by Anna Martin
My heart hadn’t just broken when he left. It had shattered.
Finally I start to come back to my senses, and he’s still there, watching me with his pretty eyes that are full of equal parts amusement and worry.
“Are you back in the land of the living?” he says, teasing me, and I love him even more for it.
“I think so.”
Clearly not, because when I try to sit up, I get an almighty head rush.
“Woah.”
Chris leans in and presses his lips to mine. It’s unexpected, this kiss, with his hands braced either side of me on the arms of the chair. I respond almost explosively, wrapping my hand around the back of his neck and pulling him close to me. I can’t stand not touching him anymore, and even though we’re not done with this conversation and there’s still a lot for me to get my head around, at least I know that he’s not about to leave.
He’s smiling against me as I pull him up onto my lap and laughs brightly as I figure out the best way to keep him balanced there. He wriggles a little bit, then rests his head against my chest and sighs.
“Sorry about that,” I murmur into his hair.
“The freak-out or the kiss?”
“Both. Neither.”
He laughs again and turns his cheek. I recognise the move, which places his lips right in alignment with my own, and there’s no harm, no harm at all with leaning in and brushing my lips over his.
“So, are you up for it?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Let’s do it.”
He scrambles from my lap with a stupid grin on his face that just makes me love him more, if that’s even possible. When he reaches for my hands, I let him tug me to my feet and lead me through to my bedroom, which I better start thinking of as ours now.
Chris pulls of my pyjama pants, and of course he’s not wearing anything underneath them, so when he lies back on my too-small bed, it’s just him, perfect and naked and waiting for me.
I’ve left my shoes at the front door and can’t be bothered to take anything else off; pouncing on him and pinning him to the bed while we kiss seems far more important. And it’s somehow very erotic, me being fully clothed in my work clothes while this man, this impetuous, amazing man, is nude beneath me.
“Are you sure this is okay?” I ask him. “You’re not catching a cold, are you?”
“Rob,” he says in that voice that no one else is allowed to use, with the nickname only he can ever get away with saying, “I wanted you to fuck me last night and you didn’t. If you don’t fuck me now, I might actually die.”
I laugh and kiss him again, and the warm slide of his tongue on mine, his soft, wet lips caressing mine so sweetly is all I need. All I need right now and forever and ever because he’s mine.
His body is warm. Not so warm that I’m still worried about being sick; more the type of warm that comes from sleeping in and then curling up on the sofa with a blanket and watching TV for most of the morning and not doing anything else. The lazy bugger.
“This is mine now,” I tell him, running my hand possessively down his side. “No one else gets to touch you.”
“No one has touched me since the first time you did,” he whispers to me. “Ever since I had you, I didn’t want anyone else.”
There’s a part of me that still questions if it’s all real—that is, until I’m all the way inside him again with the feel of his breath on my cheek and his hand on my hip, the other in my hair. All of this is home.
And I know now that my home is where he is, not this little apartment that has been too small for me for years but a real home where we can make it ours.
After, he’s quiet, and the late afternoon sunshine warms the room. When Flea jumps onto the bed to join in our snuggle, Chris welcomes him without any hesitation.
“He missed you, you know.”
“Of course he did. Me and Flea, we have a connection.”
“You’re the only person on the bloody planet he likes.”
Chris snorts and kisses the top of my head. I lose one of his arms to the cat, who is demanding scratches behind his ears.
“Chloe misses you too,” I say, deciding that this is an okay topic of conversation.
“Really?”
“Yeah. She asked if you were going to be home for Christmas.”
“I’m sorry I missed it,” he says. “She texts me sometimes.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“She tells me about her competitions and I tell her about our gigs. Then a couple of days later, I text her to ask her how she got on, and she texts me to ask how the gig went. That’s about it really. Sometimes she mentions you.”
This catches my interest. “Really? What does she say?”
“That would be an invasion of her privacy,” Chris says, and I can tell he’s smirking. “She was worried about you for a bit.”
I think back. I probably gave them all cause to worry at some point over the last few months. It feels like a lot to admit how badly I failed at keeping up appearances while he was away, and by the sounds of it he’s already been filled in by my daughter. I decide it’s something he doesn’t need to know.
“It’s better now you’re back.”
“For me, too.”
My head naturally finds a dip on his chest, and I allow my cheek to settle there, listening to the regular thump-thump of his heartbeat and drifting on the warm feelings that come with good sex with beautiful men.
I let my fingers trace the lines of his chest tattoo that haven’t yet been filled with colour. He had plans to get it finished before they left Boston, but Payne had gotten sick and didn’t have time to fit him in. I make a mental note to call her and set up an appointment now he’s home.
From this vantage point, I can see his penis. I haven’t really studied it flaccid before, and it lies heavy on his thigh, gently snuggled in a nest of light blond hairs. I’m not nearly as comfortable with my nudity as Chris is, and I like to have a blanket pulled up to my waist, but he just lets it all hang out, unafraid. I envy that about him.
I must drift more than I intended to as I wake with a start.
“Hmm?” I demand. “What time is it?”
Chris shushes me and runs his fingers through my hair.
“You were only sleeping for about twenty minutes,” he says in a soft voice. “I couldn’t bear to wake you up.”
I settle again, my cheek now feeling hot and sticky from being pressed so tightly against Chris’s skin. Sighing deeply is just an excuse to bring his scent back into my lungs.
“Ready to go again?”
“You are joking,” I tell him.
“Not at all.”
His cock is stirring with interest, and I let my fingertips stroke its length cautiously, exploring to test its responses. Chris rolls onto his side, reaching out to grab his lube and taking another generous scoop of it, easing it into himself.
I slide my index finger in alongside his, surprised to find that he isn’t as tight as when I prepared him the first time. Then I wonder why that surprises me, since he has already been fucked once. I didn’t even know I’ve got this kind of recovery time, but I’m nearly hard again, and his kisses and my finger tangling with his just inside is enough to take me all the way there.
Chris tucks his knees up to his chest.
We sleep in this position with me cradling him back against my body; the echoes of that most intimate position resonate as I line my body up with his and once again push into him.
The second time it’s different.
This time it feels like we have all the time in the world, and really, now we do. I’m no longer questioning if this is real. And although there are still so many things that need to be answered, they can all wait.
This is much more important.
My hand closes around his, and together we take hold of his cock, stroking it in time with my easy rocking inside him. There’s no pressure, no rush, no time for anything but this beautiful connection between us.
> I feel like I could spend all day, or maybe forever inside him.
“We have a lot of making up to do,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze and unconsciously echoing my thoughts.
“I can’t believe how much I need you. Missed you so much.”
“I missed you too. Tell me.”
“I love you.”
I can feel him melt at my words. It’s like he has nothing left to give me and lets me take what I need from his body. That doesn’t mean he stops moving, or seeking his own pleasure too; instead it’s a different kind of submission.
It feels like we haven’t kissed in hours, and the gentle brush of my lips over his makes my heart thump painfully in my chest. His tongue slides easily into my mouth, and I want him so badly, want more even though it’s impossible, I’m already inside him as far as I can go. The taste is him and me and the something unique that will only ever exist between us together.
When my second orgasm is torn from my body, everything hurts, and I cry out his name, over and over, safe in the knowledge that this, too, is only ours. No one else can ever have a piece of it.
“Rob.” My name is on his lips too as his sticky release floods my hand, and I press my face into his back.
I am never, ever going to let him go again.
Chapter 15
There’s something about the atmosphere in my home office that is far more conducive to working than my office at the campus. And since it was at this desk that I wrote my manuscript, with the cat sitting on my feet and an endless supply of tea and biscuits to keep me going, it feels right that this is where I should sit to edit the damn thing. And although it’s yet to land a publishing contract, my name and reputation and impressive resume have been enough for an agent to agree to represent me.
From this room I can hear the front door to the building slamming shut and the sound of Chris’s distinctive, heavy footfalls as he races up the stairs. It feels good to expect him home, even if he seems to completely keep to a schedule of his own making.
“Rob!” he yells as he closes the door behind him. I roll my eyes. The apartment is small enough that he doesn’t need to shout.
“I’m in here,” I say in a perfectly reasonable talking volume.
“Oh.” He sticks his head around the door and grins. “Are you working? I can come back later.”
“It’s not important.” That’s not strictly true. But it can wait. “What’s up?”
“I have something for you. Well, for me, really. For us.”
“Oh?”
He comes through and hands me a sealed envelope. While standing behind me his arms wrap loosely around my neck, and his chin rests on my shoulder as I slip my thumb under the seal and pull out two typed sheets of paper.
It takes a few minutes for me to interpret the list of abbreviations and numbers, but his name at the top of the sheet, and the name of his doctor, gives me some indication.
“Are these… blood tests?”
“Yup.”
I check the date. “From six months ago.”
“Just after we met.”
“And… from last week.”
“I’m clean,” he whispers in my ear. “I was clean six months ago, and I got checked again to make sure there was nothing nasty lingering. You’re the only person I’ve been with since then.”
It dawns on me, and I laugh. “You’re still hung up on the bareback thing.”
“Damn right I am,” he says emphatically. “I knew I’d be okay, I’ve always been careful. But this is the proof so you’ve got more to go on than my word.”
“I would have trusted you,” I say, feeling a little stung. “This wasn’t necessary. And you should know I can’t reciprocate.”
He kisses the side of my neck wetly. “Okay. When was your last test?”
I think back. “About eighteen months ago?”
“Was it all clear?”
“Yes.”
“And how many people have you slept with since then?”
A long pause. “One.”
“Is that one person me?”
“You’re not beyond being put over my knee for another spanking,” I say, but he’s already laughing, and I can’t help but join him. Chris manages to slide around onto my lap, and I search out a kiss. Our lips are like magnets these days. If we come within a certain distance of each other, kissing is inevitable.
“So will you do it?” he asks, and I have no reason to say no.
He straddles me, and even though his jeans are ridiculously loose, there’s still a strain across the front of them. In these and a plain white shirt, he’s more handsome than ever, and of course I can’t keep my hands off him. He’s beautiful and he’s mine.
When he starts to unbutton his shirt, I realise that he means right now, and the thought makes me smile. He’s so damn impatient, impetuous, and it’s going to get him in trouble one of these days. I can’t say that I mind, though. He’s been making my life interesting for far too long for me to care.
His shirt is tossed over my monitor, effectively cutting me off from my work, which is all the excuse I need (did I need an excuse in the first place?) to ignore the work I should be doing and focus all my attentions on him instead. And Chris is a much, much more interesting subject than editing.
I could spend hours on him.
“Come on,” I gasp, pulling back from his kisses. “Let’s go to bed.”
“No.” He is quite effective at pinning me to the chair. “Right here.”
“Kinky,” I manage before he bites my earlobe and makes me gasp. “Kinky bastard.”
“Yeah. Oh fuck, yeah.”
The thought—fucking in my office—is all I need to make the space in my jeans uncomfortably small. There’s no way we can do it in my office at work—and if I know Chris, which I think I do, that’s probably what he wants. This is a good substitute, though.
“Lube,” I say. “It’s in the bedroom.”
But he’s already shaking his head. “No. Bare. Rough. Like this.”
“No fucking way,” I tell him. “I’ve got no interest in making you bleed, Chris.” I adopt my Scary Teacher voice.
“Okay. But don’t put your fingers in me.”
Maybe I can agree to that. “Turn around, put your hands on the desk, and spread your fucking legs.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, with far more enthusiasm than I expected.
A pair of jeans, not mine, get flung across the room, and a cat disappears out the door in a blur of grey fluff. It’s his own fault for getting between us.
Chris is still toeing off his socks, and somehow he’s naked again while I’m fully dressed. I rectify that situation and leave him waiting for me as I carefully remove the last of my clothes, folding them and placing them on the desk next to his right hand. It’s a test—to see if he’ll disobey me. Part of me hopes he does, just so I have an excuse to spank him again.
Unfortunately he’s being incredibly well behaved, and as I sit down again, the leather feeling nice against my thighs, his arse is now at the perfect height for me to get to work on him. Since I know what’s coming next and that this has the potential to hurt him, I take the responsibility of adequately preparing him very seriously.
My tongue laps him from his balls to the base of his spine a few times; then I close in on his hole and lick it with soft little jabs. He’s making noises that aren’t quite whimpers but almost, his hips rocking back to me as I knead his cheeks in time with the rhythm of my tongue. I can tell when he’s almost ready to come. I’ve listened to those sounds a countless number of times and ease off a little before he gets there.
“Shit. Shit.” He’s laughing as he straightens up. “You’re going to make me come before we even get started.”
One look at me makes his eyes darken and the smirk drop from his face. I’m not sure what he’s seeing in me, but it makes him drop to his knees and take my cock in his mouth.
It’s moments like these when I know I’ll be the only man to ever feel Ch
ris’s lips around his cock ever again, because there’s no way in hell I’m letting him go. He’s mine now, and this feeling belongs just to us.
“Stay there,” I tell him, my voice low and menacing, and I smile when I see the slight tremble run down his spine.