by Lily Morton
I jerk back. “What?”
“I want to date you.”
“You don’t date, Misha.”
“Well, I think I might like to start.”
“But why?”
He shakes his head in bemusement. “Why are you suddenly the most difficult person in the whole world? When did this happen?”
I shrug, and he kisses me so quickly that I have just enough time to register the softness of his lips before he draws back.
“I’m not sure what’s going on,” he says. “I don’t have any plans. Fuck, this is the opposite of careful planning. But I want you. I want to fuck you again.” His eyes darken. “I want to keep fucking you because that was the single most intense experience I’ve ever had.” I inhale shakily. “But I also want to be with you, Charlie, and I can honestly say I’ve never had that before. Usually, as soon as I’ve come, I’m preparing to fuck off. If you’d asked me yesterday what I’d do if we slept together, I’d have said that I’d have agreed with the way you skedaddled out of the flat this morning. But then it happened to me, and… You hurt me, Charlie.”
“Oh no,” I say, stepping into his arms and hugging him tightly. His body is hot, and the muscles in his torso are tight under my hands. “I’m so sorry, Misha.”
“I’m not,” he says.
I stare at him disbelievingly.
“Okay, I was fucking furious, but that told me more than I’d have learnt from having a long talk.” I glare, and he smiles. “It told me that this is important and that I need more of it. I know I won’t get that with a hook-up agreement.”
“So, you want to date? You don’t date ever.”
“Not until you.” He shrugs. “I can’t explain it any better. I woke up wanting a lot more from you, and you know me, Charlie. I don’t hesitate much with life stuff.” I repress a smile, and he looks suddenly unsure. “What do you think?”
I look at him. Really look at him for the first time today. My best friend is still here standing in front of me. He looks the same as he ever has, but there’s a difference now because I know what he feels like naked against me, the scent between his legs, and how he looks when he fucks me. Completely and utterly focused. And in the end, my decision is easy.
“I want more too, but we have to swear that if this goes wrong, we’ll still be each other’s best friends,” I say.
“I promise,” he says fiercely. “I don’t know where this road is going, Charlie, but we’re travelling together, and that’s all I’ll ever need.”
I smile at him, and he makes a funny noise in his throat before pulling me into him and kissing me. His lips are full and soft, the scent of bergamot is citrussy around me, and his body is hard and already familiar against mine. And even though we’re standing in a dark, dusty library foyer, it’s bloody epic and everything I never knew I needed.
Chapter Thirteen
Two Weeks Later
Misha
I come awake slowly, lying with my eyes closed and feeling the sun warm on my face and the softness of the sheets against my body. I move slightly and the scent of sex rises up in a dark and warm puff of air. My dick hardens instantly and I open my eyes to find my bed partner.
He’s lying next to me on his stomach with his face turned away. His long hair is a wavy blond mess and the sun plays upon it, glittering in the strands. The sheet is pushed down his body, just barely clinging to the swell of his arse, and his back is a long, lean olive stretch of skin. One leg is out of the sheets, and I’ve learnt that he seems to achieve total comfort by being halfway in and halfway out of the covers. Like he’s doing the hokey cokey with the duvet. Anything else and he gets edgy and dramatically fussy, as if the sheets weigh more than a ton.
I edge closer and flatten myself against him, sighing happily at the feel of his body against mine. His entire gorgeous body—with its soft silky skin and hair-roughened surfaces—is mine to do as I like with. Like a long blond playground.
I rub my fingers over the freckles on his shoulders, smudges of colour as if he’s been dusted with cinnamon. He shifts position and sighs, the sound a soft exhalation in the stillness of the bedroom.
I abandon his freckles, fascinating as they are, and cuddle closer. Yes, I cuddle closer. I shake my head. What the fuck is happening to me that I, Misha Lebedinsky, am now cuddling up to my bedmate who is unconscious so my motive isn’t even sex? I bite my lip. This is cuddling for cuddling’s sake. How far have I fallen?
Charlie shifts again and turns over, throwing one long arm over me. He nestles his face into my shoulder and gives a sleepy sound of contentment. My stomach dips in a fashion that’s become familiar to me since I started this with him. It happens when he smiles at me, his blue eyes shining with happiness, when he cuddles up on the sofa with me, when he makes me toast and kisses the crumbs from my lips. It happens all the bloody time. At first I thought I was coming down with something. I even took some Rennie. Unfortunately, I knew even then that this was just the side effect of being Charlie Burroughs’ boyfriend.
Boyfriend. I huff and rake my hand down my face, still being careful not to wake him. I try the word out again. I am the boyfriend of Charlie Burroughs. The man who I thought of as a friend for so long is now the man I look for first in the morning and last thing at night. He’s the person I think of and smile like a twat over during the day. He’s the source of my absentmindedness during work and my intense focus when we’re together.
We’d decided on the first night of being together that, if we were going to do this properly, then we would have to keep our separate bedrooms. We would need to date, he said earnestly. And try to keep some things separate, because otherwise we’d end up breaking up. Space was imperative, according to him.
I’d nodded and agreed and left him at his door with a passionate kiss. I’d also smiled when the knock on my bedroom door came an hour later, sitting up and pulling the duvet back so he could slide into bed with me. He never went back to his own room.
I kiss his forehead, inhaling the scent of pears from his shampoo. It’s always fruity. He changes it every week, and it seems to be entirely dependent on what fruit is his favourite at the time. His silky hair is spread over my chest and tickling my chin. I don’t know what to do with all these feelings. I had my first sexual encounter when I was fifteen. I never looked back, and I never got involved. Until now.
Tendrils of emotion are growing inside me, soft and silky like his hair but just as binding, and they make me think of him, consider his happiness before my own. I’ve always considered Charlie’s happiness, but these impulses are stronger and much less controlled. I’m just not going to put words to what they mean yet. I look down at Charlie and smile. Not yet, anyway. I want to enjoy him for now. Get to know him. I thought I knew everything about Charlie Burroughs, but I’m realizing now that there’s a large chunk of him I don’t know.
I was aware he loved pepperoni and pineapple on his pizza and that he was allergic to penicillin and strawberries. But now I know that he’s wildly affectionate in bed, free with his hugs, and confident and sure in his nakedness. I know that when I put my hand on his back as we walk, or rush to open the door for him, his face will light up and he will give me a smile I’ve never seen before. It’s warm and soft, and when it’s directed just at me, it’s as potent as drinking a bottle of wine.
For the last couple of weeks we’ve been to work and then fallen back into bed together the moment we’re home. And not just bed. I’ve fucked him against the wall in the living room, over the kitchen table, and once on the balcony where he’d impressed on me that we had to be very, very quiet but then proceeded to shout my name at the top of his voice when he came. I have a suspicion that the residents association might want a chat at some point.
Normally, I’d be thrilled with having so much sex that my dick actually feels chafed, but I can’t deny a little thread of worry. I know Charlie and his dating history far too well to even consider that he’ll be okay with this for long. Charlie Burro
ughs is a romantic. And me? Well, I’m not. I hate all that soppy crap, but what I hate more is the thought of him being disappointed with me and walking away from us. That makes me feel sick, and he stirs as I clutch him way too close.
“Oof,” he mutters, his lashes fluttering as he looks up at me. “Mmm, morning,” he whispers and reaches up to kiss me. His lips are full and soft, and I feel like I’ve stepped into a warm cloud for a second. Then I pull back and look down at him.
“Morning.” I clear my throat quickly. “You slept well.”
He chuckles and hugs me tight, sliding one leg over mine and nudging his knee gently over my very interested cock. “That’s because someone shagged me senseless last night and again in the early hours of the morning and—” He looks at the clock. “And because it’s two in the afternoon. Fucking hell.”
I stretch and lie back against my pillows. “It’s Saturday. We had a lie-in.”
“You had a lie-in? Say it isn’t so.” His hair tumbles round his shoulders and his eyes warm as he gazes up at me. That feeling in my stomach comes again. I want to grab him and kiss him and squeeze him and never let him go. Apparently, I’m fifteen again.
I shrug. “I like lie-ins with you, not with anyone else.”
His eyes get warmer, and he gives me that smile again. The one I’m growing to adore and will apparently do anything to get. I think of the tickets and swallow.
“I thought we’d go out tonight,” I mutter.
He eyes me and rolls over onto his stomach, resting his arms on my belly and propping his chin on my torso. “Why?”
I shrug awkwardly. “I don’t want our entire time to be spent in bed.”
“Why?”
I glare at him and the naughty tilt of his mouth tells me he knows exactly what I’m trying to say, but the wanker is still going to make me say it.
“Because I don’t want the stuff I’ve had before. The fucking and clearing off.” I pinch his hip, and he writhes and chuckles before coming back to watch me with that bright gaze. “I want the Charlie Burroughs experience.”
“And what is that?”
I put my arms behind my head and stare up at the ceiling contemplatively. “I want dates where we go out for meals and long walks. I want to do fun things with you so I can hear you laugh. I want to know more about you, because I’ve learnt that being your best friend got me insider info but it didn’t get me everything.” I look down at where he’s watching me intently. “I want the full backstage pass, sunshine.”
His smile widens, and his face glows. “That does sound perfect, Misha.” He brushes hair from his face. “So, where are we going?”
I bite my lip. “I bought us tickets,” I say tentatively. “And if you don’t like the idea, don’t worry. Just tell me.”
“Tickets to where?” He sits up excitedly and the sheets pool in his lap, revealing the width of his bare chest covered in sleek golden skin and more freckles. The sun dances on him like he’s covered in pollen.
“Hmm,” I say, stroking my hand down that chest and following the line of hair under his cute belly button to where the sheet blocks my view. “Ouch!” I say as he slaps my hand.
“No hanky panky,” he warns. “Where are we going?”
“Hanky panky? Is this suddenly the nineteen twenties?”
“Misha,” he warns me.
I groan, throwing my hand over my eyes. “I might have bought us tickets to see a play at the Globe.”
“The Globe?” He sounds stunned.
I remove my hand and wince. “Is it not right? I just thought what would Charlie like, and then searched around for whatever arty shit was on this weekend. I saw their programme and thought you’d enjoy it.”
“Oh my God,” he says loudly. “This is the best date idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Hardly,” I scoff. “It’s just a play.” I wink at him. “And dinner if you promise to put out.”
He punches me gently on the shoulder, his eyes glittering. “It’s the best,” he insists fiercely. “You used what you knew about me to create something you knew I’d love. And don’t think I’m unaware that it’s not your thing.”
“My thing is you,” I say softly. “I’ve been coming up with ideas for years. We just never called them dates.”
“Maybe we should have,” he murmurs. “We wasted a lot of time.”
“And maybe at another time we’d have crashed and burned. Everything happens in its own time, Charlie.”
He bends and kisses me, scrambling my thoughts and stealing my breath. When he pulls back, he smiles at me. It’s extremely fucking potent at this distance. “Thank you,” he says and sits up. “So, what are we seeing?” he asks excitedly.
I shake my head at him. “Some Shakespeare shit. Tickets are in the bedside drawer. You can see for yourself.”
“Yes,” he says and knee walks across the bed, leaning forwards to scrabble through the drawer. I watch as the sheet slips away, leaving him nude, and reach down and fist my cock which is hardening nicely. We’ve got time for a shag, I think lazily before I notice that his whole body has stiffened. I don’t have any time for any other thoughts before he whirls around, and I see what he’s holding.
“Oh shit,” I say.
“Care to tell me why there’s a pair of lace knickers in here that look very much like a pair I lost after the weekend in Brighton?”
“Oh… yes. Well… shit!”
He arches one dark eyebrow. “Well, that’s a very erudite explanation, Misha.”
I scramble to sit and hold my hands out defensively. “I can explain.”
“Yes, I believe that’s what I’m waiting for.”
I draw in a deep breath. Why the fuck didn’t I remember those knickers were in there? “Harry threw them at me in Brighton in the hotel corridor. Then I punched him in the face and we shouted at each other a lot. Another resident complained about the noise, and so Harry and I talked and then he left me with them.”
A stunned silence falls. His hand tightens around the cherry-red lace until his knuckles turn white.
I bite my lip. “Erm–”
“Am I to believe that my boyfriend at the time showed you these knickers just before you informed him that he was my ex-boyfriend? And then you kept the knickers in your bedside table and never said a bloody word to me in all this time?”
His cheeks are red and his eyes stormy, and I decide immediately to go on the defensive.
“And when were we supposed to have that conversation? When you were having the turns or while you were with your mum?”
“How about in the last couple of weeks that we’ve been together?” he shouts. Charlie rarely shouts.
“Are you angry with me?” I say tentatively. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I never knew how to bring it up.”
“What? That I’m a freak?”
“You’re not a fucking freak,” I say, anger seizing me. “Who the fuck told you that?” My vision darkens. “It was that wanker Harry, wasn’t it?” I hurl myself off the bed. “Oh my God, he made you ashamed when it’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. All the times I’ve wanked over them, and you think I’d call you names?” I grab my jeans. “I’m going to fucking kill him. I’m going to take those knickers and push them down his bloody throat and–”
“Misha.” Charlie’s voice intrudes on my rant.
He’s kneeling naked on the side of the bed, the knickers clenched in his hand. His cheeks match the cherry-red of the lace and his eyes are low-lidded. His cock is hard, but I tear my gaze away before I get distracted.
“You thought it was sexy? You wanked over them?” he says huskily.
I stand absolutely still. “It depends,” I say cautiously. “On whether that’s sexy or perverted.”
“Both,” he offers.
“Oh well, then, I definitely wanked over them.” I nod a couple of times. “All the time. Every night.”
“Come here,” he says hoarsely.
I trip over my jeans trying to get to him.
“Shut up,” I say direly, and he forces his smile away. I climb on the bed next to him and draw him to me. I’m cautious at first but when he hugs me back, I grab him fiercely. I kiss the side of his head and then his lips, feeling the soft fullness and nipping it gently. He moans, and I slide my hands down to cup his backside. “It’s so sexy,” I whisper. “Makes me hard to think of you in them.”
“Really?” He pulls back. “Some men don’t like it.”
“I’m not some bloke,” I say harshly. “I’m your bloke.”
“I know,” he whispers. “And you really like it?” he asks again.
I grab his hand and pull it down to my erection. “I like it,” I say hoarsely. “Just thinking of you in those knickers did that to me.” He fists my cock, sliding his hand up and down, and I arch into his hand. “Yes, like that,” I mutter.
He looks down at the movement of his hand. “Harry said it was weird,” he says in a small voice that breaks my heart.
I reach down and remove his hand, lifting it to kiss his fingers. “Don’t talk about your ex when you’re holding my dick,” I say, and he smiles a little. I let his hand go and cup his face. “Charlie, that was his problem and certainly not yours. You are the sexiest man I’ve ever known.”
He looks up, doubt in his face.
“You are, Charlie. I know because I’ve been with a few men.” When he gives me his skeptical expression, I huff. “Okay, a lot of men. But I’ve never had sex the way we have it.” I search for words. “It’s so hot and intense and real. It’s the realest thing I’ve ever felt. And every second of it I feel connected to you on a deep level and that’s the first time I’ve ever had that. And if you want to wear lace knickers, I think it’s the hottest fucking thing ever. Because it’s you, Charlie.”
“Really?” he says almost shyly. “I don’t wear them all the time. Just sometimes I like to feel… pretty.”
“Sunshine, you’re the prettiest man I know, and just the thought of your gorgeous body with those panties cupping your cock and snuggling your balls …” I swallow hard and shudder. “Fuck, I could come just from the thought.”