by Lily Morton
Unaware of my mood, Sean smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, Laurie. Magnus has spoken a lot about you.” I flush, and Laurie directs a smug look at me. Unaware of the bomb he just dropped, Sean carries on. “Well, I must be off. I’m ordering room service and collapsing.”
I drag my attention from Laurie to find Sean looking between Laurie and me with an arrested expression on his face. He smiles at me. “Good night, Magnus. See you in the morning.”
“Bright and early. We need to go over closing statements again.”
He sketches a salute and lets himself into his room, leaving Laurie and I standing in silence.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I say, pleasure rushing through me.
I’ve spoken to him every night since I got here. At first, I tried to maintain a distance, but that was useless with him sending me funny texts all the time, so I’ve fallen into the habit of ringing him every night. I’ve told him funny bits about my days, and he’s made me laugh, and somehow, it’s made the time away fly. Seeing him in person, however, makes me realise how much I’ve missed him. I thrust that worrying thought away.
He grimaces. “It was a spur of the moment thing. I can go if you’d rather be alone.”
“No.” Endof cocks his head to look at me and I squirm. “No,” I say in a lower voice. “It’s nice to see you.”
We stand staring at each other for a second until Endof whines, and we both jerk our gazes towards him.
“Anyway,” Laurie says quickly, “I wanted to see how you were coping with Endof.”
“Really?” I’m unable to keep the disappointment from my voice.
His eyes fly to my face, and he hesitates before saying in a low voice, “No, I just wanted to see you. I missed you.”
Warmth runs through me, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I’ve reached heights in my career that few manage. I’ve been presented to the queen a few times and moved in very exalted circles, but nothing has affected me quite so much as this man saying he missed me. I shake my head to clear my thoughts.
“Well, come in,” I say far too heartily, judging by the tick of his lips. I let us into the suite.
He whistles. “Nice digs.”
I shrug. “I like the best. We’re staying here for a while, so I like to be comfortable.”
We’re staying at a grand old hotel overlooking the green expanse of Wollaton Park. It’s peaceful and quiet, which are two of my main prerequisites when I’m away working.
“Yes, how about that we? I couldn’t believe it when you said you were bringing him.” He watches as Endof prances over to his bed by the fireplace, his tail wagging. “You know I’d have looked after him.”
“He’s mine,” I say, flinging my suit jacket over the plush sofa and loosening my tie. “I always look after what’s mine.”
There’s a long silence that he breaks abruptly. “Do you mind that I’m here?”
I once again take in his appearance—the messy hair and the thin, angular face with violet shadows under his pretty eyes. “No,” I say curtly. “Come here.”
The moment hovers between dissolving into lightness or becoming heavy, but then he shudders and walks into my arms. I band them tight around him and kiss him fiercely. His mouth opens under mine immediately, and he gives a shaky sigh that makes my dick stiffen.
“I missed this,” he says, pulling back slightly.
“I missed you,” I say, pushing his hair back and looking into those sunlit green eyes. They’re red-rimmed today, with streaks of red marbling the whites. I frown. “Have you been working late? Your eyes are very red.”
He pulls back. “Yes,” he says quickly. “I needed to paint.”
“And have you finished?”
“I’m totally done.” His tone is gloomy rather than satisfied, and I wonder if he’s like this when he finishes a painting. Artists can be incredibly melancholy. I’d learned this after years of living in the same house as my mother and whoever she had staying with us.
I hate that he’s sad, and to avoid having a conversation in which I’ll inevitably make a fool of myself, I kiss him again, pulling him tight and grinding into him. His cock is hard against mine, and he gives a breathy moan.
“I’ve thought far too much about this,” he says, pulling back to take a breath.
“You need me,” I say arrogantly.
He doesn’t mock me. Instead, he raises his arms around my neck and lifts his mouth to mine. It’s an invitation I don’t hesitate to take.
Sex is oddly intimate this time. He lies on his side while I hold his leg up and fuck into him from behind. I always pay attention to my sexual partners’ needs, but ultimately I engage in the act because I’m seeking my own release. I’m all about making the right moves so we can both come, but then I quickly want to forget about my partner and get on with my life.
But tonight I take my time with Laurie. As my dick slides steadily in and out of his hole, I avidly watch his face, which is screwed into lines of pleasure. I love the way he lets himself go completely. He doesn’t seem to care about the way he might appear, nor does he seem deliberate or conscious in his actions. He’s focused solely on our pleasure, reaching back to touch me, putting his hand over mine where I grip his leg, twisting so I can kiss him and groaning into my mouth.
It’s intensely erotic lying in this dim room listening to the sounds of grunts, moans, and flesh slapping, and watching those light eyes go cloudy and unfocused. I pump my hips fiercely, watching myself slam into him and seeing his buttocks bounce.
My climax barrels down on me, but I have just enough presence of mind to fist his dick and give him two hard pulls. He cries out and shoots come over the sheets before I groan, coming hard and pushing into him as if I’m trying to meld our flesh together.
We lie gasping for a few seconds before I pull out of him, soothing him with a kiss as he makes a sound of distress. “I’ll get a cloth,” I say hoarsely. “Stay there.”
I make my way into the bathroom and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—a stranger with a dazed expression on his face. Shaking my head, I grab a hand towel and wet it when the water is running nice and warm.
When I get back, Laurie is lying on his back. The sheets are rumpled and half pulled over one leg, but the slim length of him is bare to me, the evening light gilding his skin and highlighting the dark line of hair that trails from his belly button to bush out around his cock. Even his feet are elegant and high arched. I run my finger along the bottom of his sole as I pass, and he jerks.
“Wanker,” he says.
Laughing, I slide into the bed next to him and pass the cloth over his stomach, cleaning the come away. He watches me solemnly, his eyes hidden in shadow, but obediently opens his legs when I urge him, letting me clean between his legs.
“You’d make a lovely nurse,” he says.
I laugh again. “I would be the worst nurse in existence.”
He hums, a smile playing on his lips. “You’re probably right. Nurse Ratched would send you fan mail.”
I throw the cloth down on the floor and draw him to me. “You’re too thin,” I say. “When did you last eat?” He pauses to think, and I grunt in disapproval. “Ack, if you have to think about it, it’s too long. I’ll order room service.”
He twines his legs with mine. “Sounds lovely. Can I have steak? Is that too much?”
I shake my head. “You may have twenty steaks if you wish it. You don’t need to ask as if I’m penniless and will have to clean the kitchen to pay for your meal.”
“How about cheesecake? Can I have a big slice of cheesecake with fresh cream?”
I bite my lip to hide my smile. “Good heavens, slow it down a bit. I’m not made of gold, Laurie.”
He throws his arm over me and cuddles into me. “I did miss you,” he says, his breath stirring my chest hair.
I reach up and stroke his hair. It’s a clumsy gesture because I’m unused to tenderness, but he says nothing and just watches me with those soft ey
es.
“What are we doing?” he finally says.
A long moment passes. “I don’t know. I think it’s probably a mistake, yes?”
His lips tighten. “No ties, Mags,” he says in a beseeching voice.
I swallow hard. “None whatsoever, Laurie.”
The words feel awkward in my mouth, as if my tongue has grown two sizes, but he smiles, looking relieved.
He falls back against the pillows as I order the food. Endof whines outside the bedroom door as if sensing that we’re able to give him our attention now, and I watch Laurie get up and open the door where the dog is waiting patiently. They come towards me, and I find my lip twitching into a silly smile. I bite the ridiculous thing away and finish my call.
“How’s the trial going?” he says, falling back into bed beside me. Endof jumps up and curls up on my other side. I pet his fur, enjoying the silkiness beneath my fingertips.
“I think we will lose,” I finally say. “I’ve done the very best I can, but little things like my client rather hamper us.”
“Ouch.” His eyes narrow. “Are you bothered? You don’t seem it.”
I shrug. “I’ve lost many cases, Laurie. It wouldn’t do my mental health much good if I cried over them all.”
“I bet you absolutely fucking hate losing,” he says wryly.
“I do. Of course, I do. I detest it. Particularly when I feel that the client is innocent.” I eye him. “I’ll feel this loss less than others.”
Realisation dawns, and he smiles. “Okay.”
My phone beeps and I stretch to pick it up, checking the screen and smiling.
His eyes darken for some reason. “That’s a rather shark-like smile. Who is it?” he asks, crossing his arms behind his head. His attempt at a smile looks more like a grimace.
“My Scrabble opponent.”
He gapes at me. “Your what?”
I eye him. “Scrabble. You have heard of it?”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course, I’ve heard of it. I think Chris even mentioned that you played it. I’m just surprised to find Mags Carlsen, the scourge of the courtroom and twink’s bedrooms, is actually holed up in his bedroom playing Scrabble.”
“That’s probably because you are not very good at it,” I say in a lordly fashion. I watch the light of battle coming into his eyes with hidden amusement.
He sits up. “I’m actually very good at it,” he snaps.
I start to laugh. “Ah, there it is. The Gentry competitive spirit.” I tuck my tongue into the corner of my mouth and smile at him. “Care to have a game?”
He reaches out and hooks his shorts that have been flung over the lamp. Withdrawing his phone from the pocket, he presses a button. “Let me just get the app,” he says in a tone of grim determination.
I try to stop myself from laughing. “What did you think you’d find me doing?” I suddenly say.
He jerks in a startled fashion. “What?”
“When you arrived, what did you think I’d be doing?”
He looks suddenly awkward. “I don’t know. It could be anything, knowing you.”
“You do know me,” I say distractedly. I hesitate. “Would you have been bothered?” I ask, finally losing control over my tongue.
“Bothered about what?”
“If you’d found me with another man?”
He stares at me, his phone forgotten in his lap. The silence stretches, and I sit back, feeling suddenly disappointed.
“Never mind,” I say. “It was a foolish question.”
“Yes,” he says, the word breaking like a bullet through my words. “Yes. I’d have been bothered.” He holds my gaze for a moment before quickly glancing away, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “And I shouldn’t be,” he says sharply. “It’s foolish.”
“Then I think we are both of us fools,” I say.
The soft words seem to melt his tension. He drops his hand and gives an awkward laugh. “No. Not going there,” he says and waggles his phone at me. “Food and Scrabble, Mags. We’re living the wild life.”
I nod and slide down next to him, but as we eat dinner in the wreck of the bed and trade quips and kisses sweetened by the chocolate cheesecake, something warm comes to rest in my chest. Something warm and worrying. I examine it later while he lies asleep curled into me, the moonlight on his face. Typically, this kind of emotion would send me running a hundred miles in the other direction, but now I just move closer to him and fall asleep.
He stays for breakfast the next morning, looking rested and younger, and we laugh and joke as usual, but when he’s gone, the silence filling the suite seems bigger somehow than just an empty room. I rub my chest and redirect my thoughts. Time to go to work.
But somehow, that feeling of warmth stays with me all day, allowing me to greet my loss in court with equanimity and an ease that’s completely alien to my competitive nature.
Chapter Fourteen
Mags
It’s a gorgeous summer evening when I get home, the sun lying low in the sky and gilding even the most mundane objects. I climb out of the taxi, looking up at my building with happiness. Laurie and home await me. Record scratch. I mean home. Home is waiting for me.
Still, I race through my shower, throw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and arrive outside his door in record time. I knock on the door, and Endof whines softly. He seems to know where he is already.
“You are a clever dog, Endof,” I inform him. “Which is as it should be.” He rolls his eyes and starts to chew on his lead, and I give up.
The door opens, and I look up and smile at the sight of Laurie. He’s dressed in denim cut-offs and a pink T-shirt covered in paint. His hair is dishevelled, and he looks warm and so familiar to me. I frown at the sight of the purple shadows that lie under his bloodshot eyes again. The welcoming grin he greeted me with slips.
“Ooh,” he breaths. “You look rather fierce.”
I smooth my expression. “Just wondering at the condition of your hair. Has anyone ever explained the use of a comb to you, Laurie?”
He chuckles, the sound warm and lilting. “Well, if I have to receive a lecture on the topic, I couldn’t have picked a better person to deliver it. You seem to live to tell people what to do.” He puts a finger to his lips. “Oops! I meant to say how wise you are.”
“No, you didn’t.” I push him into the flat, closing the door behind us and pushing him against it. The sudden move makes him gasp, but I’m gratified to see his eyes darken.
“Mmm,” he says, and I feel the throaty sound in my dick. It makes my cock hard, and I lean in and kiss him furiously, licking into his mouth and sucking on his tongue.
When I pull back, his face is flushed. I clear my throat. “I didn’t come for that.”
He blinks. “You didn’t?”
I straighten up and click my fingers at Endof, who is nosing around the kitchen bin. “No. We came to take you out.”
“And is that we—you and Endof?”
“Who else?”
“I don’t know. You might be setting me up for a threesome with one of your other men.”
“I couldn’t in good conscience inflict your contrary nature on anyone else, Laurie.”
The words are light, but I’m reeling inside at his mention of my other men because there haven’t been any. When did I last have sex with anyone other than Laurie? I run over my calendar in my head and come to the disturbing conclusion that I’ve been virtually monogamous for the last month. Ironically, I’ve managed this while being in a no-strings relationship.
Laurie watches me. He’s smiling, but his eyes are dark and mysterious. “Don’t fret about it,” he says in his slightly hoarse voice. “I’ll be gone in a few days.”
I stride into the kitchen to try and disguise my betraying flinch. “Really? Is your brother back so soon?”
He drifts after me, grabbing his trainers from the side of the sofa. “Yes. He messaged me this morning. He’s finished and flies back late tomorrow night.�
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“And what will you do then?” I trail my finger over the counter and the pile of mail there. It’s reaching overspill, with letters and envelopes spread over the surface in teetering stacks.
He shrugs. “I’ll go home. My time is up.”
There’s something odd about his voice, and I shake my head. “You sound like you’re going to drop dead the minute he walks through the door.”
He hesitates for a second but then he steps back and vanishes into the bedroom. “Of course not,” he calls. “I just meant that my time here is done. It’s time to get on with stuff.”
“What stuff?” I ask, walking over and leaning against the door to his bedroom. He’s pulling on khaki shorts and a fresh T-shirt the colour of honey. His body is long and slender, his skin a darker shade of gold from the sun, and his eyes look very bright in his tanned face.
“What?”
“You said you had stuff to sort out. What stuff?”
His gaze lands on mine and then flicks to the window. His fingers twist together, his knuckles white, his nails bitten. The silence swells, and I hold my breath.
He’s about to tell me something important. I’m a man with experience when it comes to confessions. But then his knees seem to give way and he sits on the side of the bed. He begins to put on his trainers, as though nothing has happened.
“Nothing important,” he says. “Just some business decisions.”
I don’t believe him. That wasn’t what he was going to say at all.
For a wild moment, I want to demand the truth, to shake him until his secrets fall out. I’m reasonably sure that if I pushed him now, he would tell me. But that goes against every atom of my life plan. I never get involved.
I make myself step back. It’s harder than I anticipated, and something tells me I might regret letting him keep his secrets.
“Hurry up,” I say. “We can get some dinner while we’re out.”
Out of his sight, I close my eyes and blow out a long breath. He’s going, and I won’t see him again. It’s strange because a part of me is glad. I’m happy I will no longer have this mess of feelings in my chest for someone. When he’s gone, I can return to a life where I never felt bewildered and overcome and like someone from an Austen novel.