After Felix (Close Proximity Book 3)

by Lily Morton

  I take more of him and suck steadily, pulling off every few seconds to blow cool air on his cock and lick the veins that are now standing up.

  “Christ,” he says, falling back onto the bed and staring sightlessly at the ceiling. “You’re so good at that.”

  I grin at him. “If you think that, wait until you see my party trick.”

  “What?” He gives a groan that can probably be heard in the foyer as I relax my throat muscles and take all of him down. This particular trick took me bloody ages to perfect, but all those poor bananas were sacrificed for a good cause. They died in service.

  “Oh my fucking Christ,” he shouts and struggles up onto his elbows. He stares at me intently through sexily half-lowered eyelids. “Fuck me,” he breathes as I take him down.

  I pause dramatically and then wink at him and swallow.

  “Ungh,” he grunts, and then he pushes my head back gently until he leaves my mouth with a gentle pop. I eye his cock avariciously as it gleams wet from my mouth.

  “Why did you do that? I could have gone longer,” I inform him.

  He groans. “I couldn’t. I was about to come, and then I’d be useless to you.” He grins at me. “So, when you said party trick, I was imagining you making balloon animals. I bet you were a popular boy.”

  I smile. “You have no idea what I can do with coloured rubber.”

  “I’d love to fuck you. Do you do that?”

  I open my eyes wide. “Oh my God, yes. I didn’t come here for afternoon tea. I want a good hard fucking.”

  “Where have you been all my life?” he says, grinning at me. He’s gorgeous in the afternoon sunshine, all broad shoulders and long legs, handsome face flushed and intent but still with that glimmer of lazy laughter. It seems to cling to him like magic fairy dust.

  I swallow and get back with the programme. “Where are your condoms and lube?” He points to the good old bedside table standby, and I grin. “Get comfortable,” I instruct him, rising to my feet. As I stroll over and open the drawer, I’m aware of his eyes hot on me like a touch.

  I grab the condom box and extract one, then tear off the wrapper and palm the slippery circle. “Like what you see?” I ask, picking up the lube bottle and tossing it next to where he’s now lying on the bed, all the long length of him stretched out for my viewing delight.

  He fists his cock and strokes while watching me. “I definitely do. I must visit bookshops more often.”

  “Ah, I feel I’m giving you unrealistic expectations.” I climb onto the wide bed and knee-walk over to him. I push his hand away and roll on the condom, fisting his length and finishing with a gentle snap. The sound always reminds of the starting pistol to a lovely race. “Maybe avoid bookshops from now on.”

  I climb onto him and settle myself down to sit just above his cock. He’s a brilliant mattress, all hard muscles and sleek skin that’s roughened by hair that tickles the inside of my thighs deliciously. I squeeze a dollop of lube into my hand, and he starts to sit up, his stomach muscles contracting in a very distracting manner.

  “Let me,” he says.

  “Don’t need you to help, thanks. I can do this bit myself.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course.”

  I really can’t see the attraction in someone else doing this. It’s just fucking. I can get myself ready, and then I know it’s done properly. If a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing yourself, my dad always said, although I’m pretty sure the homophobic old sod wasn’t thinking of this.

  I reach behind me and trace one slippery finger down my crease. I breathe in sharply as it touches the nerve-rich opening. “Mmm,” I say throatily.

  “Shit,” he mutters. “Look at you.”

  He pumps more lube over his hand, and I groan as he fists my cock and starts to slide his hand up and down, tugging the foreskin down with the movement of his fingers. I pause and sit panting for a second as he runs his fingers over the newly exposed head.

  “Sensitive,” he says knowingly. “I always envy you non-circumcised blokes. The head’s always so tender.”

  “Mmm,” I say, wriggling around in my seated position. Remembering that I was doing something, I slide one finger in and pause to savour the feeling.

  “That’s a faraway expression. Is it good?” he asks throatily.

  For a second, I have the absurd notion of telling him not to look. Something about his dark eyes and the laughter in them makes me uneasy, but then his hand twists on my cock and I moan instead. “So good,” I say and slide another finger in, stretching myself gently as he carries on jacking my dick with just the right technique and pressure. It’s as if he’s read a guide dedicated to the care of Felix’s cock.

  I look down at his big dick. “I’d better add three fingers,” I say.

  He chuckles, but it’s harsh, and his cheekbones are flushed red, his mouth full and wet.

  I finish my prep and run my lubed fingers down his cock until it gleams. “More,” he says holding out his hand, and I obediently pump some more lube into his palm. “Don’t want to hurt you,” he informs me.

  “That’s very gentlemanly.”

  He grins. It’s wide and white and pretty. “Well, that’s me. A gentleman.”

  “I’m quite positive that has never been said about you,” I say briskly. “And I know that after only an hour’s acquaintance.” I hold his cock up and shuffle down his body until I feel it hot and damp against my hole. Holding it steadily, I slowly push down on it, feeling the usual pressure and then the overwhelming feeling of fullness.

  “Easy,” he says hoarsely, his big hands resting on my sharp hipbones, ready to stop me at any point.

  I know my limits, and I slide down steadily until my bum comes to rest on his groin and we both pause to groan.

  “Shit, that feels good,” he says.

  I nod, unable to speak. I wait for a second to adjust to the feel of him, and then I raise and lower myself gently as a test. It feels incredibly good, and so I do it again, rising higher and coming down in one long, slow screw.

  “Oh God,” he gasps. “Don’t stop.” He grabs my backside, his big hands cupping my buttocks and squeezing the small globes. “Your arse is fucking perfect,” he growls.

  “Let’s see how the rest of me does.” I push his hands to the bed and anchor my hands on his wide, hair-roughened chest. I dimly notice scars all over the surface of his skin, including one very angry-looking one that seems fairly recent. But when he lifts his hips and fucks into me groaning loudly, I lose my concentration.

  Before long, I’m bouncing up and down on his dick, panting and crying out at the incredible feeling. At first, he lets me have the reins, and I lean back, resting my hands on his thighs and jouncing on his cock.

  “God,” he says fervently, grabbing my cock and jerking me steadily. “God, that’s so good.”

  Sweat covers my face and body, chilling quickly in the air conditioning. “Mmm,” I say.

  He breaks, grabbing my bum and fucking up into me with hard, battering thrusts. “Take it,” he grunts.

  “Oh shit,” I gasp as he hits my prostate and he holds me steadily, working that spot with the smooth, fluid motion of his narrow hips. “Going to come.” I reach down to stroke myself. “Ungh.”

  I come in long, racking spasms, emptying myself over his stomach and chest. He fucks up into me for a few more seconds before stilling and giving a long groan that rises in volume until he collapses back into the bed and takes me with him into a tangled mess of sticky skin and damp sheets.

  A long while later, the shadows are lengthening across the room, and I know it’s time to go. I’m panting hard, the sweat and come sticky on my skin from the last bout of fucking. When my breathing levels, I roll over and sit up.

  “Where are you going?” he asks lazily.

  I look over my shoulder at him. He’s lying spread over the bed, the covers puddled low on his groin, showing the black bush of his pubes. His olive skin glows against the white of th
e sheets.

  “Home,” I say cheerfully and laugh when he looks startled. “Did you think I’d moved in?”

  He smiles at me. “Do you want a shower before you go?”

  I look longingly towards the fantastically appointed bathroom but then shake my head. “Better not. I’ll never leave.”

  Forestalling the usual awkwardness, I stand up and slide into my clothes while he lies on his back, his arms folded behind his head.

  “Enjoying the show?” I say tartly, adopting a muscle-man pose.

  He laughs. “Thank you,” he says.

  “What for?”

  He shrugs. “A good shag.”

  That startles a laugh out of me, and I sit on the bed to put on my shoes. “I am rather good at it.” He grins and nudges me with his foot until I laugh again. “It was my pleasure.”

  “Twice,” he reminds me.

  I think of the second time when he’d pinned me to the bed and fucked me so hard I saw stars. “Mustn’t forget the twice,” I say solemnly as I stand.

  “Wait.” He rolls over and grabs Charlie’s book out of the bag on the bedside table.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as he rifles through the drawer.

  “Looking for a pen.”

  “Hope you’re not going to try to replicate that boring old shit,” I say, grabbing my jacket.

  “I’d never try that,” he says solemnly. “It took long enough to write it in the first place.”

  “What?” I gape at him as he opens the book and starts to scrawl something on the flyleaf. “What are you doing? That’s a birthday present you’re defacing there.”

  He winks at me. “Just signing it for you, darling.”

  “What?” I ask again, reaching over and grabbing the book. I open it and stare down at the page. The signature is a messy scrawl under the dedication, but it clearly says, Max Travers. I stare down at it and then look up at him. He’s lounging against the pillows, vastly amused.

  “Oh my God, you’re the journalist?”

  “The boring one? Yes, that’s me.”

  My cheeks flush. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  He shrugs, unholy laughter dancing in his eyes. “I wasn’t wearing my official journalist visor. And trying to keep up with your friend’s Aunt Val’s drinking plays havoc with a bloke’s reflexes.”

  “Oh shit,” I groan. I look down at the picture on the dust jacket and blink. “Is that your –?”

  “My official photo?” He nods. “Yep.”

  “Good grief, that’s a rather threatening pose. I hope they treated you well in prison,” I say sympathetically. He starts to laugh, and I shake my head. “Well, I hope you’re happy now,” I say darkly. “I’m now going to have to buy another copy of your book for Charlie. I’m quite sure he’ll never understand why Max Travers, the famous journalist, thinks his arse is the best he’s ever had and that he should be knighted for his dedication to blowjobs.” He’s still laughing when I bend down to kiss him. “Thanks for the shag,” I say cheekily and make my way to the door.

  Half of me doesn’t want to go, but I’ve got his measure. This isn’t the first time he’s done this or even the millionth. I look back at him in bed and freeze the pretty picture in my head and then leave the room with the sound of his laughter echoing in my ears.

  I’m halfway home when my phone beeps. Digging it out of my pocket, I look down at the text and then give a startled laugh.

  Max: Hope you’re home safely.

  A smile plays on my lips as I tap on my phone.

  Me: Why wouldn’t I be?

  Max: Well, you were walking a bit funny. I was concerned that I’d shagged your coordination out of you.

  Me: I think that only happens when people get to your advanced age.

  He sends me back a one-fingered emoji, and I laugh.

  Me: I cannot even begin to imagine how your number ended up on my phone?

  Max: I put it in while you were in the bathroom. Thought it might come in handy.

  Me: For what? If I ever happen to need my autobiography written?

  Max: I’ve already got the title. ‘Sassy and Shagged Out’. It’ll be a bestseller.

  My laugh echoes loudly on the bus, and I attract a few stares.

  Me: I don’t need the money. Not now I’ve got a very personalised signed copy of your book. I’m sure I’ll be able to sell it for a fortune. I’ll go and live in the South of France on my yacht surrounded by the glamorous set who’ll bleed me dry and then leave me to bemoan my fate in a seedy piano bar before taking a drunken header into the sea.

  Max: Are you sure you aren’t a writer?

  Me: How will I know?

  Max: Have you got a drinking problem?

  Me: Not this afternoon.

  Max: Then you should have my number just in case that drink problem rears its head.

  Me: Very civic-minded of you, Journalist Max.

  The bus pulls up at my stop, and I shake my head and shove my phone in my pocket, pushing him to the back of my mind. I’ll never see him again, but it was good fun, and he was an excellent shag. Dismissing him, I make my way home with a spring in my step and a lovely ache in my arse.

  Chapter Three

  Felix

  I slide into the booth and look over the table. Max looks back at me. He’s lounging with his arm slung along the booth’s back.

  I shake my head at him. “So, your ‘just in case you need my number’ actually translates to ‘I’ll text you if I fancy another shag’?”

  He laughs and tilts his head to one side, waves of black hair brushing the shoulders of his oatmeal-coloured jumper. “And do you mind?”

  I shrug. “Fuck no. I can’t help being a memorable shag. It brings all the boys to my yard.”

  He grins. “I can quite see that.”

  I take off my parka and wink at him. “Anyway, it takes all of the pesky work out of finding a shag. I approve.”

  “What work?” He settles back in the booth as if preparing to be entertained. I smile at the waiter and give him my drink order before turning to Max and folding my arms on the table.

  “Well, Max, let’s see. There’s the extreme toil of finding someone who fits all your sexual requirements and is open to doing that with a great deal of physical effort, minimum conversation, and absolutely zero commitments.”

  He examines my face intently, not even glancing away when the waiter brings our drinks. I eye him as I take a sip of my Budweiser. “Have I broken you, or is it your age? Are you having a senior moment?”

  He laughs, breaking the calculating look on his face. “You’re a cheeky little shit, aren’t you?”

  “It has been said.” I put my drink down and eye him. “So, are we going to have a shag, or not? Time’s a-wasting.”

  Someone nearby laughs at that and Max grins at me. “So forthright,” he murmurs.

  “The privilege of age.” I look at him. “How old are you, anyway?”

  There are faint lines at the corners of his eyes and a few threads of grey in his hair, and I’d guessed he was in his late thirties. I didn’t look him up on the internet before coming here tonight, and I resolve to do so when I get home. It’s rare you can actually google someone you’re shagging and get actual results, and not just some ill-advised shit they posted on social media years ago.

  “How old do you think I am?” he says mock flirtatiously, leaning in close enough that I catch his scent of sandalwood. It brings back memories of rolling all over those soft sheets in that hotel room. I’ve been perturbed to find my mind straying to memories of that room a few more times than it should have over the last week.

  He’s watching me intently again, and I swallow hard and tap my teeth thoughtfully. “I think probably sixty.” He opens his mouth in mock horror, and I laugh. “Only because you’re so wise,” I say reverently. “Being intelligent really piles the years on.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m thirty-seven,” he says, trying not to laugh. “Can you see my crow’s fee
t?”

  “A crow never made those lines. That’s surely got to be a bigger bird.” I wink at him as he laughs loudly. I eye the table where a book is sitting next to his pint. “What are you reading?”

  He looks slightly awkward. “Ruth Rendell.”

  “Oh, Inspector Wexford. My grandma used to watch those on the telly,” I say cheerfully.

  “Thank you so much for that information,” he says darkly. “It’s made my day so happy.”

  I laugh. “It’s like I carry sunshine wherever I go.” I eye him. “So, do you like reading crime novels?”

  “I do.” He smiles. “I’ve always thought it would be incredibly easy to murder someone and get away with it, so I like it that people get found out in these books.”

  I blink. “Said no man ever who hoped to get laid.”

  He laughs. “I’m not going to murder you, Felix. Your arse is far too perky for that to happen.”

  “I always knew my buttocks could save a life.”

  He bites his lip, laughter brewing in those dark eyes as he leans forward. “The only way I’ll kill you is when you die from an overdose of the pleasure that my cock gives you.”

  After draining my drink, I put the bottle on the table and stand up to grab my coat. “Pride goes before a fall, Max,” I say. “Maybe we’d better get you back to the hotel before you break something.”

  It’s a different hotel and another expensive room, but the sex is just as incendiary as I remember.

  This time, though, he’s definitely in charge. He strips me in a dreamy, intent silence punctuated by my groans as he licks and sucks every inch he uncovers. He steadfastly ignores the six and a half inches standing proud between my legs.

  “You’re a gigantic tease,” I mutter.

  He pushes me onto the mattress, so I lie naked and spread-eagled in front of him.

  “It’s only teasing if you don’t come through,” he says.

  I open my mouth to reply, but the words die away to a groan as he bends forward and sucks my cock into what I find is an extremely talented mouth.