As soon as the plane lands I can’t wait to leave, and I shuffle impatiently, even though being in first class means we have priority. I send a quick text to Simon, letting him know we’ve landed safely. As soon as I can get to Gabriel’s London house and retrieve my car I’ll be heading north to be with him. We’ve only been away five days but it feels like too long. I’m desperate to see him, especially as he says he has a surprise for me, but he won’t give me any more information.
I’ve been with Gabriel on a horse-finding trip to the States. He wanted a few more polo ponies, some for himself and a couple for me to use for teaching. I saw a young mare I liked, and bought her too, as she was a ridiculously low price. She was cheap, as she’s dropped a few people mid-game and got herself a bad name. But I can see she’s just opinionated and wants a bit more autonomy. Whilst you need quick reflexes and obedience in a polo horse, if the horse knows their job well, they can almost read the game as well as you, and a horse like that is pure gold. Ican see that potential in her. Gabriel has arranged for the horses to be collected by Austin’s company next week.
“Are you coming back with me?” I ask Gabriel as we enter his tall and elegant house near Regents Park. Apart from Monkswood Hall and the London house, his family also owns a villa in Italy.
“No, but thanks. I have a few errands I need to run. Also, there’s an art exhibition tonight I’m expected to attend, and I want to catch up with Ru and Nate. But don’t worry, I’ll be back for your party tomorrow.”
“You’d better be as it was your idea,” I quip and Gabriel grins. I’m glad he takes the slight jibe good-naturedly. I’m still undecided about how I feel about turning thirty, but having a friends group close enough to throw parties is a big deal for me, and I joke about it to hide how overwhelmed I am. It made me feel better when he said it would be a perfect opportunity to give the centre a trial run before it opens next month.
An hour and a half later I open the front door and call out that I’m home. In the two months since we officially started living together we’ve made a few changes, making the place much more of a home. Simon has modernised the kitchen of course. We have a few photos together, alongside the framed napkin, and Lizzie gave Simon a picture of his parents, which I know he cherishes. He asked if I have any of my family. I know there’s one of me with my father back in the breeding barn he left me. Simon suggested a trip to Argentina, and somehow going back there with him by my side doesn’t feel like such a bad idea. The only other big change has been the installation of a piano. Simon arranged it as soon as he heard me play one evening when we’d been invited up to the house. He said it was purely for selfish reasons, so he could hear me play more often. I’m not sure hedoes as whenever he implores me to play for him, he says it’s sexy and then distracts me in the best possible ways.
There’s no answer to my call, so I quickly check through the house, confirming that he’s not in.
Andrés: Home, cutie. Where are you?
Simon: Hey, honey. In the kitchen.
I know he means the restaurant kitchen, which has become his second home, as he spends so much time there. But I know he’s happy. He loved designing it, and everything was put in a couple of weeks ago. Now he’s planning for the grand opening and starting to hire staff.
I drive down to the centre. I could walk the distance but I don’t want to waste any more time. I follow the path round to the rear of the building and to the kitchen entrance. The smell of baking reaches me as soon as I walk through the door, sweet and warm, just like Simon, who is busy turning something out onto a cooling rack. He looks absorbed in his job, his jaw set in concentration, and I pause, watching him for a moment and not wanting to disturb him if he’s at a critical point.
“Are you going to stare at my arse all day?” he asks, and I know I’m busted.
“I have better plans for your arse,” I say, walking over and winding my arms round his waist. He giggles and turns his head sideways for a quick kiss.
“Just give me a few seconds and then you can tell me all about your plans,” he says and goes back to his work, as well as he can with me still holding on to him. Now he’s in my arms I can’tactually let go. “There, done for now,” he says and twists round in my arms.
“I’ve missed you,” I say before drawing him in for a kiss. He leans into me, his body fitting against mine. My cock thickens, responding to his closeness. “Really missed you.” I push him back against the stainless steel counter, grinding against him so he can feel how hard I am.
“What’s my surprise?” I ask looking into his azure eyes.
“You’ll see soon.” He gives me a sexy smile.
“Tease,” I say and begin kissing along his jaw and down his neck, and I hear his breath hitch.
“When I was in Aspen, I had a fantasy. Do you want to hear it?” he asks, his voice breathy.
“Tell me,” I whisper against his neck, sucking and kissing his skin.
“I wanted you to appear in the kitchen and fuck me against the units.” He reaches between us and runs his hand down the bulge in my jeans, and I groan, pushing into his hand. I was going to tempt him home, but I don’t think I can wait that long.
“Want to make it come true?” I ask, the thrill of him thinking about me ramping up my arousal. He answers with a squeeze of his hand and my hips jerk. Fuck!
I reach for the button on his jeans as he unzips me. I pull his jeans and boxers down, salivating at the sight of his cock—angry, red, and dripping precum. I swipe my thumb through the precum and suck, tasting him, savouring the taste. He wraps his hand round my dick, giving it a long pull, and I shudder. I reach for his arse, digging my fingers into his flesh, kneading him,working my fingers along his crease until I graze across his hole and he groans, a sound I want to make him cry out louder.
I’m desperate to be in him, buried balls deep, his sweet hole tight and milking me. I turn him round, sucking on my finger and pushing against his pucker. It’s not enough; I need lube.
“What’s that?” I ask, spying a bowl on the counter.
“Buttercream,” he utters. I don’t know what that is, but I remember him saying butter was fine and cream, well, that also sounds good. I scoop up a handful and he huffs a small laugh, but he doesn’t stop me. I wipe it across his hole and then work it into him, first with one finger, then adding a second. I quickly open him up, my fingers slipping in and out of him easily as he makes adorable and sexy grunting noises. I grab a second handful of the buttercream and slather it along my length, wasting no time before I line up at his entrance. I thrust in hard, not waiting for him to accommodate me.
“Yes, fuck yes.” His hands grip the counter and he braces, his legs spread as far as his half-pulled-down jeans will allow. I grab his hips, pounding into him, harder and faster as his cries get louder.
“Moan for me, cutie,” I croon. “Tell me how much you want this.”
“Fuck me harder, honey,” he gasps. “Fill me up. Please.”
“Is your fantasy coming true?”
