“Hey, it’s okay. Forget it. I have.” I sip again. Fuck, that’s hot.
He cocks his head. “How can you say that, be like this after what I’ve done?”
“Told you. I’m staying. Not getting rid of me.”
“This is fucked up.” He frowns.
“No, we’re fucked up, but who gives a shit?”
He laughs then, shaking his head, and I hope he’s started to let himself believe just a little bit.
“We’ll drink this,” I say, “and then you can show me the rest of the house. Only if you want to, though.”
“I want.”
We drink in silence, watching each other, me taking in the sight of him and how that sight makes me feel, wondering if he’s doing the same thing. It’s like we don’t need words. Both of us have said a lot tonight, possibly more than we’ve ever told anyone before, and now we’re the keepers of one another’s secrets.
It feels good.
With the tea finished, I purposely rise first. He glances up, body immediately going rigid, his eyes clouding with what I can only assume is fear.
“The rest of the house?” I raise my eyebrows again.
Alfie stands, the size of him massive compared to me, and I wonder at how amazing it is that such a big man, one who looks like nothing has ever hurt him, can be a softy inside. He leads the way up an uncarpeted oak staircase—at least I’m guessing it’s oak—and shows me a white-tiled bathroom with a shower to die for. I can see us both in there, wet, washing each other, fucking in the steam.
It’s something to look forward to and beats the hose in the cellar any day.
He opens his bedroom door, and I picture him in that king-size bed all alone, crying nights because his world was a pile of shit and he couldn’t find any way to fix it. I reach out for his hand, relieved when his fingers wrap around mine.
His taste matches mine—funny, that—his cream comforter edged with a border of chocolate brown silk something I’d choose. The pillows look so puffy I could lay my head on them right now and fall asleep in his arms, but I have a plan that recently came to mind, something that could possibly wait, but if we don’t tackle this now we’ll just keep putting it off.
“Bloody nice,” I say. “The whole house is nice. I need to find myself a job if I’m staying here, help pay the mortgage.”
“You don’t need to.” He squeezes my hand. “I earn enough.”
“Yeah, but it isn’t fair. I’ll get some cash-in-hand jobs or something. Saves me the hassle of continually being sacked.” I laugh, knowing I need to face Ted at some point, tell him I know what he’s been doing and that no matter how long he keeps it up, I won’t ever be coming back.
Not that he wants me.
Alfie needs to sort things out too. Maybe find John if he wants to, mend bridges. Perhaps even stand outside his childhood home, remember the times there. That’s all in the future, though. We have something else to do first.
“So, food.” I smile at him. “I don’t know about you, but I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
“Shit. Fuck. I forgot. The time. We talked. I—”
“It doesn’t matter.” I stand on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Shoes. I need shoes.”
He widens his eyes, takes in a huge breath, and I tighten my hold on his hand.
“We’ll go out to get something. It’s fine. It’ll be all right, I promise.”
He spews a ragged breath and turns away, letting go of my hand to walk downstairs. I’m right behind him, stopping in the hallway while he opens a closet door and pulls out my boots. I haven’t seen them in so long I’d forgotten what I’d worn that night when we came back here. But there they are, my black Doc Martins, slightly scuffed but well loved. I take them from him, careful not to look into his eyes, because if I do, I’ll come undone. I’ll bottle it, stay indoors, and that isn’t going to solve anything.
We have to go outside.
I slip them on, tie the laces. “Jacket?”
“Oh. Right.” He delves into the closet again, handing me my coat, slipping his on. “Where are we going?”
He sounds frightened.
“You’ll see. Come on.” I pat my pocket—my wallet’s still there, then—and try to remember how much cash I had left after we left The Mason’s. It might not be much, but it’ll be plenty for what I have in mind.
I jerk my head towards the door, let him open it and step outside before I join him on the step. Once he’s locked up, I hold his hand, not giving a fuck about the looks we’ll get from anyone we might see. They’re not important now, they never should have been, and shit, it feels damn fine to be walking with Alfie down the street like this.
We don’t talk—if we did I think he’d let all his insecurities spill out—and it might well be better this way. After going down a couple of streets, his hand shaking in mine, I see the place I want to take him. The lights are bright inside, and the scent of salt and vinegar wafts towards us on the cold night air. I lead him across the road and into the fish and chip shop, lean against the counter and smile at the young serving guy.
I clear my throat. “Chips, battered sausage, a big bit of cod and a chicken and mushroom pie. Oh, and a few sachets of tomato sauce. The ones with HP on the front.”
A choked sound comes from Alfie, but I ignore it. If I look at him, the dam will break and I’ll be fit for nothing.
“And I’ll have the same,” I say. “Exactly the same.”
“Open or closed packets?” the guy asks.
“Closed. We’re going home to eat.”
I still don’t look at Alfie. Can’t.
With my free hand I get out my wallet, tug my other from his and sort through the notes inside, pulling out enough to pay. I take the carrier bag from the counter and grab Alfie’s hand.
We walk in silence again, the bag swinging beside me, and Alfie crying softly the whole way home.
Dinner had been a quiet affair, neither of us managing to eat everything I’d ordered, but it didn’t matter. What did was that he’d finally got that meal, that we’d had the first painful outing and I was still here. With him.
We shower separately, as though we’ve lived together for a good while already, and I join him in his bedroom once I’m done. I towel my hair, not that there’s much to towel, and don’t look at him as he rests under the covers. I don’t think I can bear to see what those eyes will tell me.
Not yet.
Hanging the towel over a hook on the back of the door, I walk towards him, not feeling the slightest bit awkward. He’s seen me naked, touched every part of me these past four weeks, so there’s nothing to hide here. Except tonight it’s going to be different. He’s going to be taken care of. He’s going to be the one laying there while I take care of him. He has to understand relationships are give and take by both parties, not give, give, give by one.
I stand beside the bed and look down at him, my heart fucking bursting because shitting hell, he looks so vulnerable despite his size. I see his eyes now, look into them and find a deep well of hurt, worry and need. Lifting the comforter, I peel it back, away from his body so I can see the whole of him. Taking the lead—I’ve got to do this, got to focus on what he needs—I open a bedside drawer to find some lube. There it is, a couple of tubes, and I take one out, unscrewing the lid while looking at him again.
A tentative smile tweaks his lips—lips that shake a bit—and I return it, hoping mine makes me look like I’m full of confidence and not worrying my arse off that this is going to go wrong. I put the lube lid on the bedside and climb between his legs, settling on my haunches.
“I’m going to show you how you make me feel, all right?”
He nods, hands clasped across his belly.
“So you need to relax. Get those hands behind your head or something. Let me do my thing.”
He obeys, watching me all the way, and I busy myself squirting lube into my palm. I press my hands together and rub, warming the fluid, then spread the wetness over the tops of each
leg and the skin either side of his sac. Massaging gently, I take my time before I touch his bollocks, knowing how fucking hot that feels when he does it to me. With my fingers spread, my thumbs joined, I span each thigh top and draw down, caressing his arse cleft, skimming his hole then drawing back up. I repeat this several times until his breathing changes from quick, sharp snatches to long, sucking gulps. He’s relaxing, opens his legs wider, and finally, finally he closes his eyes.
He trusts me. Got to with his eyes closed like that. He’s at his most vulnerable now, and I can only imagine the torture he’s going through, wondering if this is the time I’m going to choose to hurt him by walking away.
I couldn’t do it if I tried.
It’s easy to massage the minutes away, dragging my hands up and down, sometimes circling his hole before bringing my hands back up to start the process all over again. His cock, proportioned to match the rest of him, has swollen to a size I know stretches my arsehole and brings me pleasure. I want him inside me, thrusting in and out, his thick head grazing the nub inside me, making cum spurt out of me as he jerks my cock, but that can come later. Plenty of time for that.
“I don’t know how you’re doing this to me, how you’re making me feel like this,” he whispers. “But shit, it feels so fucking good.”
“It’s how you make me feel. Good. So good. Wanted. Needed.”
I continue with my touch as he opens his eyes for second to look at me and smile, closing them once again to do what I do—drown in sensation.
He’s ready now, so on the upward stroke I take his cock in both hands, smoothing up and down his length, fucking pleased with myself when he lets out a long moan. I’ve got him, have him experiencing exactly what I wanted him to.
His cock thickens, the vein pulsing against my palm, and I watch what I’m doing. It’s horny as fuck seeing his dick bobbing out of my hands like that. Still fondling him with one hand, I shift from between his legs and settle at his side to give me better access to his crack. Cock in my right fist, I slide my other hand over his bollocks and down, two fingers gliding over the ridge between sac and cleft until the tips brush his hole. Gently, I push one finger inside, feeling his cock swell, seeing his hips rise as he welcomes the intrusion.
“Ah, ah, ah…”
“Tell me to stop if it hurts,” I say.
But he doesn’t, and I carry on, easing my finger in and out while pumping his cock with unhurried movements. It’s so gentle, so fucking sublime that my balls retract and my cock strains for his hand.
I want to come and he hasn’t even touched me.
As though he knows, Alfie takes one hand from behind his head and reaches down, fingers closing around my hard-on. Freeing his other hand, he takes the lube and squeezes a glob on the tip of my cock, smoothing the moisture down, the tube falling onto the sheets. He moans again, and I join him with one of my own, my throat tight with emotion. This is how it’s meant to be. Not a spiteful taking, a ramming into an arsehole with no thought to pain.
I close my eyes, listening to the sound the lube makes as our cocks are worked over. It’s a turn-on, that noise, like the sound his mouth might make when he sucks my dick. Our positions are awkward, but I don’t want to move in case it breaks the spell. The scent of the lube, some spicy effort that fills my nose and sends me lightheaded, helps relax me, and I give in to what he’s doing.
It doesn’t take long before the burn begins, before my bollocks ache and his hand tightens around me. I do the same to him, upping my pace to let him know I want him to copy my movements. Together, we add speed, and I hope he’s doing the same as me, jerking faster, harder, so we come as soon as possible.
There’s no turning back now. I’ve reached the point of no return, where, when I come, spots will fill the blackness beneath my eyelids and I give a hoarse shout. It’s there, right there, the tingle at the root of my cock that’ll spread up to the head. It does, fast and furious. I open my eyes and watch cum streak out, stretching my slit and landing on the hairs around his dick, landing on his dick. As I release a second stream, Alfie spurts his first, his guttural moans loud and rusty, his hips rising to shove his cock deeper into my hand. I strengthen my hold to give him maximum tightness, the soft beat of cum travelling up his cock insistent on my palm.
“Fuck, we’re there,” I shout. “Fucking there. Shit. Fucking shit!”
“It’s…I’m…oh, Jesus fuck!”
His words, his inability to make sense brings on another jet from me, and shit, that feels so damn good. It hurts yet at the same time it doesn’t, and I’m beyond able to understand why that is. It doesn’t matter. Just doesn’t fucking matter.
My hips spasm, the lube clacks, and our cocks slide effortlessly in our hands. At the same time we slow, breaths stuttering, choked. The lump in my throat returns, and I glance sideways at Alfie, pleased as fuck he’s looking back at me with a sated smile.
We’re going to make it, aren’t we? This is going to work. We’ll get through the best we can, two broken souls together, patching up our shattered emotions, healing one another.
“I’m going to love you forever, Alfie, you know that, don’t you?”
He nods. Smiles wider.
And shit, I’ve done it. Broken us free.
I am the wind.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sarah writes in many genres. Her love of fantasy and historicals often features in her het work as Natalie Dae, but in her m/m she prefers “blokey” books where the men are like those she knows. She leans toward the highly erotic but on occasion writes stories with minimal sex. She lives in England with her adorable husband and children. She’s also head of art for a publishing company, runs a book review site, and you can find out all about her and her many names at www.emmyellis.com
OTHER LYD TITLES
BY SARAH MASTERS
Mane Attraction
Scared
Fight
Blinded
Grave Findings
Beautiful Sunset
Secret Society
Vampiric Desire
Afire: Shimmer
Afire: Wildfire
Afire: Inferno
Afire: Burning
Afire: Glimmer
Afire - Complete Blinded Series
The Marked One 1: In His Arms
The Marked One 2: Secrets Revealed
The Marked One 3: Promises Kept
The Marked One 4: Another Realm
The Marked One 5: Fate Unwinds
The Unusual 1: The First Kill
The Unusual 2: The Reporter
The Unusual 3: The Talisman
The Unusual 4: The Obsession
The Unusual 5: The Capture
The Master 1: Devil's Spawn
The Master 2: Le Frai de Demon
The Master 3: The Devil's Return
The Master 4: Devil's Torment
The Master 5: Devil's Revelation
The Master Series - In Print
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