscuit.

  gingerbiscuit: I could make some time for you this morning. Whereabouts in Leeds?

  angel23: Belle Isle.

  He usually didn’t bring newcomers to the flat. Glancing around his bedroom, Gabriel decided he’d best leave himself the option. There weren’t many fuckable spots in Belle Isle that he’d want to be dropping his jeans in. Not a great place to advertise the possession of a pussy.

  gingerbiscuit: Ten o’clock? Coffee, then back to your place? Via an alleyway if you look like your picture.

  Deal. Gabriel darted back into the bathroom for the linen cupboard wedged between the shower and the door by some stupid architect way back when. Fresh sheets and a couple of clean towels. Thank God he always kept a spare set, if only because Jim had been a neat freak about bedsheets and left him in the habit.

  Despite having lived alone for good few years now, Gabriel kept a tidy existence. Partly so he didn’t have to clean much in case of unexpected company, partly because domestic servitude was one of Kevin’s preferred uses for him on the rare occasion he came over. It didn’t really get Gabriel off, but Kevin’s monster cock could do that all on his own, so he tended to comply. And a
sink-side fuck was good incentive to keep up with the dishes.

  The flat was small and it didn’t take him more than twenty minutes to spruce it up enough to be acceptable. He scouted out all the toys and shoved them in a drawer, though. First fucks were not to be allowed near handcuffs. Sometimes short-man syndrome took edgy angst a little bit too far.

  Sweep-up done, Gabriel retrieved his phone and flopped backwards onto the sofa, still naked as the day he was born and with no intention of putting on underwear anytime soon. Being dry helped with the hurt—and the electricity in Gabriel’s nerves demanded some hurt.

  angel23: Coffee, two alleyways, my flat ;) Upload a better picture—it’s not so dark at my place.

  He waited for the expected dick pic, tapping his fingers hopefully against the back of the phone. Gabriel wasn’t a size queen. He wasn’t deep enough to need it and there was a distinct truth in everything being about how it was used. But it was nice to have a bit of an idea about what he was in for. Anticipation heightening the tension and all that.

  To his surprise, Biscuit didn’t offer one. Instead, he sent a name.

  gingerbiscuit: The name’s Aled. And you are?

  Gabriel blinked. And you are? On Grindr? Without a dick pic?

  What kind of a question was that?

  Instantly, Gabriel upgraded his opinion. He wasn’t just going to get fucked by an arrogant ginger later—he was going to get fucked by a posh boy. And you are? Posh boy, or fancied himself like one. Gabriel grinned, dropping a hand to touch himself lightly. Maybe Biscuit—no, Aled—maybe Aled would wear a suit. Be proper fancy. Gabriel had a bit of a thing for suits, but Kevin never indulged it and Michael would look utterly ridiculous in one. Maybe Aled would come in one. In every sense of the word.

  Slowly, he began to rub.

  Getting down on his knees for some posh ginger lad in a suit? Lawyer-on-a-lunch-break-type scenario? Or maybe Gabriel was the defendant and couldn’t afford the legal fees—

  He scolded himself mentally and tucked the fantasy away in the back of his head. No kinky games near the newcomers. It only ever led to trouble.

  But still—

  And you are?

  Gabriel grinned.

  Best way to keep an arrogant posh boy interested was to keep him hanging.

  angel23: Meeting you at ten.

  Chapter Three

  Aled woke up with a raging hangover, a mouth tasting like curry sauce and cushions, and a cat sitting on his neck.

  Which meant he was on Suze’s sofa.

  “Gerroff, Meowth,” he mumbled, swatting, but Meowth simply purred into his ear and didn’t move. “Fuck’s sake.”

  Undoing the becoming-one-with-the-sofa trick he’d performed somewhere around four in the morning was a delicate process, particularly not wrenching his shoulder or being sick in the middle of it, but once he was up, and Meowth had relocated to his lap like a normal cat, Aled felt more decent than he had any right to feel after eleven pints and a dodgy kebab.

  Rubbing the back of his neck and slowly working the pain out of his shoulders, Aled peered at the living room with hungover eyes and grimaced. God, he’d not done this in a while and now he was remembering why. The pictures. Everywhere, the pictures.

  Suze fancied herself a photographer and it showed. Every surface had a framed photograph—and Aled wouldn’t have minded if they hadn’t been the couple-y type of photographs associated with newly-weds. Pictures of her and Tom everywhere—on holiday, at his sister’s wedding, on a random plane, in a sushi bar for her birthday last year, sitting on the bonnet of Tom’s car…

  Aled’s gut twisted.

  He used to have pictures like that.

  He’d taken most of them down because it hurt too much to see himself and Melissa beaming at him from every wall, reminding him what he’d fucked up and lost. But then he kept opening the drawer where he’d put them to have another look, because it also hurt to not see them anymore. And it hurt to come to Suze’s flat, to see her life with Tom on the walls and know he’d had that and lost it.

  Fuck, he’d not even lost it. He’d driven it away.

  Scrubbing both hands over his face, Aled took a shaky breath. He needed to go home. Last night had been a good distraction, and maybe he did need to work at moving on a little bit—or getting Melissa back—but sitting in Suze’s living room staring at her couple-y photos with Tom wasn’t going to help in the slightest.

  He staggered up off the sofa, dislodging Meowth, and headed for the bathroom.

  Suze’s shower was hot and Aled stood under it for the longest time, clawing back his thoughts from his hangover. He borrowed Tom’s toothbrush and gargled an obscene amount of mouthwash before re-dressing and scouting out the kitchen. There, he found his phone, discarded and covered in messages. Several were from Suze herself, obviously as drunk as he’d been, a happy birthday from Nana that he must have missed last night, one from Tom when Aled had staggered off to the gents telling him to hurry up and get back, one from Sky telling him his direct debit would be coming out of his account in three days, and—

  Aled paused.

  One on Grindr.

  He clicked.

  angel23: Dinner? V for starter, A for main course and if you’re that good, I’ll suck you off for dessert.

  What the—?

  Aled blinked, genuinely surprised that angel23 had replied to him at all, never mind in the positive, and he fumbled for a split second before the dominant in him stirred, roused—finally—by the prospect of sex.

  gingerbiscuit: I’m good enough you’ll be begging to suck me off.

  What the hell was he doing? He wasn’t seriously going to—

  angel23: Quite possibly ;) But maybe after two courses, you’ll be begging me not to?

  So angel23 was awake. Aled bit his lip, glancing at the holiday snaps on the fridge door. Could he just—go? Just do exactly what Tom had told him to do? Walk out, hook up and walk away again?

  gingerbiscuit: I don’t beg.

  angel23: I do ;)

  Aled swallowed. Christ. The guy was forward. And hitting Aled’s buttons. Before he could think of something to say, though, angel23 beat him to it.

  angel23: Are you free today, or do I have to beg for that too?

  Aled blew out his cheeks.

  gingerbiscuit: I could make some time for you this morning. Whereabouts in Leeds?

  angel23: Belle Isle.

  A quick Google search found a Costa in south Leeds, and Aled sent the maps link, followed by, Ten o’clock? Coffee, then back to your place? Via an alleyway if you look like your picture.

  angel23: Coffee, two alleyways, my flat ;) Upload a better picture—it’s not so dark at my place.

  Aled chuckled and took a quick selfie, sending it before adding, The name’s Aled. And you are?

  angel23: Meeting you at ten.

  Aled smirked, left Suze a note that he’d gone home and thanks for the toothbrush, and let himself out. Change of clothes, condom then up to Leeds.

  Fuck, he’d have to buy condoms.

  It had been a while, but a man didn’t forget that kind of detail. He stopped off at the chemist’s in town to buy a packet and a bottle of lube for good measure. He had no idea if trans men could get pregnant, or if they went all dry in the front and would need a bit of help getting comfortable. In a way, he hoped so. Playing with someone to get them ready was just as good as the real deal, in Aled’s opinion. Once upon a time, he’d been very good at sex.