Swiping away Gerald’s pint, I grab him by the wrist. “No, but let me cramp yours. Come on, Big G. Pretend I’ve got four legs and a waggy tail.”
He gives me some serious side eye but doesn’t pull away. “Pretty sure I could probably find you a discreet club in this part of London catering to that.”
Because I’m a dick and he’s funny, I pretend to claw the air, more catlike than doglike, but his lips still quirk. “Woof.”
He pats my head. “Good boy.” His big paw is warm, firm, and deliberate, lingering maybe a little longer than it should. Elsa is one very lucky doggy.
The dancefloor is Friday-busy. A steamy haze of heat floats above lots of bodies packed tight. As we squeeze into the middle, the wild, loose, and messy track bringing everyone onto the floor switches into something moodier. Something making me feel warm in all the right places. Or maybe that’s Gerald, filling the few square inches of space in front of me, shielding me from the drunk twat swaying erratically next to us who’s hellbent on dislocating my jaw with one of his elbows. The strobe washes over my hunky dance partner, painting his face in blue and gold as he translates the syncopated rhythm into fluid motion. When the lights hit the white of his shirt, the fabric catches fire—blinding, electric, alive. A hypnotic bass vibrates through my chest. Sultry female vocals fold around us like a velvet blanket.
That fizzy, just-poured vibe, full of possibility and promise, so lacking recently? I’ve found it.
A few minutes in, Gerald’s giant hand finds my waist. Steadying me, which is considerate, to stop me being pushed over by the dickhead to his left. I assume he’s about to lean in and say something sweary. But instead, he just stays close, hips swinging in that loose and easy—expert—way. I catch his eye and my pulse flips as his brown, knowing gaze licks up my body, coming to rest at my mouth. His thumb sweeps suggestive little circles against my hip bone. His own hips sexily gyrate. What the fuck? The air between us pulls tight. I absolutely did not see this coming, and I’m even more unsure about where it’s going.
More people squeeze onto the dancefloor, hemming us even closer together. Gerald’s chest brushes mine and stays there. His lower body stays there too; both solid hands settle at my hips. My landlord can seriously dance. His bump and grind would tempt even the straightest of barmen, let alone little old me, treated to my own personal floorshow. My dick, not showing a flicker of interest at Neil’s earlier proposition, decides it wants to bump and grind back.
Gerald pulls me into him. Electricity arcs across the sliver of space between us. His crooked, downright filthy smile tells me he’s fully aware of my cock performing its own little dance moves against his unyielding thigh. His thumb at my hip tightens, burning a hole through the fabric and arrowing in on my cock. As tension, delicious and dangerous, hums between us, my breath catches.
“You okay?” I mouth.
Is real ale that strong? I’m not complaining, no sir, unquestionably fucking not. But…this guy with only a couple of layers of thin material separating his bulging dick from my achy throbbing one is my housemate, my landlord.Gerald.
His answering, unblinking, heated stare doesn’t just look at me—it undresses me, dragging across my face like a cool, knowing fingertip. Leaving my hip, his hand slides up to the back of my neck, drawing me into him. His breath heats my ear, lips damp and intoxicating enough to make me hold still. Unexpectedly—staggeringly, heartstoppingly, about-to-ejaculate-into-my-pants unexpectedly—his tongue meets my earlobe in an unhurried and deliberate hot lick, tracing just beyond the curve. It’s wet, soft, and, as he thrusts up into me, feels like it’s on my cock.
I don’t ever want this dance to end. Even if the current tune segues into an aggressively upbeat remix of ‘Cotton Eye Joe’, I’ll still be on the dance floor. Except for the lairy guy with wandering elbows and a pint of lager dribbling down the front of his shirt, Gerald and I could be starring in a sexy-as-fuck music video.
As the tune winds down, drawing back a little, Gerald swipes his thumb across my bottom lip. I may have been drooling. His own lips curve into a knowing smile. I don’t want the night to end, either. Not while Gerald gazes at me like this. As the songinevitably draws to a close, his hand slips into mine, and, finally, he mouths a single command.Home.
Staring out of the window of the Uber, Gerald abstractedly strokes his chin. His long legs are relaxed and open; his other big hand rests peacefully on his knee. In contrast, I’m crossing and recrossing my legs, fiddling with the cool air blower, and generally shifting my arse around the seat like I’ve contracted scabies. Gerald hasn’t uttered a word since we left the club, not to me, and not to the Uber driver. It’s like we’re not even there.
For once, even I’ve lost my voice, thought plenty of words churn inside, mostly centred around what the fuck happens when we arrive back in Sutton Common and step through our front door. Because Gerald threw down a gauntlet back there on the dance floor, and it’s left me not only with a dick hard enough to crack cement but also with more than a few questions.
As we pass over the Blackheath bridge and the driver chats to someone on his handsfree set, I can’t stand it a second longer.
“Gerald, I?—“
Without warning, he lunges across the seat. “Shush.”
Fleetingly, my face is between his palms and his tongue down my throat. The punch of a kiss shuts me up and says a lot of words for the both of us. Yet, before I can figure any of them out, Gerald is back in his corner staring out of the window again. The big hand, however, doesn’t return to his knee. It stays on mine, holding it still. “Rest back,” he orders without turning to look at me. “Close your eyes.”
And, strangely, I do. Gerald’s warm palm is a quiet anchor; my jittery leg quietens, and my shoulders drop. I lick my lips, still burning from that bruising kiss. Every so often, the pad of his thumb sweeps a small arc along the piped trouser seam at theinside of my knee as a reminder he’s there. It’s both erotically charged and oddly soothing. Not dissimilar to Gerald himself.
The next time we speak is when he thanks the Uber driver and I assure him I’ll send him my half. The time after that is when I hover just beyond the entrance to the flat, and Gerald calmly toes off his shoes. Again, as if I’m not there, he wanders into the sitting room, not bothering with the overhead light.
“I’ll…um…yes,” I dither, addressing his back. Disappointingly, another blistering kiss is not on the cards. “Okay, then. Night.”
Slipping out of my own shoes, I get as far as the door to my room.
“Come here. I haven’t finished with you yet.”
Gerald’s voice is thick clotted cream. I’d like to imagine I linger, consider, weigh things up. In reality, I spin on my heel and skid across the wooden floor back to the sitting room. Lit by a side lamp, Gerald lounges on the sofa, muscled legs spread wide. As if he’s been waiting for me all evening. Unhurriedly, he unfastens his shirt, each button tugged apart a teasing reveal of skin and shadow.
His hand moves down to his fly, and a hot ache pulses through me. I’m still struck dumb—me, whose words usually flow like silk. This is Gerald! Uptight, fussy,celibateGerald! He’s caught me off guard, in a situation where I normally feel most sure of myself. Maybe that’s why his controlled unveiling feels so charged. Below his navel is a line of dark hair, like a runway, down to his fingers, teasing the ridge of his dick through the denim of his jeans.
“Hey, housemate.” A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “My eyes are up here.”
Somehow, I find my voice or borrow someone else’s, because surely, this desperate husky croak can’t belong to me. “They’ve got serious competition.”
Laughing gruffly, his gaze dips to his fingers, still toying with the outline of what, from here, is an impressively thick cock. “What, this thing, you mean?” Every button is undone. His trousers hang open, exposing his plain white boxers. “You want to take a closer look? Are you a size queen, Alaric? Do you like them big?”
