“Fuck that’s hot,” he says, and returns his eyes to mine. “Everything about you is hot, Simon. You’re so fucking sexy.”
He leans down and lightly brushes my lips with his. It’s more electric than if he’d kissed me hard. My whole body lights up, and I gasp in anticipation as he does it again, moaning as he delicately sucks on my bottom lip before running his tongue over it. I groan as he breaks contact and then returns with anotherfeather-light touch. Every time he pulls away I want to chase his lips, but don’t, enjoying instead the exquisite agony of waiting for his mouth to return. Every nerve in my body is tingling, and I can hardly breathe as he slowly kisses my jaw, my neck, and my shoulder. I’m taut like an overwound string about to snap, ready to explode as he kisses just below my ear. Then he unravels me completely.
“Please let me make love to you?”
“Yes,” I croak and his hum of approval against my skin melts my core. He works his mouth back across my jaw, giving me a long gentle kiss on the lips, before pulling out of my hand and climbing off me. I lie there watching him as he reaches over to the drawer and pulls out the lube. He quickly sheathes his dick in a condom and settles back into place next to me.
“Turn over.” His voice is soft, and I shift to lie on my front. I go to raise myself onto my knees but he pushes me back down with a gentle touch. He lies down beside me and kisses the back of my shoulder while his lube-coated fingers find my hole and tease my pucker. After the way he wrecked me the other night, it won’t take much, and I could probably take him without any prep, but the fact that he wants to take the time to do it just adds to the wonderful person he is. I sigh as his finger breaches me, and he hums against my skin as if I’ve pleased him. The sound spurs me on, and I push back against his finger as he thrusts and twists and adds another finger, seeing if I can get him to make his pleased hum again. When he does my core fizzes, and I wonder if I could get a “good boy” out of him. Fuck! Do I have a praise kink? I’ve never done that before, but right now I’d do anything if it pleased him and he told me so. Fuck!
He pulls his fingers out and I try not to get upset at the brief loss as he shifts onto his knees. He straddles the back of my thighsand leans forward to line up with my entrance. He slips in easily and the feeling of fullness returns tenfold. He stretches out, covering me with his warm body as he slowly thrusts deeper, and I turn my head for him to capture my mouth in a kiss. He sets a lazy rhythm, as if he’s just content to be inside me. Every few thrusts he grazes across my prostate, and I gasp, wanting more. He starts moving with harder thrusts, and the friction of my cock trapped beneath us rubbing against the sheets with every jerk heightens the sensation. I crave it more and start to push back to get more friction on the thrusts.
“Sexy Simon, so tight for me,” he whispers against the back of my neck, and I squeeze my buttocks together, tightening around him.
“That’s good,” he says huskily, and I nearly come from his praise. He keeps moving and I can feel my orgasm about to hit me. I tighten further and he whispers again.
“So good. That feels so fucking good. I love fucking your tight hole. See-mon”
His words take me over the edge and I come with my name on his lips. I dissolve as wave over wave of my orgasm rushes through me, my face plastered to the mattress and Andrés’ hot, heavy body holding me in place like a weighted blanket as he fucks into me seeking his own release. He comes a few seconds later and shudders, his breath hot on the back of my neck. He lets out a long shaky sigh and kisses my back before rolling off me and collapsing by my side. I turn to look at him. He gives me a low, lazy smile, and then leans forward to kiss me tenderly.
“I need to go to work,” I whisper, and he gives a small nod.
“Will I see you later, at the match?” His voice is hopeful and my heart flips in my chest.
“Of course,” I say, kissing him and turning away before he sees my smile slip. I hurry to the bathroom and shower quickly, turning the water on hard to try to obliterate the thoughts of this being all my fault. He had rules and was content to keep to them. I was the one who wanted to make him kiss me. I should put a stop to it now. The result will be the same tomorrow, so why prolong it? It’ll be easier this way. With that fresh determination, I dress quickly. He’s fallen back asleep, peaceful and beautiful. I take one last long look at him, committing his features to memory before shutting his door behind me for the final time.
I throw myself into work. There’s a lot to do, not only our usual duties but there’s an after party for the polo crowd tonight which needs a lot of preparation. Conal appears early, just as we’re finishing up breakfast, and he seems to be in an unusually affable frame of mind, so we manage not to argue throughout the morning. I’m kept busy enough that I don’t have time to think about Andrés, except for every time I glance at the clock to check we’re still on time. Awareness of his match—the final—crowds into my brain as the time it starts creeps closer and closer. I’d made the resolution this morning that I wasn’t going to see him again, and I intend to stick to it even though every fibre of my being is on edge. A delivery of supplies arrives and I check the items off, which keeps me distracted. Not all of it is correct, though, and I have to deal with trying to get the right delivery, which I discover at this late hour is hopeless. A discussion withConal about a menu change and agreement from Angie takes time, and I almost feel relieved that I must have missed the game and there’s nothing I can do about it now. I glance at the clock to make sure, but there’s still fifteen minutes until it starts. My chest feels hollow and I hate it. Without thinking, I wrench off my apron and call out to Conal that I’m taking my break now. I don’t wait to hear his grumbling; I’ll deal with it later. I grab my coat and sprint as fast as I can without falling on the snow.
The crowd is larger than before, and it takes me a few minutes to try to push my way to the front and round to the side of the arena where the players and horses are. I can see Andrés talking to Gabriel, looking at the ground, a dark frown on his face. Linden is already on his horse, walking him up and down. Andrés looks up as I approach and his frown dissolves. I’m vaguely aware of someone, probably Gabriel, saying, “Thank fuck.”
“You came.” Andrés smiles at me.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Now I’m here the words feel right somehow, and I dismiss what that means for now. An icy wind picks up and I shiver despite my coat.
“Here, wear this,” Andrés says, reaching over to where his puffy coat is hanging on the back of a chair. He arranges it around me, and as I clutch at it, our hands brush together and a buzz of electricity passes between us.
“Static,” I laugh, but Andrés doesn’t return it. His eyes are fixed on me.
“Wish me luck.”
“I’m sure you don’t need it.”
“Today I do.” His voice is serious.
“Then all the luck in the world,” I say and he finally smiles. “Go get ’em.” He turns and is on his horse in two strides, joining his teammates as they line up in the centre of the field. The ball is thrown in and I press myself to the arena boards, wanting to see the action, no longer worried about being covered with snow. I find myself next to Austin.
“Do they have a good chance of winning?” I ask.
“They’re pretty evenly matched, so it could go either way,” he explains. He tells me a few details about the opposite team but I don’t take it in. Instead, I keep my eyes on the ball, watching as it shifts from one end of the field to the other, no team managing to get an advantage to score a goal. All too soon a horn sounds, but play doesn’t stop.
“Isn’t that the end of the chukker?”
“Not yet,” Austin says. The horn sounds at the end of seven minutes but play continues for another thirty seconds, unless a goal is scored or someone fouls. Neither of those happen and the horn sounds again, and they ride off the field. I go to move but Austin catches hold of me.
“They only have a few minutes and they need to talk tactics and change horses. Don’t be the reason they don’t win today.” His voice is kind despite the warning, and the anger that bubbled up when he caught my coat—Andrés’ coat—dissipates. He has a point. When I turn back to the boards he joins me and leans on them.
“Do you play polo?” I ask instead.
“I do, but not so much nowadays. I used to play a lot when I was younger, but found less time when I grew the business. Linden is taking on more of that as well, but I hope he can still find timeto play. I was coming anyway, so I said I’d play if anyone got injured.”
