by Lily Morton
“Come here,” I say throatily, and he shakes his head, his cheeks ruddy and his eyes laser focused as he gropes for his trousers on the floor. When he comes back up with a tube and a gold packet, I shudder, and he smiles darkly.
He sits on the floor, leaning back against the sofa and chucking the lube next to him. “That sofa is like a torture instrument. Get down here,” he says, fisting his cock and starting to jerk himself lazily as he eyes me.
I get up and stand over him as he runs his hands up my legs. He cocks his head, watching as I shiver when his fingers touch my hips. Obeying the sharp pull of his hands, I lower myself to sit in his lap. We both groan as I settle, and his cock rubs against my hole as if demanding entrance.
“Come here,” he says gruffly, and I lower my lips to his. We both let out a sigh as they touch, gently at first but then harder as we sink into the kiss. I press down, groaning as my cock rubs against the hair on his stomach and sends bright sparks behind my eyes. We kiss hungrily, and I shudder as his hands leave my hips where they’ve been rubbing circles, and I hear the snap of a bottle opening.
I fold my arms behind his head and kiss him harder, only to pull away as he pulls my cheeks back to expose my hole. For a second I feel cold air and then the touch of wet, slippery fingers as he rubs over my entrance, gently flirting with the wrinkled skin.
He plays there for a second as he takes my mouth again in long, slow kisses before I feel one finger slide in. I tense for a second, and he stays still, watching me carefully, his eyes like neon in the dim light.
“Okay?” he whispers and I nod, easing down on the digit.
“God, yes,” I moan, feeling pleasure race through my passage. “Fuck, that’s good. More.”
One hand holds me firmly by the hip while the other plays, adding another finger and then another, the lube making an obscene noise in the still room. Our panting breaths are loud as I start to ride his fingers, forcing them in further and crying out as he crooks them and massages my prostate.
“Oh shit,” I gasp, pressing my forehead into his shoulder. “That’s so good.” I look up at him to find him examining me. His colour is high, and his eyes are almost dazed. “Want you to fuck me, Zeb,” I whisper and his eyes flare.
He pulls his fingers out slowly and I moan at the loss. He hitches me up slightly, and I hear the snap of the rubber before he lowers me again, and his cock nudges my entrance. For a second, I blanch at the thought that it’s much bigger than his fucking fingers.
“We’ll go easy,” he says hoarsely as if he’s read my mind. “Tell me to stop and I will, darling.”
For a second we both still at the endearment. He looks shell-shocked, while I feel a wide surge of pleasure. I want him to call me that again and again in that hoarse voice. I wriggle, bringing his mind back to the task, and then I feel his cock start to enter me.
It hurts. More than usual, but then he’s big. However, I’m one of those men who love the burn. I like to feel the pain as I stretch around him because the pleasure afterwards always feels more intense.
I grit my teeth and bear down on him as he slides slowly into me until finally my backside meets his lap, and I feel the crinkle of his pubic hair.
We hang there for a second panting and twitching. I wriggle experimentally, and he groans.
“Alright?” he asks gutturally, and I nod, too overcome to find my words. Instead, I pull his head towards me and kiss him feverishly. At first, he stays still, apart from the movement of his mouth, and then gradually he starts to thrust upwards in gentle movements like the tide. I’m sitting on him, my backside tucked neatly into his lap and stuffed full of cock, and it’s almost overwhelming,
Then his cock brushes my prostate, and I shout out loud, which acts like petrol on the fire for him. He seizes my mouth in a fierce and dirty kiss, our teeth clashing. He pulls back. “Okay?” he asks through gritted teeth, and I nod furiously, starting to ride him, lifting up so that his cock almost comes out and hovering there, feeling it stretch my rim and then pushing down so it tunnels back in.
His hands bracket my hips, digging in so hard I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow, and I revel in it. He pushes upwards, a powerful movement that makes me cry out and writhe in his lap, and he begins a series of punishing thrusts. His cock feels like a steel pole in me, and my own dick lets out a spurt of liquid, painting his stomach as he hits my prostate almost continuously.
The room is full of the sounds of grunts and moans and the scent of sex is heady in the air. I grab my cock and start to jerk it, feeling the tingle in my balls. “Fuck, I’m close,” I groan. “Oh shit. I can feel it.”
I cry out as he suddenly grabs my hips and levers me up so that he slips out of me.
“What are you doing?” I moan. “I need you in me.”
“Get up,” he grits out. His eyes are blind and sweat drips down his face. “Bend over the sofa. I need to pound that arse.”
“Oh God, yes.” I jump up frantically and bend over the sofa, burying my face in the cushions. My scream is therefore buried in them as he pushes back into me. He pistons in and out, starting up a punishing rhythm with the only goal being for us to come.
I hang over the sofa, my hair in my face and sweat stinging my eyes as the cushions rub against my cock.
“I’ve dreamt of doing this,” he whispers hoarsely. “Seeing you bent over like this.”
“Me too,” I whimper. “Oh shit, Zeb, touch me.”
He sends one arm over my chest, pulling me up and bracing me against him as he fucks into me in fierce choppy thrusts, while the other slides down and his rough hand circles my dick. I’m leaking a lot now, and he groans as the liquid coats his palm. I cry out as his fist forms a tight slippery tunnel, and he shoves into me hard.
I don’t even have time to say anything. Instead, I cry out and, feeling my balls draw up, I shoot over his hands, spurts of come filling his fingers and slicking his palm. He moans as the sharp scent rises between us and he gives one thrust, two thrusts, and a third. Then he goes rigid, pushing his cock up so far it’s like he’s trying to climb inside me. He lets loose a guttural shout, and I feel warmth flood the condom inside me.
For a few minutes, we hang over the sofa panting. His hips move in tiny thrusts, as he rides out his orgasm, and we both twitch occasionally as pleasure flares and burns away.
Eventually, he sighs. “Holy fucking shit.”
Incredibly, I start to laugh, and he grunts as it tightens my passage around his cock, probably painfully.
“You can say that again,” I mutter. “Did you pay a damage deposit? Because I think this sofa needs reupholstering now.”
He starts to laugh and we stay there for a second, his arms warm around me and his laughter like bright spangles in the dark. It’s oddly wonderful.
Eventually, we half walk and half stagger to the bed and collapse into it without saying another word, but the silence is somehow comfortable. He pulls the covers over us and I take the opportunity to snuggle into him. For a second, he’s rigid as if surprised, and then I’m gratified to feel his arms tighten around me.
He kisses the top of my head, and we lie quietly, neither of us seemingly inclined to question what just happened. Suits me because a reckoning is no doubt on the horizon.
Zeb’s phone beeps, and I groan as he removes his arm from around me and reaches for it amongst the tangle of clothing I threw by the bed. Looking at the screen, he huffs. “Jesus Christ.”
I raise my head from its spot on his hairy chest. “What?”
“We won the hide-and-seek competition.” I start to laugh, and he grimaces. “Apparently, we couldn’t be found tonight.”
“Because we’ve been fucking in our room.” I snort. “We were playing a different game of hide-and-seek. One that Frances never considered in her War and Peace-sized list of rules.”
“They want us to go to the library to collect the prize.”
“No.”
He cocks one eyebrow. “Why?”
&nbs
p; I send my hand down and cup his cock, which stiffens in my hand. “Because we’re going to carry on our winning streak. I want you again.”
“Aren’t we going to talk about this?” he says breathlessly as his hips start to churn, pushing his cock into my tight fist.
“No, the first rule of Shag Club is we don’t talk about Shag Club.”
“That is not a thing, and what a disgusting name for a club,” he pants, his voice catching in a moan.
“It’s definitely a thing.” I bend to lick up the length of his dick before suckling on the head, digging my tongue gently into the slit. I pause and look up at him. He’s watching me intently. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I say innocently. “Would you like me to stop so you can collect our holiday to the Caribbean?”
“Fuck the Caribbean,” he says hoarsely, lying back down on the pillows and throwing his arm over his eyes. “The Shag Club is in session.”
“That’s the spirit,” I say approvingly and bend back to my task.
Chapter Nine
Zeb
I wake up in the morning slowly and the first thing I realise is that I feel warm and lazy. That’s sufficiently unusual for me to crank my eyes open. When my gaze drops on the man lying next to me, I jolt upright like I’ve been electrocuted.
My first thought is Sweet Jesus, what have I done? Actually, that’s a lie. My actual first thought is Holy shit, he looks amazing. Jesse is lying face down on the bed, his dark brown hair a silky mess around his face and his full, pink lips slightly parted. His olive skin is dark against the blue bedlinen, and I’m now in a position to know that he’s that colour all over apart from a pale strip around his arse. The reason I know that is because said arse is exposed, as I’ve pulled the sheet off him in a panic.
He starts to stir and panic fills my head. What the fuck am I going to do? Thoughts swirl around my brain. He works for me. I’m his boss. He’s so much younger than me. God, he’s lovely. What about that thing he did with his tongue last night? To my horror, I feel my cock fill. Images of last night flit lazily past my eyes.
He opens his eyes to cast a bleary gaze over me, and he smiles. It’s glorious, full of sleepy happiness, and I panic. I totally panic.
“This was a mistake,” I blurt out. Loudly. I watch the sleepy happiness fade to confusion and feel my heart sink. What am I doing? I’m not sure, but as a testament to my stupidity, I carry on doing it. “I’m so sorry,” I say hoarsely. “We shouldn’t have slept together.”
The confusion melts to something dark before he shutters it, leaving him with a blank, cool expression that doesn’t sit well on that lovely, mobile face.
“Bit late for that now.” He sits up, completely unfazed by the fact that he’s stark naked, while I have the sheet wrapped around me like I’m Doris Day in one of those old films with Rock Hudson. I wish I was as cool, because just the sight of his cock lying semi hard against his thigh makes my mouth water.
I become aware that I’m staring at his dick, and it appears to be equally interested. I drag my gaze up to find him watching me with one eyebrow raised. I clear my throat and try to gather my composure. Remembering that I’m old enough to be his father helps.
“I’m sorry, but we can’t do this again. It would be wrong,” I say awkwardly. Unfortunately, the awkwardness comes across as cold, and I wince as I watch his face harden.
“Oh, how did I know you were going to say that?” he says, sliding out of bed and striding over to the wardrobe. He grabs a pair of faded old jeans and pulls them up. I watch that tight, round arse disappear and have a sudden flashback to seeing the cheeks spread as I eased my dick into his tiny hole, watching as it closed around my cock. I blink. Oh my God, I’m having sex-related flashbacks.
His expression is blank when he turns round, and much as I try to search his face, I get nothing because he’s locked down tight.
“Jesse,” I say, hating the begging note in my voice but unable to hide it. “I’m–”
“There’s really no need to say sorry again,” he says coldly. “I knew this was going to happen.” He gives a humourless laugh that really doesn’t suit him. “Maybe I should start predicting the outcome of the World Cup, seeing as I’ve been gifted with foresight. I’m much better than an octopus.”
It’s his first display of emotion since that lovely smile when he woke up. I watch a muscle tic wildly in his jaw, belying his flippant words as he drags a white T-shirt over his head and disappears into the bathroom. I get up from the bed, still clutching the ridiculous sheet to myself.
“Can we just…” I manage to get out before he shuts the door in my face. To add to the cold feel of the room I hear the lock turn.
“Jesse,” I say softly, banging my head against the door, wishing I could do it hard enough to smash some sense into my head. My brain is whirling with confusion. “I’m so sorry. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. You’re so wonderful. You’re funny and beautiful and brave and so full of life. There is no way as an adult that I should in good conscience damage that. And I will damage it. I’ll hurt you, because I’m too closed off.” I think of all the things Patrick had thrown at me. “I’m cold and obsessed with order and way too regimented for someone as full of life as you.”
The door opens, and I sway before regaining my balance.
“That’s the trouble, Zeb,” he says icily. “You’re talking to me like an adult to a child. I’m twenty-four. I’m an adult too, but I’ll never be one in your eyes because you categorised me three years ago and filed me in the wrong fucking place. But you’re too stubborn to admit that you made a mistake, so here I am. Still on your shelf with the wrong label.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” he scoffs.
“But I was rude,” I persist diligently. “I just panicked.”
He laughs, and there is none of the usual rich humour about it. It sounds horrible. “Why the fuck would you panic, Zeb? We slept together. That’s it. Panic should be reserved for running away from tornados or erupting volcanos. Not sleeping with the office joke who will be forgotten as soon as he leaves.”
“Where the hell did that come from?” I say angrily as he marches towards the door, grabbing an amber-coloured jacket as he goes. “No, you wait a fucking minute. You’re not going to be forgotten like that and who the fuck ever called you the office joke? Wait, where are you going?”
I follow him into the hall and he whirls to face me. “I am going to breakfast. Alone,” he says as I open my mouth. “I don’t want to speak to you for a while, Zeb, because I’ve just realised that you’re a bit of a fucking cunt.” The door slams behind me and his mouth quirks. “And you’re going to be super busy soon anyway. You’re in the corridor naked apart from a sheet, and now you’re locked out of our room.” He shrugs. “Still, as you’re such a fucking grown-up, I’m sure you’ve got a spare key somewhere on your person. See you later.”
He gives me a casual wave of his hand and disappears down the stairs. A door opens behind me and I turn and sigh. “Oh, of course it would be you.”
“Good morning, Zeb,” Nina says icily. “Nice to see you taking your messy private life onto the hotel corridors.”
“Fuck my life,” I groan and bang my head against the locked door. It hurts and maybe it should.
Jesse
I make my way quickly downstairs and out towards the lake. I need to be outside where I can pace and try and get rid of this tight feeling in my chest. My eyes feel hot, and I rub them briskly until the moisture goes away. I knew this was going to happen. I bloody knew it. So why did I do it? I shake my head. Because I want him. I want him all the fucking time and that was my chance to have him.
I rest my back against a tree and look out over the lake. A storm is threatening and the sky is a heavy golden-grey colour, infusing everything with that strange glaze. The water reflects the sky back, making it look somehow magical like a portal into fairy land. I bite my lip. If I had the chance, I’d fuck off to fairy land s
traightaway. Never mind the enchanted food and drink. Just the chance not to have to face Zeb would have me signing up for wings and a wand.
I pull my coat around me because it’s noticeably cooler now and tap my fingers on my knee, hooking my nail into the slight rip there and tugging on the loose fibre. It unravels slightly and a bigger hole appears in the denim. Sort of appropriate for the way I feel this morning.
Voices sound in the distance and I push myself closer to the tree. I don’t want to talk to anyone at the moment. But then equally, I sort of do. I want to talk inanities so I can push away the look on Zeb’s face when he woke up this morning in bed with me. The shock and shame were written all over him, and, for a minute, I’d wanted to shrivel up and die. Was he wishing I was Patrick or just wishing I was anyone but me? The thought makes bile rise in my throat. I’d gone to sleep so happy wrapped around him, and to be cast aside like this is startling.
My phone vibrates, and when I look down I can see a message from Zeb. Actually, I can see five messages from him. I wonder if he’s managed to get back into the room without embarrassment. I hope he hasn’t.
Having the phone in my hand, though, reminds me that there is one person I can always talk to, and I pull up his contact details. The ring tone sounds and then the call connects, and I hear the lovely Welsh tones of my best friend.
“Jess?” he says. I can hear what sounds like cutlery and the radio in the background, so he and his boyfriend are probably having breakfast.
“So, hypothetically if I’d gone away for the week with my boss to pretend to be his boyfriend and ended up sleeping with him and then falling for him, would you say that was wise?” I say in a jumble of words.