Bishop: A True Lover's Story

“Bishop. For Pete’s sake, I didn’t say I was sorry. I’m not sorry. And I didn’t say stop… I. I said wait because… well I was close and I thought…” Edison ran his hand through his hair, his pale cheeks red from Bishop’s beard, and his pretty lips swollen from their kisses. Edison’s voice was quiet when he added, “We could go to my bedroom.”

Fuck me. He knew what he’d do if they went back there and Bishop couldn’t guarantee he could behave… not yet. It had been almost six goddamn years! The intimacy was all too new, too sudden. Just a few days ago he’d been battling with the idea of even being good enough to go after a man like Edison and he’d just reconciled that he was… or he would be soon anyway. Now, Edison had gone and upped the ante. Bishop’s hands shook as he shoved papers in his folder. Edison came out of the kitchen and stood by the breakfast bar with a crippling look of disappointment on his face, and it made the burger in Bishop’s stomach threaten to make a reappearance.

“So that’s how it is?” Edison crossed his arms over his chest. “I listened when you said you had something difficult to confess. I didn’t judge you for the choices you made in your life… now you do this to me after I tell you something so private.”

Bishop felt slapped. He couldn’t see any more hurt in those eyes as he stared at a point over Edison’s head. “You’re really misunderstanding. I’m not judging you. I just need to take a second and… ya know… slow down a bit.”

“Slow what down?” Edison frowned. His jaw twitched as he gritted his teeth as if he was struggling not to fuss. “We didn’t do anything. Look… I’m not holding out for marriage or anything. More like the right opportunity.”

Dammit. Edison deserved more than just an opportunity to get fucked. And Bishop didn’t just wanna be anyone’s opportunity anymore. He’d been truthful when he told his dad that he didn’t just want to fuck Edison. Now he had to prove it.

“That’s not what you are,” Bishop rumbled. He took his portfolio under his arm and headed towards the front of the house.

“Sure.” Edison shook his head as if he couldn’t believe he was leaving. “I guess I’ll walk you out.”

“Thanks.” Bishop didn’t linger at the door, knowing that if he leaned against Edison’s body again then all bets would be off.

“Yeah. Goodnight, Bishop.” He barely heard the words as Edison began to shut the door.

He was on the bottom step when he turned around. “I’ll see you in the morning. About eight.”

Edison’s slight smile didn’t reach his eyes as he let the door shut.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Edison

“What a flippin’… pussy.” There… he’d said the word. Sure did. Never did he think a man as confident and bold as Bishop would fold so easily. He couldn’t believe how fast he’d run after his confession. It was as if he’d told Bishop he had herpes. It was ironic he thought that because his virginity was harder to get rid of than an STD. Edison put the last plate in the dish rack and wiped off his already clean counters. When he got to the opposite side of the stove—where he’d just had his behind—humiliation slammed into him. He’d darn near offered himself up on a platter, had invited Bishop to his bed, only to be rejected again. Obviously, Bishop preferred a man with experience.

How am I gonna get any freaking experience if no will freaking touch me! Edison grabbed the glass Bishop had drank from and threw it to his hardwood floor, flinching when a few of the shards hit the top of his bare feet. That was stupid of him, but he was so ticked off he needed to vent. Even more so because he was still horny and aching. He’d been an immature idiot. The crash was mildly satisfying, and he wanted to do it again the more he glanced towards the counter, but breaking all his nice dishes wouldn’t change anything. He carefully maneuvered around the large pieces of glass and grabbed his broom out of the pantry to clean up the mess he’d made.

Edison closed the patio blinds, locked up, and turned off all the lights. He went into his bedroom and slammed the door closed. He changed into a pair of sweatpants and a sleeveless T-shirt and went to his pop’s old room. Now, his exercise room. There’d been no way he could’ve kept the house exactly as it was when his best friend had lived there. He was gone and Edison wouldn’t have been able to move on if his living space looked like a shrine to his father.

The room wasn’t elaborate, and he didn’t have the newest and best equipment on the market, but it was enough for him to accomplish his goals. There was a treadmill, and an elliptical machine—since cardio was his main focus—as well as a weight bench and multiple sets of dumbbells that he tried to add to his routine, but rarely did. There were a few other fad gadgets he’d tried over the years sitting in the corner near the yoga mat and exercise ball. He flipped on the ceiling fan light and started the blades on high. A little physical activity should cool him right down.