To: Dylan Mitchell

From: Gabe Foster

 

Somehow we manage to leave the club, stopping every second to kiss and grind against each other. I’m so hard it’s as if I can feel the throbbing in my blood, and for a brief, coherent second, I feel worry because I’ve never in my life been so desperate for someone.

Then he grabs me and pulls me down a side alley, and thrusts me against the wall, crowding in on me. I feel the harsh rasp of the brickwork against the bare skin of my back where he rucked up my shirt, and then he kisses me again, and I go under.

He sends his big, warm hands over the skin of my chest, groaning deeply as he dips and caresses the muscles of my six-pack. I let out a choked grunt as he detours and pinches my nipples hard, and the sound seems to act like accelerant on a fire. He gasps and grabs my arse, lifting me so I can curl my legs around him.

I’m six foot tall, but he lifts me as if I’m thistledown, and then lowers me until my crotch connects with his hard cock. We both moan lustily and start to grind against each other, the heat and pressure making my eyes roll back in my head.

Some men walk past the entry to the alley, and I hear shouted comments, that while in Dutch, manage to convey approval. However, it brings us back to enough of our senses to realise that we’re about to fuck in an alley.

Gabe heaves out a sigh and grips my legs, lowering me gently to the ground. I go to move away, but he stuns me by grabbing me close in a tight hug, lowering his face to my neck. I shudder as I feel his panting breaths against my sensitive neck.

“Not here,” he mutters and I nod, daring to wrap my arms around him. I expect him to stiffen and move away like a trapped, wild animal, but to my surprise he moves closer, nestling into my embrace with a throaty sound.

I swallow hard at the lump in my throat and run my fingers through his hair. “No, I don’t think the firm’s travel budget includes bail for public indecency.”

He snorts out a laugh that rumbles through my body like thunder, and I can’t help but grind against the hard cock prodding my stomach. “Jesus,” he whispers. “It’s like fucking fire.” He sighs and then pulls back slightly to look in my face. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his lips full, and his hair is wild from where I’ve run my fingers through it. “Let’s go back to the hotel,” he says in a low, rough voice.

I stare at him for a second that seems to stretch into eternity, and he shifts uneasily until I hold out my hand. “Let’s go.”

Something that looks like deep relief crosses his face, but it’s gone in a second as he grabs my hand, tugging me after him as he strides back into the street and signals an approaching taxi. I slide in as he opens the door for me, relishing the toasty warmth after the cold outside. The taxi smells of spices and dry heat, and when Gabe slides in next to me and shuts the door, it’s as though we’re in a dark sanctuary. He gives the driver the hotel name, and then curls his big body next to mine, his hand sliding down my thigh to clasp it in a close, warm grip.

However, some sanity has been restored to my empty brain, and I shift to stare at him. “Why now?” I ask quietly. “You said it would never happen, so what made you change your mind?”

The streetlights illuminate his expression, which shows a wry tenderness for a second. “I wondered when the interrogation would start.” He laughs. “I admit I hoped it would be after I got my cock inside you, but I should have known better.”

I shake my head. “You do know better.”

“I do.” There’s a brief silence as if he’s thinking hard, and then he sighs and shifts closer. He lifts his hand and tangles it in my hair which he seems to be fascinated with. “I just couldn’t stand another minute without touching you, Dylan. You drive me mad.”

“I know that,” I say tartly. “You say it so often, it’s practically written in my job description.”

He huffs out a laugh. “It’s more than that.” He shoots me a sidelong glance. “It’s always been more. I’ve wanted you for a very long time.”

“How long?” I ask, inhaling sharply.

He shoots me a wry glance, passion and something else clinging to those clever eyes. “About thirty seconds into your interview.”

“What?”

He shrugs. “I got hard in your interview. You were so much. So full of life, and bold and funny. I hesitated over employing you, to be honest.”

“Why?”

“Because you were, and are, very distracting to me.”

“So why wait all this time?”

“Because you’re my assistant,” he says sharply. “I thought that if I ended up fucking you, you’d leave like everyone else.” I file away the everyone else comment for later perusal, as he keeps talking. “Then I got to know you, and I started to look forward to seeing you every day, because you made me laugh and challenged me every second you were with me.” He lifts his hand and caresses my face. “No one else has ever done that, and I grew to value it. It became so precious to me that I never wanted to fuck it up with sex and then a fuck off.”

I breathe in sharply. This is the real heart of the matter. “Would it have been a fuck off?”

He sighs heavily and shoots me an apologetic look. “Yes, it always is, Dylan. There are no exceptions.”

Hurt flares inside me. “What about Fletcher?” I move as if to get away, but his hand shoots down to my hip and he holds me firm. Realisation dawns. “Oh my God, what about Fletcher? I mean, I know he’s the devil’s spawn, and you’ve shared most of London’s male population between the two of you, but he’s still your boyfriend.”

He snorts out a laugh. “Not most of London. I haven’t got the time for that.”

“But you made time for a lot of men,” I say sharply. “I won’t be part of that with you. I don’t particularly enjoy threesomes, especially not with someone I fucking hate as much as I hate Fletcher.”

He stiffens. “So you’ve done them before?”

“Of course I have,” I say tartly. “I know you persist in seeing me as Anne of Green Gables, but I’m a twenty-seven-year-old gay man. I’ve done loads of things.”

“I don’t want to hear about them,” he says harshly, and then stills as if he’s surprised himself. He turns to me. “I know I was with Fletcher for a while, but we were never really together in the usual sense of the word, and now it’s done. I’m not with Fletcher anymore. He moved out after Verbier.”

“What?” I yell, making the taxi driver jump and swerve slightly. “Sorry sir,” I shout, aware of Gabe laughing silently. I turn back to him. “Why, and why didn’t I know?”

He shrugs. “There was no need for you to know anything. It was very quick. We had a huge row over Verbier.” I go to ask what the row was about but he shakes his head, and I subside as he carries on talking. “I’d had enough. There was nothing there but sex, and in the end, it wasn’t even good sex.”

“So you just fucked him off after a year?”

He looks at me sharply. “Don’t say it like I’m a bastard. We meant nothing to each other, apart from sex and convenience. Why stay when that’s no good anymore, and the other person literally bores the fuck out of you? He wasn’t that bothered anyway. He never loved me, and I didn’t love him. Apart from a few histrionics and plates thrown, his stuff was packed and he was out in an hour.”

I consider him. “I’d like to encourage you to consider togetherness, and the warmth of shared knowledge and experiences.”

“But you’re not going to?” he drawls, and I shrug.

“Fuck no. I hate the tosser. If you wanted to spend a year with someone who thinks intelligent conversation is a recap of ‘Hollyoaks’, then on your own head be it.”

He gives a shout of laughter, and tugs me into what would have been a hug with anyone else. However, as soon as my body hits his, his laughter dies and he shudders in a breath that I echo. “Jesus,” he mutters, running his hands down my body and tightening his grip when he feels the shudder that I can’t hide.

As if he can’t help it, he lowers his head and seizes my lips in a deep kiss, tangling our tongues together before sucking gently on mine. I groan under my breath and twist to get closer, feeling like there’s a direct line between my tongue and my cock.

He moans and drags his lips away, and I make an inarticulate protest that dies away to a grunt, as he lowers his mouth to lick and suck at the side of my neck. It’s almost as if he has some sort of presentiment about my body, because he lingers there, sucking and mouthing at the soft skin of my neck, before biting down gently on the tendon. It sends a hot flash through my body, and I arch upwards, making a choked sound of lust as pre-come paints my briefs with hot wetness.

The click of the indicator and the slowing of the taxi drags us apart, and he shifts to sit away from me. His chest rises and falls rapidly, the sound of his breathing loud in the dark silence. “Are you sure?” he asks hoarsely. “I’m not offering anything more than this, Dylan.”

I drag air into my lungs and press my hand to my throbbing cock in an attempt to relieve the pressure. He growls under his breath at my action. “I don’t care,” I gasp out. “I just need you inside me, Gabe. I can’t wait.”

“Fuck!” he mutters, breathing in sharply, before throwing some money at the driver and opening the door. “Get inside. We’re going to my room,” he mutters. “No more talking.”

I don’t remember walking through the foyer or the elevator. It’s all a dark-red haze, which clears slightly as I insert his key card into the door, and then clouds again as he grabs me from behind, arms over my shoulders and his hard cock thrusting against my arse. I grunt and lean against the door, grabbing the back of his thighs and tugging at him, silently asking for more pressure.

For a second he rests against me, a groan rumbling up the chest that’s pressing against my back. Then he reaches forward and opens the door. “Inside,” he says in a low, hoarse voice. “I need total privacy for what I’m going to do to you.”

I groan out a laugh. “Promises, promises.”

“A solid-gold declaration,” he says harshly and pushes me through the door.

I spin around to face him, backing up against the wall. I have a second to see the heavy-lidded face with the full lips reddened by our kisses, and then he’s on me in two strides. He grabs me by the back of the neck, opening my lips with his and sending his tongue deep, and it’s like being taken over by a whirlwind.

His lips are soft and full against mine, and we kiss for what seems like ages until my lips are sore and my cheeks abraded by his scruff. It feels fucking brilliant. Finally, he pushes me back and stands away, drawing in great gulps of air. I make an inarticulate sound of protest, and he shakes his head. “No, let me look at you.”

For a second I’m flummoxed. This is not the way that my sexual encounters normally go. Usually, we’re both hot and horny. Clothes come off, and hard fucking begins. Some of my confusion must show because a smile quirks his mouth, dying away to a smouldering look as he lowers himself to sit in the armchair by the bed.

“Take your shirt off,” he says in a deep voice, and then he raises his hand as I start to strip off my t-shirt frantically. “Slowly.”

I stare at him, and my brain comes slightly back into working order. He wants a show. I smile. I’ll give him one. I start to raise my t-shirt an inch at a time, making sure to drag the fabric aside slightly so that he gets a flash of skin. His breathing accelerates as my chest comes into view, my nipples tightening in the cool air of the hotel room. Then, almost unconsciously, he lowers his hand to his groin to press against the hard thrust of his cock.

“Take it all off,” he mutters harshly, his gaze fixed on the muscles of my abdomen. He looks up, startled when I don’t move.

I make sure he’s watching when I lower the t-shirt and let myself smile slowly. “Gabe, I’m fully aware that you’ve probably had the upper hand in all of your sexual encounters since the very first time. However, what on earth gave you the idea that I’m in any way compliant and biddable?”

The haze of desire in his eyes warms and turns into something else that I can’t quite recognise, and then he leans back. “I’m sorry. I forgot for a second that you’re incapable of taking orders.”

I give a mock shudder. “Say it again, but make it your office voice.” He stares at me. “You know the one. It’s two parts incoherent rage, to one part bewilderment.”

He gives a great guffaw of laughter. “Fuck you, Dylan.” He looks puzzled for a second. “I think that might be the first time that I’ve laughed during sex.”

“That just means it was never good sex. All good sex comes with a side order of inappropriate laughter.”

He shakes his head in bewilderment. “I’ll take your word for it. It’s weird.” He leans back in his seat. His legs are spread, and his head tipped back with his eyes challenging. “Okay, what’s next, boss?”

I shudder theatrically. “I see why you like it. Just the word makes me feel all powerful.”

“Dylan,” he warns, and I shake my head, the mood changing as mercurially as it always does with us, from laughter to seriousness and back again.

“Take your shirt off, Gabe.”

He runs his tongue over his pouting lower lip, wetting it so that it glistens enticingly. I stare hard and become aware that he’s now smiling rakishly - I must have got lost in the curve of his mouth for a minute. I shake my head. “Stop trying to addle me with your fuck me lips.” I look at him. “I’m going to fuck them at some point tonight.”

A shudder runs through him as he reaches up, and slowly, the way it should be done, strips off his shirt button by button, until the hairy expanse of his chest comes into view. I’ve seen his chest so many times, but somehow knowing that it’s going to be pressed against me makes it infinitely sexier than it ever was before. He strips his shirt off and throws it challengingly down in front of me.

“My turn,” he drawls. “Take the shirt all the way off, Dylan, and then get those jeans off.”

Holding his eyes, I throw my t-shirt onto the floor, kick my shoes off, and slowly unzip my jeans, the harsh rasp loud in the quiet room. He moves as I lower them, and I gasp as he unbuttons his own jeans and reaches in, withdrawing his cock. It glistens in the low light of the room and I groan. It’s long and thick, with a prominent vein running down the underside. The head is wet and angry looking.

“Don’t stop,” he says harshly, and I hastily kick off my jeans, all finesse long gone. Without him asking, I remove my socks, because socks are just not sexy. Then I hesitate, my fingers playing with the edge of my snug boxer briefs. He breathes in harshly and nods, before fisting his cock in a tight grip, and beginning to pump the long length.

His eyes are blown and look almost gunmetal grey, and I hold his gaze as I slowly tug my briefs down. They catch slightly on the hard length of my dick, and I moan at the abrasive feeling. He chokes out a grunt as I lower them. “Turn around,” he says thickly, and then moans when I comply. “Fuck, your arse is beautiful, Dylan.” The sound of his fist moving is wet and obscene in the silence. “I can’t wait to fucking stick my cock in there, and feel all that hot tightness.”

I moan and my hand strays down to my own cock. It’s hard as a brick, and it’s a pleasure pain to touch it. “Yes,” Gabe gasps. “Touch yourself.” I feel warmth, and then his hands come out and he grabs my arse, pulling me nearer to him and caressing the taut globes. “Beautiful,” he mutters. “Bend over.”

Groaning and hoping that I know what’s coming, I bend forward and push my arse against him. Then my thoughts fly away, as I feel all the nerve endings in my hole come to life, as he paints a wet stripe along my taint to my hole. When he reaches it, he pauses, flirting his tongue gently over the sensitive area.

I hastily grab my thighs to steady myself and shudder. “God,” I groan. “Oh God, Gabe.”

“Yes,” he murmurs, his voice so thick I can hardly make out the words. “You taste so fucking good.” Then I feel the hot muscle of his tongue flick gently over my hole, back and forth. The pleasure is almost too much, riding on the edge of unbearable, and I grunt and groan, pushing my arse shamelessly against his face until he moans and gives in. Pointing his tongue, he opens up the hole steadily, and I feel the moist slipperiness inside me. I cry out, riding the wave of pleasure just as I ride his tongue.

The room is full of the dirty sounds of wet suckling and pants and groans, and I shudder at the sharp feeling of his stubble abrading the sensitive area. Suddenly I feel familiar lightning racing down my spine, and I pull away quickly, grabbing the base of my cock to stop myself from coming.

He gives an inarticulate sound of protest, which turns to surprise as I whip around and fall to my knees. Grabbing his cock, I take a second to appreciate the sight of the warm prick which is visibly throbbing and sloppy with pre-come. I lower my head and take him down to the base in one quick movement. He shouts out incomprehensible, jumbled words as I start a heated tugging and sucking motion, tasting the tang of salt.

I feel his hands come to rest on me, fluttering like baby birds and seeming unsure of how far to push me. I’ve never been more thankful for my complete lack of a gag reflex, and the hours spent practising with a banana when I was a teenager. I reach up and grab his hands, pulling them down to rest on my head in silent encouragement.

He pushes his fingers into my hair and groans loud and long, as I pull off him to lick and suckle the prominent vein on his cock, tracing the length of his dick and bathing it in wetness before blowing on it. He cries out and writhes towards me in mute instruction, so I suck him back down. His hands move, one twining in my hair and exerting subtle pressure, while the other traces round my throat and presses gently to feel his dick there.

“God, so good,” he groans, as I flit my tongue around the sensitive head. He’s not cut, and the foreskin is retracted, showing a juicy, plump head. I know this is more sensitive than my own, protected as it usually is by the skin. I flick the tip of my tongue into his slit, and I’m rewarded with a sudden burst of salty liquid before he shouts out and pulls me off his cock.

I sit back, panting and palming my cock, staring at him. He looks utterly debauched, lying back against the chair like a king, with his wet cock glistening and me kneeling at his feet. His eyes are closed, red flags run across his cheeks and his breathing saws in and out harshly. He opens his eyes and I groan. “Bend over the bed,” he says in a harsh grunt. “Arse up.”

I shudder and hasten to obey, dragging a pillow down to rest under my stomach and raising my arse. I bury my hot face into the cold sheets and listen to the sound of a drawer opening. Then I hear a packet tearing and the snap of latex, followed by the click of a cap opening. I grind my face into the cold sheets as I feel wet, slick fingers touching my arsehole, and I shout out as he slides one long finger in, circling and reaching inside me, before crooking slightly.

It burns, and heat flies down my body until it feels like all the blood has pooled in my dick. I grind against the soft cotton. “More,” I groan. “Give me another.”

He grunts out something, and then a second finger enters, the burn making my blood spark. He works me for what seems like forever, slowly adding a third finger and scissoring until I can’t stand it anymore. “Fuck me,” I groan. “God, please fuck me, Gabe. I need you.”

He lowers his head for a second, and I feel the harsh silk of his stubble against the sweat of my back. He rubs his face as if coating himself in my fluids, and I moan, the sound loud and desperate. “Now, Gabe.”

I feel the heated length of his cock, hot and damp in its rubber covering, and for a second I worry because he’s big. Then the head of his dick enters me, and all thought stops. Steadily breaching the large gateway muscle, he forces his way in, and I grasp the sheet tightly in my fists, nearly ripping the fabric. I feel an intense pressure and burn, which is just on the pleasurable side of too much. I groan and grunt out an inarticulate sound, and he stills for a minute, his body shivering against mine like a whippet.

“Alright?” he grunts, and I nod frantically. Obeying his cue, he pushes in steadily, inch by inch until he bottoms out and stills. “Wait,” he says harshly, and I still, allowing my body to stretch around him.

In the silence, I become aware of the scratch of his chest hair wet with sweat against my back, the heat and heft of his balls as they press against me, and the wiriness of his pubic hair which rubs my hole. Then he moves, and the pressure and dull pain transforms into a glittering stream of pleasure, like fireworks low in my body.

“Fuck!” I shout out, and he groans.

“I’ve got to -” He trails off breathlessly as his hips move, pulling him back until he’s nearly out of me. He croons harshly under his breath, then whips his hips, shuttling his cock back into me hard.

“Yes,” I moan. “Fuck me. Do it hard.” That’s all the encouragement he needs as he begins a fast, deep pistoning, his cock a hot brand inside me, rubbing and stroking and making me insane.

The room fills with the sounds of wet slaps as our bodies meet and the squelch of the lube. Then I feel his hands pulling me up so I’m standing upright, listing hard against him like a drunk. The length of his cock is like a red-hot pipe in my body. He begins to rut hard against me, canting his pelvis back and forth so his cock rubs against my prostate, sending flares running through my body.

I cry out, and he groans. We’re almost grappling now, his big body arched over mine, fucking me hard as one brawny arm holds me against his chest. One hand grabs me tight, digging his fingers into the skin over my ribs, while the other runs gently over my face before pushing the palm over my mouth. “Get it wet,” he commands, his voice a deep wreck. I moan and lick sloppily at his palm, spit sliding down it and coating my face. A harsh, desperate sound comes from him, and he removes his hand, sliding it down my chest, caressing the slick muscles as he goes and pinching my nipples.

“Fuck!” I shout out as the hand lowers, and I look down to see his long fingers wrap around the bobbing, stiff length of my dick. He pumps it hard using my spit as lube, while continuing those battering thrusts in me as he gasps and moans. Then suddenly fire shoots down my spine, and I feel the familiar, insane pressure in my cock and balls.

“I’m going to come,” I shout, uncaring of any other hotel guests. “Fuck, I’m going to come.”

“Yes,” he gasps out, his hand moving quicker. “Come for me, Dylan. Come all over my fucking hand.”

My balls are high and tight, and I flush all over and turn cold as the most incredible orgasm I’ve ever had rushes through me. I look down, managing to keep my eyes open enough to see thick white ropes of come spurt from the slit in my cock, flooding his hand and hitting the sheets.

“God, I can smell your come,” he gasps out. Then his thrusts become erratic, and he hauls me tight against him, rutting into me fiercely, until his whole body judders and I feel warmth inside me.

His body slows, until all that’s left is a languid thrusting as he rides out the last gasps of his orgasm, and the occasional shudders of aftershock that hit us.

Silence falls for what feels like an aeon, and then his grip tightens. I feel him press a lingering kiss to my back, and he hums as he licks a patch of sweat away. “Tastes good,” he murmurs, and incredibly I feel my cock twitch and I shudder. He gives a low hiss of pleasure, and then reaches between us, grabbing the base of his cock and the condom as he pulls out.

I wince and groan and he murmurs something, kissing my neck and ear. “Shower?” he says in my ear, and I nod, turning to face him.

We both still and stare at each other. His face is flushed and still pleasure slack, and I think he’s the most relaxed that I’ve ever seen him. I send my gaze down his body, able to see him properly now that the haze of desire has dimmed a little.

He’s truly gorgeous. His chest is wide. The hair widens across his pecs and then narrows to a long strip down his torso, before flaring out around his cock, which, although flaccid, is still an impressive sight. His arms are heavily muscled, with enticing veins running down his forearms, and his legs are muscular and long and gilded with dark hair. All of this body is covered in sleek, olive skin, making him almost glow in the lamplight.

I become aware that he’s looking at me just as intensely as I’ve done to him, and for a second I want to cover myself, because I’m not like him. I’m muscled, but I’m slim with none of his bulk. My fingers twitch, and he must sense my feelings because he looks up and shakes his head. “You’re beautiful,” he mutters almost reverently. “I knew you would be, but all my imagining didn’t do you justice.”

“You imagined me then?” I ask, my voice hoarse from earlier.

He sends me a quick glance, smiling hesitantly. “A lot.” I gasp, and his eyes sharpen as if recalling himself. “Usually it helps to envision your assistant naked. It combats the desire to throttle them.”

“I think you’ve taken the whole seeing your audience naked in order to negate their power thing, wrong,” I say tartly, and he stares hard at me, before something mysterious floods his face and he shrugs.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He reaches out his hand. “Come and shower with me, Dylan.”

The bathroom is huge with a massive skylight over a claw-foot bath, but he drags me to the shower which is so big it could fit three men easily. My thoughts shift darkly to his habit of threesomes, but scatter as I feel his hands on me. He squirts shower gel into his hands, and the familiar, spicy scent of oranges rises between us, heady and warm as he washes me.

I don’t think I’ve ever been taken care of like this before. None of my previous lovers ever took the time to learn my body like he does. Like he’s imprinting it to memory. Steam billows around us, making him look mysterious and magical. I lean against his hard, warm body feeling like time is slowing, as his hands move deliberately over me, learning the contours of my body.

He leaves no area untouched, and where before I would have baulked at a lover sending wet, soapy fingers between my cheeks to remove the lube, now I just lie quiescent against him. I turn and kiss his wet shoulders, enjoying the bite of his chest hair, and he chuckles under his breath, never stopping his warm, wet caresses.

The knowledge comes to me slowly at first and with no initial fear, seemingly a part of this dreamlike shower. I’m in love with him. For a long second, I try out the knowledge for fit, and it does. It fits and fills all the parts of me, stretching out perfectly until I can feel it in my bones. I love this grumpy, irascible, yet sometimes tender man. How could I not? I see now that all the rage he sometimes fills me with is the flipside to this feeling, the other side of the coin.

Then the fear rushes through me, the way pain comes after a cut, because I will surely be in for a world of pain if I let this feeling flourish. How stupid am I to be in love with someone who has never, and will never, want love?

I stiffen involuntarily, which seems to bring Gabe out of his trance. He looks at me, the water streaming down his body like an aftershave ad. “Alright?” he asks, quirking one eyebrow and looking concerned.

I make myself smile. “I’m fine, Gabe.”

He stares hard at me for a second, but I must convince him, because he relaxes and turns off the shower before pulling me out of the cubicle. I let him dry me with a big, heated towel, my thoughts tumbled and incoherent until he steps back. Drying himself roughly, he slings the towel over the rail and pulls me out of the bathroom. Letting my hand drop, he walks to the bed, lifting the sheets up with a groan. “God, I’m ready to sleep.”

I hesitate. Is he telling me to go? Is this the start of Gabe’s after service? I feel a cold lump in my stomach, and swallowing hard, I move to my jeans which lie in an abandoned heap on the floor. Shaking them out, I have one leg in them when he comes to life.

“Wait, what are you doing?” he asks, dropping the blankets and coming to me.

“I thought you were ready to go to sleep.”

“So you thought that you’d just fuck off,” he says, a trace of anger in his eyes.

“No.” I hesitate. “Well, to be honest, I thought you’d want me to leave.”

He shakes his head, a look of frustration crossing his face, and then he tugs at his hair which usually only happens when he’s anxious. “No, I didn’t mean that at all.” He pauses, before saying low, “I sort of thought that you’d stay here with me for a bit.”

“And sleep together?” He gives me his what the fuck look, and I can’t help but smile. “Gabe, I’m just trying to establish parameters here. I’ve known you for a couple of years, and you’ve never given the impression of being a person who likes to snuggle.”

He looks revolted. “Fuck, no. I have never done that, and have about as much desire to try it as I have to try waxing my legs. I do want you to stay for a bit though. Even the worst hook ups I’ve had, I’ve never kicked straight out of bed.” He hesitates, and then says in a rush. “I never sleep all night with anyone though, Dylan. I don’t like to share my bed, so the men normally go home.”

I flinch at being so casually lumped in with his random hook ups, and my heart sinks a little because I love cuddling. I love touching my partner and lying wrapped up in each other. It’s yet another little warning sign that points the way to the cliff edge, but when I look at him and see the hint of nervousness I sigh, because I know myself. I’m already merrily skipping to that bloody cliff, and I’m going to fall over it sometime soon.

“Okay,” I say, shrugging. “I’ll stay for a bit.”

He tries hard, but a hint of pleasure shows on his face and he immediately guides me into the bed as if he thinks that I’ll bolt at any second.

I settle gratefully into the cool sheets and watch as he lopes around the bed and slides in himself. He turns onto his side and stares at me as if taking inventory of my body and face. “What are you looking at?” I whisper, and the strangest expression crosses his face. I thought I’d seen them all over the years, but this is new. It’s a little bit shy and almost awed.

“I’m looking at you,” he whispers back. “You’re so gorgeous, and to see you wrapped up in the sheets of my bed.” He reaches over and traces my lower lip gently. “So fucking hot. Just what I dreamt of.”

I can’t help the jerk my body makes at his words. Unfortunately it seems to make him snap out of his tender mood, because he withdraws his hand and scrubs his face hard.

“Regrets?” I ask cautiously, and he sighs.

“For what we just did? No, I can’t regret that.” I relax slightly, but then immediately tense at his next words. “You’re a fucking hot piece of ass, Dylan. I always knew that you would be.”

Rage sears through me at his dismissive tone. “Really?” I say roughly, straightening up. “Glad I pleased you. Maybe you should leave a tip on the bedside table.”

“What?” He sounds panicked as I move to get out of the bed, and grabs my arm to stay me. “Where are you going?”

“I am not a fucking trick, Gabe. This might be how you conduct your hook ups, calling them hot pieces of ass, but don’t treat me like a twat. You may not see me as being worthy of being called your boyfriend, but I’m worth fucking more in my own eyes. So, thanks for the fuck, but I’m going back to my room.”

“No, please, Dylan.” His grip is strong, and against my better judgement, I let him ease me back until he hovers over me. “I’m sorry,” he says desperately as I glare at him. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

“I usually am,” I huff, and incredibly he smiles, which is pretty fucking unfair as the sight is intense this close to him.

“Actually, you are,” he says quietly. “I trust your judgement.”

Seeing that I’ve calmed slightly, he eases to my side. “I’m sorry I called you that. You’re far more than that, and you’re not unworthy of being my boyfriend. I don’t ever want to hear that shit again. If I was ever going to have a boyfriend, then I’d be proud to have you by my side.” I shake my head, and he grabs my hand. “No, really, I’m telling you the truth. Don’t I always tell you the truth?”

I nod reluctantly, and he carries on talking earnestly. “It’s just that I don’t ever want that. I don’t want to be tied into a relationship. I suppose that’s why Fletcher and I worked for so long; because we had absolutely no expectations of each other and made no promises. That doesn’t work with everybody, and it wouldn’t work with you.”

Something in me dies a little at this because I know him and I can hear the conviction in his voice. “I see you, Dylan,” he says suddenly. “You’re gorgeous, and there’s so much to you. I know you’re looking for more, and you shouldn’t be ashamed of that. I wish I could be the one for you.” He looks sad. “Somebody will, but it’ll never be me.”

I stare at him, rolling onto my front to see him better. “So now what?”

He stares at me and reaches out to stroke my back, and just like that, the heat roars back as I feel his touch and catch the smell tangled in the sheets of sex and sweat and come.

His hand traces almost unconsciously down my back, and I arch into the touch like a cat, directing it down to where I want it, as he cups my arse. I moan under my breath, as the movement rubs my cock against the soft cotton, and I realise that I’m hard and throbbing and ready for him again.

“Jesus,” he says, his voice so harsh it’s a thread of sound. “Dylan, fuck I want you again.” His hand moves almost as if against his will, and his fingers slide between my cheeks, tracing the crack down until he finds the pink hole, which is still slack and open to him. He lingers there playing his fingertips over the nerve-rich tissue, and I groan under my breath and begin to thrust against the covers, seeking relief and needing it right now.

“Fuck,” he grunts, jerking to a sitting position and then rolling to straddle my thighs. Unerringly seeming to sense my weak spot, he leans down and heat instantly shoots from my neck where he suckles, to my groin. I moan and arch into him, feeling the stiff heat of his cock and the prickly heat of his balls against my legs. “I thought I’d be good with just once, but this isn’t going away is it?” he says hoarsely, leaning to run his tongue down my neck.

I jerk. “Jesus, Gabe.”

“What are we going to do?” he moans, beginning to thrust his body against mine, and I feel the wetness of his pre-come painting my arse. “God, I’m so fucking hard for you.”

He forces himself away from me suddenly, and it seems to take all his strength as he slumps against the headboard, holding the base of his cock in a tight grip, as I cry out and hump into the mattress seeking relief. “I can’t leave you alone,” he finally says over the sound of our panted breaths. “I swear to God, I’m going to need to fuck you all the time if you’re anywhere near me, but I can’t be what you want.”

I stare at him, my senses clouded with this overpowering lust that fills me again, but he’s right. This isn’t going anywhere, but something inside me rebels against the thought. The optimistic part of me can’t comprehend that it won’t be something more. “Then be what I need at the moment,” I say before I even give myself time to think.

“And what’s that?”

“Fuck me. Let’s take it one day at a time, but what I need is for you to fuck me now.”

“And what about wanting a boyfriend and a life partner?”

“You’ve been honest,” I say softly. “I know it’s not going to be you, Gabe. Maybe we can just make each other feel good while it lasts.”

He looks dubious, and I can’t blame him, because there is so much shit surrounding us. Our roles at work, and the fact that he makes commitment-phobes look like wedding planners, are not even the biggest problems. That belongs to the fact that I’m now sure that I’m in love with him, and hoping in the back of my mind that somehow he’ll come to his senses and realise that he loves me back, like we’re living in some shitty fairy tale.

But then I reach out a hand and draw it up his thigh, and it’s game over. I see his complete capitulation in the groan that he gives, and the way that he comes down over me as if he can’t bear to be another second without being inside me.