A sound broke from him, unformed and helpless, more plea than response.His body answered where his voice could not.
My smile deepened against his throat.Then I kissed him there, lips lingering, soft and insistent.My fingers moved to the last buttons of his shirt, slow, deliberate.Each one slipped free with a small sigh, and as the fabric loosened, I parted it and pressed my mouth to the skin revealed.
A kiss against his collarbone.Another, lower, where the flat plane of his chest began.Heat bloomed wherever I touched, spreading in dizzy waves.
The shirt slid from his shoulders, whispering as it fell to the floor.My lips followed, mapping him inch by inch as if I meant never to forget.His breath came faster, shallow and unsteady.
“Beautiful,” I murmured, my voice reverent now.I pushed the waistband of his boxers down with the barest brush of my fingers, and when my lips followed, he shuddered so violently I thought his knees might give way.
Piece by piece, I stripped him of every stitch he wore.With each garment that hit the floor, I kissed the skin revealed, slow and deliberate, my lips reverent in their worship.I kissed the hollow of his throat, the slope of his shoulder, the hard plane of his stomach.Every kiss broke another piece of his composure.He moaned helplessly, unable to find words.Years of restraint fell in torn fragments at his feet.
When the last of it was gone, I eased him down onto the wide bed.The linens were cool beneath him, the mattress yielding, and above him I lingered for a moment, my figure backlit by the moon spilling through the window.The silver glow caught my hair, my skin, and I watched his face as he looked up at me — his expression raw, open, stripped of every defence.
Slowly, I began undressing myself.The sound of fabric sliding over skin seemed louder than the pounding of my pulse.Each garment fell away.My shirt was already gone.My belt followed, then trousers, kicked free and forgotten.The pale line of my stomach gleamed in the moonlight.
I climbed onto the bed, my knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips.Then I lowered myself until my weight pressed into him, warm and solid.My mouth found his, no longer tender but rough, demanding, claiming.He surrendered to the onslaught of my kiss, his hands finding purchase in my hair.The scent of me, the feel of skin against skin, it was intoxicating, a potent elixir that clouded his judgement and set his senses alight.He arched into me, a silent plea for more, for everything I could give.
My lips kissed their way down his stomach, slow and deliberate, until my mouth hovered just above the line of his hip.
“Please, Arthur,” he begged, barely recognising his voice.“I need you so badly.”
“Do you,” I growled, and I settled between his thighs.Suddenly my mouth was on him, hot and insistent, my tongue tracing the length of him with agonising slowness.He gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily as pleasure ricocheted through him.I held him down with firm hands, and my mouth worked his thick shaft with precision, exploring him with a confidence that left him breathless.He was liquid under my touch, molten and desperate for more.Each stroke, each deliberate movement of my tongue stoked the fire within him higher.
Bryce’s fingers tangled in my hair, not to guide me but to anchor himself to reality as it blurred at the edges.
I moaned against him, the vibration sending shivers through his body.I was relentless, my mouth working him with an expertise that suggested I knew exactly how to wring pleasure from his body.And he was more than willing to let me.
“Oh God, Arthur,” he cried out, his voice ragged.“Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
I responded with a hum of agreement, the vibrations nearly sending him over the edge.His body was no longer his own.It was mine to command, mine to pleasure.
As the waves of ecstasy crested, I felt his muscles tense, and his breath hitch.And then release — sudden, blinding, absolute.Bryce came apart beneath me with a cry that echoed off the walls of the borrowed flat, his body trembling, his hands gripping my shoulders as though I were the only solid thing in a dissolving world.
I crawled up beside him, pressing a kiss to his damp temple.He pulled me close, chest still heaving, fingers tracing lazy circles across my back.
“You’ve ruined me,” he whispered, voice cracked and awed.“Completely.Thoroughly.Ruined.”
I grinned against his skin.“I did promise.”
My body ached, and my heart felt weightless.
As sleep tugged at me, one thought burned bright and fierce.
I want this to last forever.
* * *
I woke with a start, a heavy-limbed grogginess that comes after too much gin and too little water.The room was still, lit only by the faint grey glow that seeped around the edges of the curtains.For a moment I lay still, listening to the rise and fall of Bryce’s breathing beside me.Deep, steady.Safe.
Then my bladder reminded me of the drinks I’d downed at the club.
I eased myself out from under the sheet, careful not to jostle him.The floor was cool beneath my bare feet as I padded across the bedroom, snagging my toe on the heap of clothes we’d left on the floor.
Inside the loo, I shut the door gently and stood at the toilet with a sigh of relief.The hum of the fan filled the silence.I leaned one hand against the wall and let my thoughts wander while I pissed.
What if this were our life?Not just a night borrowed from the rest of the world, but every night.Waking up together, sleepy and tangled.Cooking breakfast, arguing about food and washing up, taking the bins out.Boring, domestic, ordinary things.
I imagined us in some poky little flat in Islington or Hackney, two men who paid rent on time and bickered about whether to paint the kitchen cabinets.No titles, no embassies, no press secretaries waiting to pounce.Just us.
