An Unexpected Kind of Love

by Hayden Stone

  “Yeah—” I beg.

  His kisses are greedy as he claims my mouth. And I claim him right back as I wrap my arms around him, pressing my hardening cock against his thigh in a promise. My hand slides down between the buttons of his fly to press into his stiff cock, which is rigid and full of its own promises too.

  “Gonna fuck you right here if you’re not careful—” Blake manages.

  “Dare you.”

  “Oh—”

  Our kisses and seeking hands are abruptly paused when the lift stops to let a well-groomed couple on, possibly escaped from some kind aspirational lifestyle blog, who stand in front of us.

  We both try our best to look normal. I tremble with the strain of not laughing, my overwhelming desire for him. A sidelong glance rewards me with the sight of Blake, flushed. Our fingertips brush. I take his hand in mine, searing hot, and place it on my arse.

  He shivers.

  The lift stops at our floor and we make our way out past the couple without incident, laughing because we can’t help it. It’s a great stress breaker. Dizzy with pleasure, I follow him down the corridor along plush carpets to his room.

  Inside the room—yes, it’s a room and not a suite, but a generous double especially for the heart of London—we pause long enough to wash our hands and faces from the grime of travel and down some water. Then, we pick up where we started in the lift.

  Right now, I’m doing my best to shut off my brain.

  I try not to think about Blake leaving tonight for L.A. and the audition of a lifetime. Or next week when Blake leaves for good. When I’ll be alone, again.

  That’s the part of me that wants to stay guarded, keep safe, keep the walls fortified and gated. But they’ve come down with an epic crash after our trip north and Blake’s song at Euston, putting himself on the line like that. For me. To prove to me that I matter, even in front of strangers. That he’s not embarrassed by me, but proud. Maybe it’s an act, because he’s an actor after all, but even actors don’t kiss like this, I’m fairly certain.

  It’s one of the last coherent things I manage to think before Blake’s pulled me onto the bed with him. We manage to take off our shoes and immediately lose ourselves in each other. His hands are on my back as I lie half sprawled on him, kissing him back just as passionately. Blake tugs off my hat, peels my shirt off, and I return the favor.

  We pause long enough to gaze at each other, bare-chested.

  “You…you think we should do this?” I ask, breathless. I’m already hard, my body more than willing. My brain is unfortunately more reluctant, damn thing. Why can’t it be quiet, even for one day?

  “You don’t want to?” Blake frowns with concern, tracing my indigo dragon.

  “Of course I want to, but don’t you think it’ll just make things harder?” A line of goose bumps appears after his touch.

  A struggle crosses his face. “Don’t you want me?”

  “God, Blake. I want you more than anything. I just…” I reach out to trace his lips, and he catches my finger between his teeth, giving a tentative nip.

  “Just?”

  “I don’t want to be thoroughly devastated when you leave, is all.” I whisper my guilty confession as he runs a hand along my jaw and throat, along my chest, and skims my ribs till I shudder. “But I think I’m going to be regardless. So maybe…maybe we just need to make the best of things right now.”

  He gazes at me and nods, serious as he considers me. “You’re important to me, Aubrey. Even in this short time. Sometimes, I think, life brings us people we’re supposed to meet. Like there’s something we’re supposed to learn. And I guess, having been through what I’ve been through, the only thing I’ve learned is that it’s better to take a chance than not. Even if it hurts after. Because not knowing would hurt worst of all, I think. At least this way we might have something to remember.”

  “Or maybe I just end up with another ghost,” I murmur, words catching in my throat and staying there. And another broken heart. Then, I kiss him reverently, and he pulls me down on the bed.

  “I won’t ghost you,” he breathes, kissing a path down my chest as my fingers grip his hair.

  I shudder. “That’s not what I mean…”

  Blake gazes up at me, eyes soft. “I know, gorgeous.” He kisses my belly. “I—”

  “Don’t stop. What you’re doing,” I beg finally, unable to bear his stop-and-start fitful teasing any longer, arching into him. Like my body belongs to him, even after such a short time. “Please.”

  And he resumes with his mouth and his tongue and his fingers, pulling me out of my boxers before long, giving me a blowjob that leaves me seeing the stars and the moon and the entire galaxy, and quite possibly the next galaxy over, till I balance on the point of coming, but then I beg again, this time to stop.

  “I need you to fuck me,” I manage, reaching for Blake. He’s still decent in his jeans, while I’m the one in an entirely compromised state, hanging out of my boxers and jeans. I wriggle out of them.

  He chuckles and stands, stripping down to reveal an athletic body, tanned and sculpted and…oh. Those abs. Seriously, though. I just stare openly at him, because really, a body like that is purely made for gawping.

  “I love the way you look at me.” Blake grins, sliding out of his boxers at last, his cock already eager. “It’s so fucking hot.”

  “I want you right now…” I growl desperately, fumbling for my wallet. Without ceremony or hesitation, I fling a condom at him.

  He laughs at my eagerness, taking moment to put the condom on before drawing me close.

  “Is this what you do with all of the Hollywood starlets?” I say between increasingly ragged kisses. “Ravish them?”

  Blake laughs with delight. “There’re no Hollywood starlets! Or stars. And you—well, you’re the only one I want to ravish.” He bites my shoulder for good measure and I groan with pleasure. He’s rubbing his cock against my thigh in a way that’s only making mine harder and me more nonsensical.

  “Stop. Teasing.” I gasp. “Fuck.”

  He laughs, reaching for lube. And then a moment later, he catches me tight, drawing my legs up, and he’s rubbing and then presses in deep as I cry out with the sensation of him, even wanting him as badly as I do.

  “Don’t stop.”

  He holds me tight, rocking with me, mumbling things into my hair, nice things I can’t bear to listen to, but I can’t make him stop. And then I’m sobbing and he stops and I beg him to continue again.

  “Just…don’t be so kind,” I gasp.

  And then he’s rougher—and it’s a lot easier to take.

  The bites. The scratches. The sharp thrusts.

  The way he pins me down and rides me, sweat-slick and urgent.

  There’s nothing but us, here and now. No last week. Or next week. Or future or past. We’re just two people, caught in something raw. Something real.

  Something that will disappear far too quick. But I want him to know he means something. More than something—he means everything, in such a small time.

  Right now, we’re locked together. Fingers dig into skin. Nails leave marks. Blake’s body is mine—and mine belongs to him.

  And when he comes explosively, riding me while I cry out with the want of him, coming taut and messy and wild, my nails dig into his arse. I hold him there till he collapses on me, panting. Eventually, he kisses me, and I still gasp.

  “Imagine if we could do that all the time,” I say, breathless.

  Blake grins at me, equally breathless. “Dreamy.”

  “You’d have to get used to my rather shit bed, I’m afraid. Nothing posh in my flat.” I dare glance at him but he’s still smiling. “As you’ve seen, there’s plenty of DIY potential.”

  “A real fixer-upper,” Blake teases. “You might need someone who’s good with tools.”

  Smi
ling, I shake my head. “Scraping the bottom of the barrel for jokes already, I see.”

  “I’ve been very restrained without a single tool joke so far, in my defense.”

  “You’re clearly a man of dignity and honor.”

  “You’d patiently put up with my terrible jokes in return for the sofa bed.”

  “The foundation on which all brilliant relationships are built. Mutual tolerance,” I drawl. “It’s some hypothetical future.”

  In truth, the thought of a future with Blake in it is too overwhelming to think about, too fabulous and too heartbreaking. And he’ll be gone very soon to L.A., a test run before he goes for good.

  Blake kisses me thoroughly. I melt against his mouth.

  “How long before you need to leave for your flight?” I ask.

  “An hour.”

  “Better make the best of it,” I tease, running a hand along his admirable chest.

  We start all over again, like our lives depend on our urgency, nearly frantic, trying to commit each other to memory before America steals Blake away again.

  Soon enough, there’ll be no glorious Blake, no posh hotel. Just me alone in a cramped bedsit, with more memories to keep with the old ones—alone with books for company.

  …

  Two mornings later, I stop by the coffee shop, which has sustained me since Blake left, thanks to my friend Charlie giving me his key for the loo. I get a flat white and a couple of pastries to take back to Barnes Books. My mini-break is over. Blake’s flying back. I’m sorting out what’s happened with the repairs, plus there’s a courier delivery after 10:00 a.m., so I can’t get to the airport to meet him, though I saw him off the other night. Nothing like swinging full tilt into reality once again.

  Already, the morning sun beats down on the city, promising another hot summer’s day. Other merchants on my street are opening up for the day: the antiques shop, a couple of doors down, has their door open for air, old things flanking the entry. A barrister’s bookcase. Vintage wine crates. An oak table in the window.

  There’s also a design shop, and I go in for my last dash hope for a gift for Ryan. Otherwise, my backup plan is a book. The colorful shop showcases everything from industrial product design of household things—bespoke tea kettles, whimsical china, silkscreened prints—to the handmade. And amongst all of the things I find a small framed block print of a Soho streetscape not far from their home. This seems safe. So I buy it and have it wrapped, and with relief return to the shop in time for the courier.

  Gus, the usual courier who brings me offerings, does a double take when he sees the empty shop gleaming with newly installed floors. A few empty bookcases stand in a corner, with boxes beside them. “Trying a new look, Aubrey?”

  “Mmm, what do you think?” I gaze around, hands on my hips, sunglasses pushed up on my hair. A smile plays on my lips. What has Blake done to me that I’m so happy, even in this mess that needs sorting? “Should I keep it?”

  Gemma supervised the installation. The wall where there had been a hole is now repaired, no hint of any troubles with the fresh aubergine paint.

  “Only if you’re into hardcore minimalism.” He scratches his jaw. “I kind of like the purple paint, though.”

  “Yeah, it’s grown on me,” I admit. The way the sunlight floods the shop in its newfound expanse of space is somehow comforting amid the havoc. “This happened because of filming,” I explain.

  “Ah, say no more.” Gus claps me on the shoulder. “Good luck sorting this out, mate.”

  “I’m going to need it.” I shake my head. Gus gets on with the business of bringing in fresh stock that I have nowhere to place, so he adds it to my growing collection of boxes.

  And with newfound confidence, inspired possibly by Blake’s usual ease at moving through the world, I bring my laptop out to the front counter and perch. This, at least, is familiar. The wrapped gift for Ryan sits beside me on a stack of books, my flat white providing a caffeinated lift. The first croissant disappears quickly.

  My phone buzzes. I pick it up from the counter.

  Landed at Heathrow. Have we ever talked about black beans?

  I smile and text back. Don’t think so.

  Important fact: I ate a shocking amount of black bean tacos while I was in L.A.

  Laughing, I shake my head, even though he can’t see me.

  If you’re up for non-Mexican later, would you come with me to Ryan’s birthday? x

  Course.

  A thrill runs through me at the thought of seeing Blake in a few hours, along with nerves about introducing him to my friends at last. Most of all, I can’t wait to see him.

  At last evening comes around, which means Blake. Which also, finally, means Ryan’s birthday. With enough angst about introducing Blake to my friends to make an emo teen quiver, I get ready and do my best to make myself presentable.

  In the end, I find a short-sleeved blue linen shirt and some non-falling-apart jeans for a smart-casual sort of look with a bit of spit and polish on my old Docs. When Blake arrives on my doorstep, he’s all designer chic in a crisp white shirt and gray jeans and a light cotton jacket. Behind him, twilight purples the sky. We kiss.

  He’s still delicious.

  “Mm, missed you,” murmurs Blake, whose hand along my jaw makes we want to drag him inside and forget about the whole party, but reason prevails. Or maybe duty. Lily would never let me live it down if I failed to bring Blake for her to meet.

  “Missed you too. Tell me about the audition on the way?” It’s only been a couple of days, but even that absence felt like a lifetime. The gift’s tucked under my arm. “Ready?”

  “You bet. How about you?” Blake’s gaze is appraising as he gives me a wry smile.

  “Gah. But I’ll live. At least it’s not their wedding day.” I shake my head. “Sorry, it’s petty. Should get over this.”

  “I don’t see why you should,” Blake says frankly. “Going to your ex’s partner’s birthday is a big ask.”

  “Well, Ryan’s also my friend,” I point out. “Even with everything.”

  It’s true that Ryan was my friend first, after that day we met, when he fixed the flat tire on my bike. After that first night out with Eli for drinks, Ryan would stop by the shop regularly for books and a visit around closing time, when we would carry on to the pub around the corner once the shop was shuttered for the night. He was always good to his word—the night he failed to show up as planned left me sick to my stomach with unease. Later that night we found out through another common acquaintance about the dreadful accident up the street where a cyclist had been struck.

  The rest is too awful to think about, but the guilt still lingers, knowing that Ryan had been on his way to see me. Instead, my grip’s tight on Blake’s hand, anchoring me in the present day.

  We walk along the evening streets of Soho. Cars are parked on curbs, queues of the fashionable waiting for restaurants snake down pavements, and pub patrons spill out onto the street. The evening crowds are cheerful, the night young.

  “How was L.A.? And the audition?” I ask.

  “L.A.’s epic as ever.” Blake grins. “Though, really, it’s a blur between time zones and taxis. I think I showed up at the right place and did the right audition. Hard to say.”

  “I don’t even know how you’re awake right now,” I say frankly. “Did you sleep on the plane?”

  “I did,” Blake confirms. “Which is lucky because that’s a long flight to L.A. from London. And back.”

  “I can’t even imagine.” I shake my head. “I’ve never been to America. To be honest, flying terrifies me.”

  Blake gives me a wry look as we walk. “It’s not my favorite thing. I hear you, though.”

  I smile back. “So, tell me. What’s the part? When do you find out if you got it?”

  “I think I find out next week. They’ll call m
y agent. And it’s for another supporting actor role.”

  “Another rom-com?”

  “Drama. Something to do with being an adventurer.”

  “Hmm. Sounds like you might be getting into rom-com territory there,” I tease. “Adventure’s hot. Unless you’re on a doomed expedition.”

  He grins, kissing me as I stop in front of our destination. “I’m definitely rom-com adventurer hot for you. And I sure hope this isn’t a doomed expedition.”

  “God, me too.” I give him another kiss for luck. Here’s hoping Eli can behave himself tonight.

  Ryan’s birthday’s being held at a restaurant in a private room, at least sparing me the discomfort of returning to my old home with Eli and having to pretend even harder that things are normal when they’re anything but.

  Outside the restaurant, we pause and I draw in a long breath. “Ready?” I ask.

  The stomach butterflies are going overtime. It’s the first time Blake’s meeting any of my friends. Well, it’s bigger than that. The idea of introducing Blake to Eli again—this time as my boyfriend—might be the end of me. And my nerves are getting the better of reason.

  Eli’s just a person, not some sort of specter coloring everything I do. Or am.

  It’s one thing to think that—quite another to feel it.

  “Ready. It’s gonna be fine.” He squeezes my hand, and we go in.

  Inside, the lights are low, the restaurant intimate. We’re led to the private party room, where mercifully about a dozen people are already gathered. That means I can do the human shield thing from Eli for a while.

  Ryan and Eli are at one end of the room. Ryan looks great, sleek dark hair, a pink shirt, happy. Holding on to Blake’s hand for strength with a rather vise-like grip, I approach tentatively. So much for using my body for protection in an authoritative way. Best laid plans and all of that.

  Ryan notices me first and brightens at the sight of me. “Aubrey! So glad you could make it.”

  “Thanks for the invite.” I gulp air. “Ryan, this is Blake.”