Page 12 of 72 Hours

“Don’t stop,” I gasped. “More.” I only just held myself back from a weeping “Please.”

He probed me gently but firmly. He certainly knew what he was doing, reaching inside me with care and determination. Three smooth thrusts, and he was hitting the spot. I heard myself yelping with delight like a devoted puppy. He laughed softly, his breath quickening. Giving pleasure seemed to delight him as much the receiving thrilled me. He didn’t withdraw his fingers until the last minute, continuing to stretch me, tantalising me with strokes to my prostate while he slid on the condom with his other hand, slicking himself up. When his cock finally nudged up between my legs, pressing tentatively at an opening that hadn’t seen much other-human penetrative action for a while, I was more than ready for him. I arched up, pressing my body against his, and I pulled his head down to nip at his lips. My thighs tightened around him and my arse lifted inches off the bed with my own eagerness.

He sank into me steadily, carefully, deeply.

I know I groaned; I daresay I cursed as well. I’m not the quietest of guys regarding pillow talk. But before he could worry again he’d hurt me or I was reluctant in any way, I slid my hands around his body, under his tight, lean buttocks, and I gripped him to me. He thrust fiercely and greedily, as if the desperation overcame him; I heard his low groan in reply to mine. His cock sank in to the root, his balls slapping softly against my arse. We rocked together, skin slick with sweat, muscles keen and strong and clenching onto each other like we were afraid to let go. We both scrabbled for my cock, crushed as it was between our bodies, rubbed mercilessly against my belly. He pushed away my flailing hand, and I knew it wouldn’t take much to tip me over the edge again; and yes, a few strokes from Niall’s broad hand and I was moaning his name along with a lot of other stuff that didn’t make any coherent sense. My back arched again, and my head swam, and then the flesh between us was damp with my sticky cum, bursting free as we thrust together. I felt its warmth as it pooled in my navel and then trickled down on to the sheets beneath us.

Guess it was my night for embarrassingly quick comings.

I could feel Niall’s own climax approaching, the increased thrusting inside me and the tightening of his hand on my hip. I wanted to savour it as much as my own; I wanted to give him that same ecstasy! I hissed encouragement and clutched him close to me. I tried to mould my body against his as he leaned into me and heaved out every gasping breath. He felt like an extension of me, like we consumed each other. I couldn’t have described the feeling aloud, but the satisfaction and the rich pleasure coiled deep in my groin and started to flood thickly through my limbs. It saturated me.

When he came, I shared it with him, like I was suffering the same effort, the same sweet agony, the same ecstasy. His hips slammed sharply against mine and my ears rang with his cry of shocked delight, as if he hadn’t enjoyed such a thing for a long, long time. I didn’t know if he always sounded like that, or if it were something rare. I didn’t care, really; I was just too thrilled for sensible thought.

Like I might have said before... I’d never felt like that before in my life.

WE AMUSED OURSELVES for some hours after that first time; we couldn’t get enough of each other. I can’t remember much of anything we talked about, just the thrill of anticipation along my nerves every time he laughed, or moved his limbs in that way, or kissed me again... and every time our lustful desires were reawakened. Every touch made me catch my breath; another outrageous, tingling, thrilling climax brought amazement. In the end we were defeated by our own stamina—or lack of it—and we collapsed, still laughing, our muscles aching and exhausted. The mattress dipped under our combined weight as we relaxed, like it welcomed us on board.

We untangled our limbs and wiped off the more obvious mess. I suggested a shower, but neither of us could find the energy to move for a while. I eventually fetched some chilled water and the pair of us drank it slowly. We listened to the music playing throughout the apartment, enjoying it but without really concentrating. There was soul and some jazz and some more obscure European composers. It was all good. Then, when the tracks faded to nothing, we sighed into the silence—companionably—and I turned it all off. I didn’t need any other company at that moment.

We washed up and played around under the shower together. When he turned to kiss me, the water running down over his shoulders, his skin flushed with the heat, we both found our bodies stirring with the memory of recent, renewed lust. But then he shook his head and laughed, and I laughed along with him. We’d exhausted ourselves for the moment.

We helped dry each other and pottered back to the bedroom. Lay on the bed and drank some more, talked about music. Yawned. Finally, Niall wriggled down on the bed, his arm still over my chest, and his conversation drifted to nothing. He fell asleep soon after.

I stayed awake for a much longer time, just watching him.

Jeez. I wasn’t any kind of lovesick teenager. But he looked so good, I felt I had everything I needed, right there. He slept totally unselfconsciously, sheets crumpled around his ankles, his limbs spread-eagled across my mattress like he slept there every night.

It was all so cheesy! At any other time, it would’ve made my teeth clench. The whole romance thing was anathema to me. I liked occasional dating, I liked company. But it was usually a much more pragmatic approach for me. A couple of beers, a shared sense of humour, a measured glance down a body to see if the other guy felt the same physical interest. Then it was just a matter of seeing if anything developed between us. But this had been something very different, right from the start.

And now he was asleep in my bed, apparently staying the night.

Did I give him the usual get-outs? I searched my mental checklist. I always gave guys the chance to leave if they wanted; it didn’t often offend me. I’d waited for Niall to smile and say “Thanks,” to climb back into his clothes and ask if I had a local cab number. I would have offered him a drink and a sandwich, maybe. Dammit, I’d have clambered back into my own wrinkled jeans and driven him home myself. Anything to have kept that delicious, sated, sensual feeling humming between us. Anything to have stood a chance of seeing him again. And I didn’t mean at the office.

But he’d seemed happy enough to stay with me regardless. I continued to watch him, holding my breath as best I could, in case I woke him and he got up to leave after all.

He didn’t. And finally I slept myself.

AFTER THE PASSION COMES the reckoning. Whatever. That’d always been the way for me, my usual expectation. Maybe not straight away, but payback is always waiting in the wings. Isn’t it?

I slept deeply after that first “date” with Niall, after showing him everything I had and a couple more things I thought I’d mislaid someplace along the rocky romantic way. I’d slept very deeply, but also very comfortably and right through my insistent alarm. When I finally woke with heavy eyelids and limbs full of lassitude, I stared stupidly at the clock for some time, trying to reorient myself. 08:17. I was going to be late for work.

That morning after—everyone has to face it, right?

The sheet beside me was creased, but the bed was empty. I tried to gather my thoughts, bemused by the remnants of sleep. My legs ached and my arse was unusually sore. Hadn’t I...? Hadn’t we...? Fuck.

The rattle of cups in the kitchen startled me. I sat upright under the crumpled covers and held my breath until Niall appeared in the open doorway of my room, dressed in nothing but his crumpled trousers and carrying two mugs of steaming liquid. He looked in, saw that I was awake, and paused right there.

I hoped he’d found some fresh milk for his drink. I hoped he wasn’t catching a chill on the bare boards of my hallway, what with his bare feet. I hoped a lot of things, actually. I’d forgotten how good and how scary that felt.

“Coffee,” he said, a little awkwardly and rather obviously, since we could both smell the hot, rich roast. “I guessed you’d want some. I make it rather strong, but I’m hoping that’s okay with you.”

I coughed and found a thread of my voice still obeying me. “It’s fine.”

“I called in. To the Team,” he said. I was still staring at him; didn’t reply. “To reschedule my meeting with Simon. To tell them we were working from home today.” His eyes widened suddenly as he realised what he’d said. “I mean—I was working from my home, and you were working from... damn.”

I was still staring. If my eyes had got any wider, they’d have popped out of my head altogether. He stood there in my doorway, and he looked spectacular: rumpled hair, flushed skin, eyes darting around with uncertainty. Nervous, perhaps. But spectacular.

“Look, I’m sorry about last night,” he started. Perhaps he saw me wince, because he hastened to clarify. “No, dammit, not that! I mean... I fell asleep in your bed, in your apartment, without asking if you’d mind. I was too tired. I was exhausted, actually. It’s been a hard week, moving over from the Department, briefing meetings with Judith. And last night, on top of that....” Was that a blush I saw? Fuck, it was cute on him. “You should have woken me, Tanner, and bundled me off home. I had no right to assume that was okay—”