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“You’re tight, too,” he says. “You talked like you were going to own me. Now I have two fingers in you and you are this tight.”

“Then open me and put your dick in. I have wanted it for so long and my ass is hungry for it, and don’t you fucking go gentle either. I want you rough and hard.”

He works a third finger in and waits until I nod, then he fucks me on his hand until I am wet and open and cursing at the ceiling. Then he pulls out, rolls a condom on himself, and lines up.

He pushes in and his whole body goes still at the feel of it.

“Christ. Cruz.”

“I know. Fuck me. You have been a good boy in my gym. Now is the time to be bad. Be bad, Rhys. Be the fucking bad boy I need you to be.”

He starts slow because he is thick and I am tight, and then he finds a rhythm and stops being careful. Deep. Hard. His hand on my cock, stroking in time, his mouth on my mouth between thrusts, and I tell him to go harder. He does. The headboard knocks against the wall. I claw his back and hook my heels on him and take every single stroke.

“You feel that?” I say. “That is you using me. That is you not calling anyone. Fuck me like you mean the hour.”

“I mean it.” He can barely get the words out. “You are so—fuck—you are so tight. I am not going to last.”

“No, don’t you fucking come yet. I want you to last a little longer. I have wanted this cock in me since I first counted under my breath in that gym. Use me. Abuse me. Do whatever the fuck you want to me. I will still be here in the morning.”

He slams in and stays there, grinding, and I groan into his shoulder. He pulls back and does it again. Sweat drops from his hair onto my chest. His mouth finds mine and stays there while he fucks me through the kiss, filthy, wet, his tongue in time with his hips.

He pulls out before he finishes. He is shaking. His dick is still hard in the condom, shiny, and he looks down at me like he can’t believe what he’s just done.

“I want you in me when I come,” he says. “I want it that way. I don’t know what that makes me.”

“It makes you a man who knows exactly what he asked for. On your back.”

He lies down. I put a new condom on and push into him in one go and he cries out, not pain, not quite pleasure, but the sound of a man who has stopped fighting the hour. I fuck him hard enough that he will still feel me after I pull out. I take his dick in my fist and work him fast.

“Come,” I say. “Come on my dick. Let me feel it.”

He comes with his mouth open and my name in it, spilling over his stomach and my hand, clenching around me so hard I almost lose it. I keep thrusting through it until he is twitching and swearing and pulling me down into a kiss that is all teeth.

“Your turn,” he says against my mouth. “Come. I want to feel you explode.”

I last another handful of thrusts and then bury myself and come into the condom with my face in his neck, groaning and holding him like the deal might vanish if I let go. He holds me back. His hand stays in my hair.

I pull out slowly. I tie the condom and get rid of it, and clean us with a towel from his bathroom because I am not leaving him wet and dripping. I come back to the bed and he has not moved. I lie down next to him. The bedroom window is still uncovered. Harrow Mills is still there. Neither of us reaches for a sheet yet.

He stares up at the ceiling, hands behind his head.

“Monday is still coming,” he says.

“I know.”

“I am still a lawyer. That doesn’t change. Those five names are still in this house.”

“I know that, too.”

He turns his head. His mouth is swollen. His eyes are tired, and he still does not look like a man who has forgiven me, and he does not look innocent either.

“Stay,” he says.

“I am staying.”

I put my hand on his chest, over his heart, and feel his heart start to come down, and he puts his hand over mine. He doesn’t say he loves me. I do not ask him to, and I don’t need to hear it. Outside, Halloween thins toward morning, and in this bed, he is warm and used and still here, and for now that is the whole of the hour.

Epilogue