by Lily Morton
“We’ll take the stairs.”
“Why?” I ask, following him into the stairwell. It consists of the original brick and lots of iron and minimal lighting. I follow him up the first set of stairs. “We could have been in the flat now,” I mutter. “And then… oof!” I gasp as he turns around and pushes me against the wall, his hand behind my head to stop it knocking into the brick. “Misha, what are you—?”
He leans in and kisses me hard, and I flail for a second before the lust from the club roars back. I fist my hands in his hair, holding him to me while I suck his tongue. One or both of us moan, and the kiss seems to catch light. He settles against me with a groan as his cock finds mine. The material of my shorts is thin, and the heavy denim of his jeans feels fantastic against my cock. I lower my hands to fill them with Misha’s tight arse cheeks, and he pulls away from my mouth, giving a loud groan.
He looks at me, his eyes heavily lidded and so sexy. I shudder to see my best friend like this.
“I couldn’t have waited for another second, Charlie,” he says hoarsely. “I needed to kiss you, not discuss fancy dress costumes.”
I lick my lips, and his eyes slide closed as he lowers his head back to mine. They fly open when I push him back and reverse our positions so he’s leaning against the wall. His jeans are tented sexily and I run my fingers along the length of him, feeling it flex under my hand.
“Charlie?” he says unsteadily.
I fall to my knees, and his eyes flare impossibly hot. “Oh shit,” he gasps as I unbutton his jeans.
I smile up at him. He shudders as I scratch my nails gently down the tight skin under his belly button. My nails rasp through his trail of hair, the small sound making me shiver. Jesus, he’s sexy.
I pull his jeans and briefs down below his hips and his cock springs up. Saliva pools in my mouth. Fuck, he’s hung. He must be eight inches and thick, with a long vein traveling down its length. Unable to resist the temptation, I lean in and inhale. I love the scent of a man here. It’s dark and it’s real, and Misha is no exception. My cock throbs as I indulge in the aroma of bergamot, clean sweat, and musk, rubbing my nose in it, taking deep breaths and groaning.
I glance up and find surprise in his eyes. I repress a smile. I bet Misha had expected me to be gentle and sweet in bed. Every man I’ve ever slept with has had the same misconception. However, I bloody love sex, the more earthy and dirty the better. I have very few barriers and love being naked.
Holding Misha’s gaze, I run the flat of my tongue up the thick vein on the side of his cock, continuing until I reach the head. It’s fat and juicy, a pearl of moisture pooling already in the tiny slit. Good. I love the taste of precome. I send my tongue fluttering gently over it, making a noise of happiness. Then, before he can say anything, I take the head into my mouth and suckle it, making the suction wet and tight.
He grunts and his hips move tightly, thrusting forward before he checks and pulls back. “Sorry,” he gasps.
I let his cock go with a lewd pop and stay his hips. “Don’t be sorry,” I say hoarsely. “I like it. Fuck my face.”
He stares down at me, his eyes dark and heavy. “I don’t know you, do I?” he whispers.
I smile. “Not all of me, but we’re about to remedy that.”
“You sure? I won’t ask again.”
We’re in a public area and I’m kneeling at his feet about to change our relationship forever—be it good or bad—but I feel no reservations at all. “I’m sure,” I say.
I lean in and suck him into my mouth. He cries out, and it’s much too loud for a public stairway, as are my lewd squelching and wet sucking noises. I pull back and lick up the length of his shaft before sucking him hard again. He’s too big for me to take all the way down, so I jack the base of his cock while making the suction strong.
Misha thrusts, moaning softly, and I use my free hand to push against my dick. It’s almost painful how turned on I am. He grabs my hair, directing me and whispering for me to suck him harder, and then just as quickly, he’s gone.
“What? Come back,” I say blearily.
“Not here,” he grunts, pulling me to my feet. “I want to be naked with you.”
He turns, moving stiffly and holding his jeans up with one hand. We climb about five steps before he turns to me and kisses me again, his hands bracketing my face and his tongue twining lazily with mine. I grab his hips and pull him into me, backing against the wall. With a groan, he pulls away and tugs me up the rest of the stairs. I walk behind him down our corridor, sliding my hands down to squeeze his bum.
“Shit, Charlie. Don’t. I’ll come in my fucking jeans.”
“Already?”
He looks back as he fumbles for his keys. “You have no idea what you look like, do you?” he asks wonderingly. “Jesus, you’re so fucking sexy.”
That’s so good to hear. I haven’t felt sexy for such a long time with the combination of my health problems and Harry. However, it’s all coming back to me now and I feel alive again, heat buzzing through me.
And he’s one to talk about being sexy. He looks so hot, his jeans hanging from his hips showing his hipbones and that taut V-line. His lips are red and puffy from my kisses, his eyes heavy-lidded.
My thoughts scatter as he throws the door open and pulls me into the flat. The door slams behind us, and we kiss frantically.
We part briefly to pull off our tops. My sweater goes flying to a corner of the room as does his T-shirt, and then we fall back into kissing as if we’ve been separated for years.
I suck on his tongue, moaning as my hands fumble with his jeans. He kisses me back as he steps out of them and throws them to the side. A lamp smashes, but we ignore it as we kick off shoes and socks and then he pushes my shorts down and off.
“Oh shit,” he says in a gravelly voice. “Fuck me, Charlie, that’s so bloody hot.”
I look down at the white jockstrap I’m wearing. “I couldn’t wear anything else under those shorts—” I groan as he goes to his knees and, without removing the jockstrap, he sucks the head of my cock into his mouth. When he pulls back, the fabric is transparent, and the rosy head of my cock pulses visibly.
I never thought I’d see him like this. He’s kneeling at my feet, naked apart from a pair of blue boxer briefs that are tented spectacularly. He’s so beautiful. Broad shoulders, a chest roughened with dark curly hair, and tight abs that lead down to a flat stomach and long legs. He noses my jockstrap, his eyes closed, and I briefly imagine how he might react if I were wearing lace. Would he be turned on, or repelled as quite a few blokes have been? I push the thought away—there are better questions to answer tonight. Like how he’ll look when I make him come the first time.
“Come up here,” I say hoarsely. “And lose the underwear.”
“You too,” he mutters.
We both pull them off quickly, and I groan when our bodies come together naked for the first time. It feels indescribably right.
“Oh, Misha,” I breathe, and he smiles tightly.
“I know, babe.”
The endearment should sound strange coming from him because he never uses them, but somehow it sounds perfect, and my chest feels warm all the way through.
“Bed,” he says. “I want us in bed together. My bed.”
There’s something possessive in his voice. If I were in my right mind, I’d pay attention to it, but I’m not, so instead I kiss him and we stagger down the hallway with our lips locked. Groans and the occasional ouch escape us as we bang into doors and a hall table that sadly doesn’t survive the collision.
“Oh,” I say, sadly looking down at the splintered piece of wood. “I liked that table.”
“I’m sorry you’re sad,” he gasps, kissing me again and stealing my thoughts. “I’ll buy you another one,” he says passionately. “Exactly the same. I’ll buy you ten.”
That deserves a kiss, so I do that, and then again and again until he’s pushing me onto the bed and I feel the cold sheets under my back and then
the heated skin of his body as he lowers himself onto me.
“Oh my God,” I gasp. “That feels incredible, Misha.”
His weight feels as if it’s been calibrated just for me. Not too heavy and not too light. It’s all utterly perfect—his hairy chest rubbing my nipples, the pressure of his cock against mine, the sticky slide of his precome.
He pulls back. “How do you want it?” he asks in a low voice, bending to nuzzle my nipples. A bright flash of heat jolts me with pleasure, and I arch against his talented mouth.
“Like that,” I gasp, grabbing his head and urging him on.
He sucks on the small disc happily, his tongue laving over it. He gives a little bite, and I cry out, grabbing his bum and grinding against him.
“No, wait,” he says, pulling back. I choke out a protest, and he shakes his head. “I’m going to come if we do that,” he gasps. He looks at me intently, his hair sticking up from where my hands have been in it and a deep flush over those high cheekbones. “Can I fuck you? Do you like that?”
“I love it,” I say far too fervently.
“Are you sure? I’m vers. I can go either way.”
“I do like to switch occasionally, but I prefer to bottom.”
“Oh, Charlie,” he says and bends to kiss me again. When he pulls back this time, I don’t chase his mouth. Instead, I lie back on his sheets and spread my legs as he rifles in his bedside table for supplies.
When he looks back, he stills. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he says in a wondering voice.
I flush. “Really?” Somehow those words mean more with Misha.
He nods, strong emotion running over his face. “How did I never see?”
I smile. “That goes both ways, Misha.” I hold out my arms. “Come here,” I command, and he scrambles to obey.
Resting my legs on either side of his knees, I fist my cock lazily, watching as he squirts lube on his fingers and rubs them together to warm it. Then I close my eyes at the first touch of his fingers at my hole. He’s gentle but thorough, spreading the liquid around my entrance and tickling the sensitive skin until I groan and swallow hard.
I open my eyes at the tap and slow slide in of his first finger. He goes gently, first one finger and then a second, and something that has always seemed a bit of a ball-ache to me before—a necessary but slightly clinical step—is suddenly transformed. His touch is sensual, and he plays with me, his fingers widening and teasing my channel while his other hand drifts over my torso, tracing the muscles of my abdomen and the lines of my groin. He runs his fingers along the sensitive crease of my thigh, and the touch feels like fire on my skin. I moan, arching into his hand and riding the fingers in my hole.
I might be a surprise to him, but he’s got a few of his own, and his tenderness is one of them. If I ever thought of Misha and sex, I’d imagined he’d be forceful and passionate and free of all emotion apart from a mutual getting off. This focussed care is shocking and so erotic.
Pulling him down to me, I arch and groan into his mouth when his fingers graze my prostate again. It’s sensitive and swollen from his attention. I take his mouth and kiss him, riding his fingers before pulling back to moan. “Come on, Misha, please. Need you.”
He withdraws his fingers, and I groan against the empty feeling. I force my eyes open to watch him roll the condom down his dick. The latex is shiny and hugs his shaft tight, nestling down against the base. My legs shift restlessly as I watch him pour lube into his palm and fist his cock until it gleams sticky sweet in the moonlight.
I lift up as he pushes a pillow underneath my hips, the muscles in his arms bunching sexily. Then he sits back on his knees and spreads my legs over his upper thighs until my bum is close to his cock. I arch further into the position, and we both groan as his dick brushes my hole.
“Oh fuck,” I say.
He grimaces, his eyes fluttering shut as his cock pushes in for the first inch. He pauses, but I shake my head, my hair sticking to the sweat on my shoulders. “In one go,” I gasp. “I like it.”
He looks like he’s in pain as he pushes in. We both hiss out a breath as the slow, steady slide continues until he bottoms out, and his balls press against my backside.
“Oh shit,” he mutters. “Charlie—” He opens his eyes, and our gazes tangle together, our breaths coming faster and faster. He doesn’t finish what he was going to say, and I’d never be able to answer, because he withdraws his cock nearly all the way before shoving straight back in. I arch and give a choked scream.
“Alright?” he gasps.
“God yes, don’t stop,” I pant, fisting my hands in the sheets and undulating into his rhythm as he begins to thrust hard and deep. He changes the angle with an expert twist of his hips and grazes my prostate. My shout is loud in the quiet bedroom, and he grunts, falling forward to lie between my legs, arms braced against the sheets. I wind my legs around his waist, and he kisses me, separating only to gulp in air.
“Oh god, it’s so fucking good,” he says through gritted teeth, and he buries his face in my shoulder, panting.
I sink my hands into his thick, wavy hair, the strands spilling like silk over my fingers. All the while, his battering thrusts continue to send hot pleasure through me.
I feel the tell-tale tingle as my balls draw up. “Misha, I’m going to come,” I say hoarsely.
He slings his hips faster, his eyes pinned between my legs where my hand is working my cock.
“Do it, Charlie,” he whispers.
Then, my body obeying his command, I shout as hot cream pulses over my hands, splattering my chest and neck. His nostrils flare as the scent fills the air, and then he arches, thrusting his hips and grunting low and sexily as he pushes one, two, three more times. Heat surges inside me, and he gives a long choked groan before he collapses.
I instantly wrap my arms around him, inhaling the scent of bergamot and sweat and come and feeling the tenderness in my arse. He kisses my neck, his breathing fast and heavy, and I smell the faint tang of whisky on his breath. He pulls out gently and falls to the side before nestling closer to me. His body gets heavier as sleep abruptly claims him. A chuckle escapes me as I lean in and remove the condom, tying it and throwing it in the bin near the bed. He doesn’t even stir at my touch.
I cuddle close and kiss his hair tenderly, running my hands down his muscled back. And then, as if they were inevitable, worries circle in my brain. I can still smell the whisky on his breath. How drunk was he? I didn’t see him have that much to drink, but I haven’t been with him all night. I’m sober and went into this clear-headed, albeit on a massive tide of lust. But what if Misha has done this on a pissed-up impulse? What if he wakes up tomorrow morning and blames me for not stopping us? What if he regrets everything?
I stare at the ceiling trying not to panic, but it’s so difficult. It’s going to be a long night.
Chapter Eleven
Charlie
The next morning, I find Bethany waiting by the library’s back door.
“Sorry I’m late,” I pant as I hurry towards her. “Have you been waiting for ages?”
She shakes her head. Her hair is dyed a deep purple today. I remember my grandma having that colour, but concern for my bollocks means I won’t mention it.
“I’ve only been here for ten minutes.” She holds up a cardboard cup. “Your coffee should still be warm.”
“Oh thank God,” I groan, pulling out the library keys and opening the door. “I haven’t had a cup yet. I’m gagging for it.”
“A fact that most of Haunt nightclub now knows,” she says primly. Then she spoils the effect by laughing loudly. “Oh, Charlie, your face.” She hands me my coffee and then pokes me in the ribs. “You obviously had a good night, you dirty stop-out. You smell like a polecat.”
I will not blush. I will not blush. I turn off the burglar alarm and gesture her in. “When did you last sniff a polecat?”
“When we went to London Zoo. Don’t you remember? The little enclosure that smelt bad a
nd they kept popping out of holes.”
“That was the meerkats.”
“Oh.” She considers my words. “Oh well, that makes me look at the Compare the Market adverts a lot more favourably.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, back to your sex life, Charlie.”
“Shut up,” I mutter as I see Sue walking up to us.
“Morning,” Sue says happily and then gives us both a suspicious second glance. “What’s going on here?” She pauses before saying with delight, “Tell me it’s gossip?”
My “Not at all” is completely ruined by Bethany saying loudly over me, “Charlie slept with Misha last night.”
“Oh God,” I groan, rattling my keys and opening the door that leads upstairs to the staff area. “Bethany, did you miss out on queuing up for the discretion gene?”
She winks. “I’m not sure that’s how biology works, but I’ll bow to you, Charlie, as your sex life is vastly more active than mine these days.”
“You slept with Misha?” Sue squeals. “How exciting.”
“What are you doing?” I ask as she starts to root through her handbag.
“Ringing my husband.”
“Why? Please tell me it’s not to relay that piece of information?”
“Pah! Of course it is. We’ve had a bet on it for years. He was about to give up, but I said no after seeing you both at Jemma’s Halloween party. I said this year is our year.”
“How romantic,” I sniff. I try to conjure details of the Halloween party that had been held by one of the library assistants. I’d talked to Misha most of the night and…
I give up. My thoughts are muddled enough trying to deal with the present.
“Bugger romance,” Sue says. “There’s two hundred quid on it. I can get my hair done and still have spare change for a dress.”
“You should have told me. My sex life can always adapt to your need to get your roots sorted,” I say sourly as I troop up the stairs. They follow, whispering together. “I am still here,” I say. They roll their eyes and walk through to the staff room to drop their coats off.
I zip into the men’s bathroom while they’re putting the coffee on for Susan and talking, and pull out my spare toiletries bag from my locker. My wash is perfunctory, but at least I manage to wipe off the remainder of the dried come on my stomach that I missed in this morning’s rush. I look at myself in the mirror for a long minute before sighing and shaking my head at my reflection. I straighten my tie before heading back to my office.
