He was.
“I’m half an hour away. And you need to unlock the door and get yourself ready on the bed because I’ve been all wound up since I left and I really…”
“You need a wee?” I joked.
“I’m hanging up now.” He blew me a kiss. And then he was gone.
Leaving the door downstairs on the latch? Probably not safe or reasonable, but I was running around with a towel around my waist, and finding fault with everything. Were my pillows fluffed up enough? The sheets? Clean, but should I have ironed them? Was my body…
Crap.
I could hear him walking up the stairs. I knew the way he took two steps at a time, his rhythm. The way his arms flailed as he pushed my front door open with his bum.
Which made sense since he was once again carrying a ridiculous amount of roses.
“Babe,” I said. I wanted to roll my eyes, but I couldn’t make myself do it. Because he was leaning over the prickly little fuckers and kissing me breathless.
All him.
All too much.
“I love you,” he said, like this was absolutely normal. “I’m so proud of you. Of everything you’ve done. You’re so brilliant. So brave. So very, very much…” He was holding me at arm’s length, because what else could he do?
The scent of the roses was overwhelming, the prickly stems wounding my skin, but then?
Who didn’t want a ridiculous amount of roses thrust at them? On a random Thursday afternoon? Evening? I had lost track of time. Of space and of wonder, because now he was lifting the flowers from my arms and gently placing them on the floor. Kicking the front door shut behind him with his foot as his trainers flew back out into the hallway.
Who didn’t want all of this? Their world being engulfed in all that he was.
A sleeveless tank top. Athletic shorts. His bronzed skin glowing under that too-long fringe.
He liked to hide behind it. Hide right there with all my secrets.
“I love you.” I said it back because it was all my truths rolled into those three small words.
“Please let me fuck you,” he whispered, the air suddenly all full of sparkles.
“I’ve never done it,” I admitted. Because I could. It was safe. And it would make no difference to him anyway. The power he had over me was immense. The trust he had. The way I knew he would still love me. I could have said no. I could have pushed him away, but I never would have.
This was it. Now or never.
He gently let his fingers grab the towel. Removed it and chucked it to the side, letting me stand there in all my nakedness, the roses as a stupid backdrop in a badly planned-out shoot.
Mine. If this had been our…
“If this had been our final project, we would have got that A+,” he filled in, following my laughter. And his.
“The roses are perfect.” I smiled, letting my hands get busy with his waistband. Tugging at it. Pulling. Getting everything down so I could… I didn’t need to because he was already up. Proud and erect, the warmth of him in the palm of my hand.
I felt like I had won. Won at everything. The way he smiled at me. The way I should have been nervous but wasn’t.
Fear. I’d never heard of it.
“I’ve never done it either.” He grinned. “Only with girls, but anal is different. I’ve read up, and I asked my mate Mischa, and he knows everything about topping.”
“Does he now?” I laughed.
“He does. Has experience and everything. Questions were asked, and he agreed to share. I took notes.”
