“Anything we can get from room service at one a.m.?”
“Not without raising a few questions and being the subject of much gossip in the kitchen tomorrow.”
“We’ll have to make do with plain old lube, then,” I say, and slip my fingers into him as he giggles again.
Due to the work of my tongue and fingers before, it doesn’t take long to get him ready. I curl them and graze over his prostate a few times, enjoying the sound of his moans. Unable to wait any longer, I withdraw my fingers, and I enjoy seeing his cute little frown of displeasure at the loss. I tear open the condom packet and sheath myself, adding another coating of lube.
“Ready to be wrecked?” I ask, and he nods with a grin.
I line up with his entrance and push his knees up to his chest. I don’t even wait for him to take a breath before I slam into him, bottoming out in one go.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Unnngh,” he utters, but the smile on his face doesn’t slip. I raise up and slam into him, over and over. I lift his legs onto my shoulders, needing to go deeper, and he throws his head back and moans loudly every time I sink right into him. With each stroke, I pull almost out and then thrust in harder, deeper. He grabs for my hands, interlacing our fingers as he holds on—an anchor, as I fuck into him, each time bending him further and ramming him harder into the mattress. Sweat pours off me and drips onto his already glistening body as we become one, melding together, just a fury of grunts and connecting flesh. My orgasm hits me like a train, pushing me over a cliff, and I come hard. Everything in my body, heart, and mind free falls into space with no hope of return. Awareness slowly seeps back intome as I feel Simon judder beneath me and cum spurts over his chest. I peel off him slowly and he unfolds, wincing slightly.
“Okay?” I whisper, and he nods and uncurls further.
“Never mind not being able to sit down, I don’t think I can stand up,” he says, stretching a little.
“Hold on.” I push off the bed and walk through to the bathroom to turn on the shower. I go back to the bed and pick Simon up, then I carry him through to the shower and he slowly puts his feet on the floor. I shut the door and he leans against me for support. As the hot water washes over us both, I put my arms around him, holding him while he rests his forehead on my shoulder. I’ve fucked up, breaking all my rules, but I know, for him, I’d do it all again in an instant.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SIMON
I’m warm, comfortable, and in bed after the shower that Andrés so gently carried me to. I felt a bit useless that my legs didn’t want to work, but that was all his fault. He made good on his promise and wrecked me in all the best ways. Then he took care of me, holding me until I could support myself again, washing me and then towelling me dry. He was genuinely an expert at it, and a fleeting thought of him washing down his horses comes to mind. It would hardly surprise me if he called me a good boy.
Andrés climbs into the bed beside me and leans back against the pillows. He lifts his arm as an invite, and I tuck myself into his side, resting my head against his chest. It’s been a long time since I’ve snuggled in bed with someone. It’s intimate, far more than sex, which can be very transactional, especially with hookups. But sharing space, warmth, and just being together feels far more. I know I spent last night here, but then I slept like the dead until my alarm woke me and then . . . there was more sex. We hadn’t kissed then either, but now we have andeverything’s changed. Except nothing really has. This is still a hookup and Andrés leaves in a couple of days. It hits me that I know nothing about him really, so this supposed intimacy isn’t real. It’s just a veneer of something that doesn’t exist. I swallow down the knowledge that this will all end soon and decide that I can at least get to know the guy whose chest I’m using as a pillow.
“What happens when you go back to Argentina? Do you live with your family?”
“Argentina?” His voice sounds confused, but also sleepy so it might be that.
“You said you had twelve horses back in Argentina, and you’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”
“I am, on Sunday, but I’m not going back to Argentina. There is nothing for me there now,” he says gruffly, and I twist my head to look up at him. Something tells me that mentioning the horses right now isn’t a good idea, but that doesn’t stop me from sticking my foot in it anyway.
“What about family?”
“None that want me,” he says, and I hear the pain behind his words. He drops his eyes, playing his fingers along the edge of the duvet. Instinctively, I put my hand on his chest and smooth it up and down. After a few seconds he releases a deep sigh.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” I know he probably doesn’t, he has friends he can probably talk to, but, sometimes it’s easier to confide in someone else, a person on the outside. It won’t matter if I know the painful details because our shared orbits will soon part ways forever. I ignore the vague emptiness that forms inside me when I remember that fact and wait, my hand still moving onhis chest. He doesn’t speak for so long that I begin to think he won’t, or he’ll answer with a short no. But eventually he lets out an even longer sigh, as if he’s been deliberating with himself and come to a decision.
“Six months ago my father passed away,” he begins.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. I know what it’s like to lose a parent—or both in my case. It’s been six years but it still hurts. His arm tightens around me and he continues.
“He was everything to me, my mentor, my supporter, and my friend. He was a successful businessman but he also loved horses and played polo when he could. He was very good and played a lot of tournaments, with his teams winning many of them. He first put me on a horse when I was just a few months old, which kindled my dreams of becoming a polo player like him. And I achieved it too. He paid for everything—my horses, my car, my apartment—and I didn’t think about the future, what would happen if he was no longer there. In my mind he’d live forever. And then he had a heart attack and was gone, and so was my life.”
He stops and takes a deep breath.
“You said he was a successful businessman. Did he leave you anything?” I ask, and he barks a laugh.
“No, I’m illegitimate, his bastard son. Almost everything went to my half-brother Francisco. I was allowed to keep my horses, and he gifted me a breeding barn two hours out of Buenos Aires. He also left me a small amount of money, but barely enough to keep the horses in hay for a winter. I had to sell two of them just to make sure I had enough money to pay Diego, the barn manager, for the next year.”
“I take it you don’t get on with your brother, then?” I ask and he makes a grimace.
“I was always Dad’s favourite, even though Francisco is four years older. It was the horses that we bonded over.”
