Mitchell's Presence Read Online Free PDF Page B

really hungry right now.”
    “Me either.” Arthur leered at him. “But I want to do this right, Mitchell.” He took another step up so that they were eye-to-eye. “I can’t explain it yet, but I don’t want to ruin this, whatever we might have. Does that make sense?”
    “Perfect sense,” Mitchell agreed and pressed his lips to Arthur’s forehead. “Could I tempt you into a little spooning?”
    Arthur growled, the sound coming from deep within his chest. He quickly pushed Mitchell up the stairs and turned them both into the master bedroom. “No clothes come off though.”
    “Agreed, I’ll be good.”
    Arthur positioned himself so that he was on his side, chest and top leg lying on top of Mitchell, legs intertwining, one hand cradled under the smaller man’s neck, massaging, kneading, the actions eliciting soft moans of pleasure that were slowly wearing down Arthur’s resolve.
    “Beautiful, kind, generous, seductive.” Arthur smiled own at the flushed face beneath his. “Where have you been hiding?”
    “Nowhere.” Mitchell took on of Arthur’s hands and placed it on his chest. “I’ve lived in this city my entire life, but I think it’s safe to say that you and I live in different circles, so….”
    “Yeah, different circles.” Arthur leaned down for another kiss, gentle but probing; his head popped back up just as quickly, asking, “What do you mean, precisely, different circles?”
    “Well,” Mitchell began, “you’re uptown and I’m not. You’re vacationing in ritzy places and I’m not. I’m more concerned with social issues and you, not as much.”
    “You make me sound so shallow.” Arthur tried to control the annoyed tone in his voice.
    “Not at all!” Mitchell protested. He kissed the man’s knuckles. “Look, Arthur, if you hadn’t met me, would you have ever gone near a homeless shelter?”
    “I might have,” Arthur squawked defensively, knowing that he was lying. “One day.”
    Mitchell sat up, cross-legged on the bed. “Arthur, I’m not trying to be rude or offensive, but, well, let’s just say that I know a little more about you than you think.”
    “Oh really?” Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, torso twisted to see Mitchell nodding his head. “Enlighten me.”
    “Arthur Aaron James Richardson, only son of William McKenzie Richardson IV and Grace Richardson, née Christianson, born January 15, 1974, older brother to Penelope and Eileen, both married to successful businessmen, both with children—”
    “You could have read that stuff anywhere,” Arthur accused, “and besides, that doesn’t mean you have any insights into my personality.”
    “You bought a red Mustang—1965, maybe, I don’t know that much about cars—completely restored for your thirtieth birthday and crashed it two days later against a light standard on Wilkins Avenue and had your best friend take the blame so that you wouldn’t risk a second DUI.”
    “How could you…?” Arthur searched Mitchell’s face, trying to find out how anyone besides his parents and their lawyer could have known the truth. “Only a handful of people know that.”
    “Isaiah Herschel MacDonald would be one of those people, correct?”
    “What does my father’s lawyer have to do with—” Arthur’s brain suddenly started putting the pieces together with lightning speed. MacDonald, Mitchell’s last name and that of his parents’ attorney. “MacDonald, are you related to—”
    “My father,” Mitchell stated with no emotion. “I was clerking for him at the time of your accident.” Mitchell read the confused expression on Arthur’s face. “Don’t worry; I would never tell anyone.” Mitchell collected his bag and began walking towards the door.
    “Wait!” Arthur’s hand was on Mitchell’s shoulder. “Where are you going?”
    Mitchell turned, his eyes moist with unshed tears. His smile was sad, just like it had been in the coffee shop. “You know, Arthur, you and I have been in the same room