It couldn’t be called a kiss. It was a devouring, a feast of the senses, and Tristan was helpless against it. Damon lifted him to his toes, pressing...his thick, jeans-covered erection against his as he gave him a taste of the hunger to come with his kiss.Tristan couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want to breathe.For that fraction of time, it was just the two of them, and Tristan gave himself completely to Damon. His kiss was like rough velvet and summer lightning. His taste was dark, heady. Tristan. Nobody could have been less like my idea of a lover. ‘The problem,’ I said, ‘was that it seems to be more about feminism than about sexuality.’ I invited her in for a coffee. She was great company and we laughed a lot. She listened as I told her about my repressed upbringing, my ghastly, stiff mother. In a different story we’d probably have ended up in bed together but in fact we merely became firm friends. The great benefits that accrued to me through Glenys were a wider group of friends and a. More

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