by Lily Morton
I know all my heterosexual friends bemoan what they see as my promiscuity, but I’ve been fortunate in finding Max because when you have sex with an unrepentant tart like him, it’s almost transcendental. He knows his way around a man’s body, and he’s generous and verbal and extremely hot.
“Don’t be too good at this,” I warn him darkly. “I do want to enjoy sex with other people, you know.”
He releases my dick and grins up at me. “Oh dear, now I’m in a quandary. I was going to blow your brains out with spectacular sex.” I roll my eyes, and he smirks. “But now I think maybe I should fart, come far too quickly, and roll over and go to sleep.”
“It’s my problem,” I say earnestly. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
He chuckles and bends back to my dick, sucking on it with a power that makes my eyes cross while he cradles my arse in his big hands, squeezing the flesh and occasionally smacking it gently.
“If you hit me with your dick, I’ll bite it off,” I inform him.
He laughs. “Alright, Lorena Bobbitt. What about this?”
My eyes fly open, and my mouth opens in a silent scream as he pushes my knees up to my chest and licks down my crease.
“What are you doing?” I say in an utterly scandalised tone.
His chuckle vibrates in a way that makes my toes curl. “I’m settling in for a bit of rimming.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Should I meet your parents first?” he says conversationally.
I laugh, but it turns quickly into a groan as he settles his attention on my arsehole which perks up and immediately takes notice.
“Oh Christ, I’ve never—” I stumble over my words.
His head pops up immediately. “You’ve never had this done to you?” His tone is far too astonished.
I glare at him. “Not much time for that in pub toilets. Besides, I’m mostly just in it for the dick,” I finish loftily.
He smiles. “Well, give it a try. If at first, you don’t succeed, try, try, and try again, as my mother used to say.”
“Mentioning your mother isn't exactly erotic.” He bends back to his task, and I throw my head back, digging into the pillow he pushed under it. “Oh God, ooh, mmm… carry on,” I command. “And don’t ever stop.”
He lifts one hand and gives me a thumbs-up. My laughter rapidly turns into a moan as he suckles and licks my hole until I’m swearing and invoking our lord’s name in a highly impious way.
Then he pulls back and takes me hard, standing by the side of the bed with my legs slung over his shoulders, fucking into me with forceful thrusts that shove me up the bed and hit my sweet spot pretty consistently.
He stares at me, all humour gone, his eyes dark and hot as he looks down at where his cock is entering me. I spread my legs to give him a good view, and he groans, biting his lip and increasing the speed of his thrusts. Reaching down, I fist my cock, but he knocks my hand away.
“Mine,” he says.
“Well, don’t get too attached,” I gasp. “There are plenty more fish in the sea who’d like a nibble.”
“Funny Felix. I wonder how funny you’ll be if I do this?” He levers my legs off him and pushes them together, bringing my arse into the cradle of his groin, and gives a few thrusts with his supple hips. Stars flare brightly behind my eyes, and when he leans down and slides his fist over my cock, I come without any warning, writhing on his dick as ropy strands of come fall onto my stomach.
He gives a pained groan and increases his thrusts. Just as it’s on the edge of being too much, he pulls out and rips off the condom. I spread my legs obligingly and run my fingers through my come as he climbs onto the bed and crouches over my chest.
“Yes,” I say throatily to his unspoken question. He strips his dick with two hard strokes, and I close my eyes as the hot liquid hits my face and neck.
He falls onto the bed with a knackered grunt, pausing just to wipe my face with a corner of the sheet.
“Well, colour me surprised. You are a gentleman, after all,” I say.
He laughs. “Don't tell Debretts. They haven’t used this measurement yet.”
Silence falls, and I lie for a long while with his arm lax across my stomach. His breath is hot on my shoulder, and I can smell sex and his warm scent. Eventually, I stir. “I’m definitely having a shower this time,” I announce. “I smell like a regular at a brothel, and I’ve got come in places that a decent boy would blush at.”
He chuckles lazily. “Good job you’re not a decent boy, then.” I laugh. “I like the way you smell anyway.”
“I suppose you would, you Neanderthal. You were the one using your dick like a hose.”
I wriggle out from under his arm as he makes lazy complaining noises and finally stand up.
“Just so you know, I’m totally going to use up all the expensive bath shit in your bathroom, Max.”
“Even the hairnet? Surely that can’t contain your mop.”
I shrug. “I nick them, but I have no idea why. Who actually ever uses them? They always look like they’ve been sitting there since the eighties. I’m taking the bathrobe and slippers though.” I look around the room. “And the biscuits and the little tubs of milk.”
“Thank you for enlightening me on your kleptomaniac tendencies. It’s good to be forewarned. Are you sure you don’t want the kettle too?”
“I’ve got one of those already,” I say in a lordly fashion. “But you can never have enough sugar sachets.”
His laughter follows me as I wander through to the bathroom, pinching an apple from the bowl on the table as I go.
The bathroom contains a smorgasbord of products, and after eating my apple and pawing through the selection, I settle on an organic oat-and-honey body scrub and ensconce myself in the shower with my phone blaring music as I lather up.
I’m singing along to Lady Gaga when the glass door opens. “Hello,” I say, grinning at Max. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“It’s a joyous surprise,” he says wryly and holds out his hand for some soap. I squirt it into his palm and am utterly discombobulated when he starts to run his soapy hands over my body.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He peers at me, looking slightly confused. “I would have thought it was fairly obvious, but as you’re a little slow, I can inform you that I’m washing your body.”
“But why?”
He shrugs. “Felt like it.” He gives me a leering glance that makes me relax immediately. “I happen to like your body when it’s naked.”
“Of course you do. You’re not alone in that sentiment.” I sigh dramatically. “Have at it, then. Who am I to deprive you of all of this perfection?”
“Thank you,” he says solemnly and proceeds to wash me. He moves on to shampooing my hair, and my eyes close at the amazing scalp massage he offers.
“You’re wasted as a journalist. You could take this up professionally,” I inform him, and he chuckles. His naked body brushes against mine, and although I can feel that his cock is hard again, he makes no attempt at doing anything.
“I’m not actually a journalist anymore, but thank you for offering me an alternative career path as a naked shampooer. I’ve been at a bit of a loss as to what to do next.”
I swing round to look at him. “You’re not a journalist anymore?” He shakes his head. “So, what do you do?”
He gives me a wry glance. “Hang around in Waterstones and pick up snarky men?”
“Good luck with that. You don’t tend to find a lot of them in there. Your sex life is going to take a drastic dive.”
“I don’t know about that.” He tips my head back and rinses my hair, grabbing a towel when he’s finished so I can dry my eyes. “It’s looking pretty fucking good at the moment.”
I eye him as I step out of the shower. “So, why have you packed up journalism?”
He grins at me, the water cascading down his exceptional body. “Haven’t you read my book yet? The d
etails are all in there.”
I shrug. “I’m waiting for the right moment. It’s unlikely to come during this millennium, so give me the Cliffs Notes version.”
He bursts out laughing. “You’re absolutely terrible for my ego.”
“And yet something tells me it will be fine,” I say wryly. I raise my eyebrow. “Well?”
He looks slightly awkward. “I actually tried to retire from overseas assignments last year, but it never took. I missed the adrenaline rush too much, so I went back.” He pauses, and a funny expression crosses his face. It looks almost haunted. “I shouldn’t have gone back because my reflexes had dulled enough to cause problems.” He shrugs. “So, I retired again.”
“And what are you going to do apart from write things that entail whole forests being decimated to print your very wordy words?”
The haunted look vanishes, and he laughs with what seems like relief. “I’m not sure, to be honest.”
“Will you cover domestic news?”
He shakes his head immediately. “No, that’s not for me.”
“Not enough excitement at dog shows and talent competitions?”
He steps out of the shower and takes the towel that I hold up for him. “I fancy something different, but I’m not sure what. So, until I decide, I’m going to hang out in expensive hotel rooms and pick up men in bookshops.”
“Find a cheaper hobby,” I advise. I consider him for a few moments. “Why don’t you write a crime novel?”
“What?” He looks startled.
“You were so disturbingly emphatic about your ability to commit the perfect crime, so put your money where your mouth is and write that.”
His mouth drops open in surprise. “I’ve never considered that.”
“Just a thought. This way, you can actually use your casual hobby of dreaming up horrific murders.”
He leans against the counter, watching me as I pick up a tube and squeeze it.
“What are you doing?” he asks, a thread of laughter running through his voice.
“Applying a face mask to keep my youthful complexion.” I look down at the packaging. “It protects against the toxins of modern life.”
“Not sure they’ll help against The Sun and Piers Morgan.”
I laugh, and silence falls for a long second as I apply the mask. Then he shifts position. “I’ve been thinking,” he announces.
“Somehow, I know that means trouble.”
“You wouldn’t be wrong.” He pauses. “No, it’s just that I really enjoy your company. You make me laugh, and you’re an excellent shag.”
“You sound like you’re considering adding that to my CV.”
“Would it help?”
“It would really open up the job market for me.” I eye him, my heart picking up to a panicky pace. “What are you saying here, Max?”
He gives an awkward shrug. “I just thought that maybe we could do this a bit more.”
I stare at him, flabbergasted.
He rushes to explain. “Not in a seeing each other type of situation. God, no. I absolutely don’t ever want that. It’s more of a meeting up if we ever fancy a shag with no strings at all.”
I relax immediately but then pin a sombre look on my face. “Well, that’s rather hurtful, Max.”
“What?” He looks slightly worried, and I’m now thoroughly enjoying myself.
“Yes, I thought we really had something together,” I say mournfully. “It felt deep and meaningful to me. Like I’d found my soulmate against all the odds. And yet all my soulmate is actually offering is a shoddy attempt at getting himself a casual shag whenever his balls are full.”
There’s a horrified pause, and then he throws his head back and laughs. “Shit, you had me for a second.”
I grin at him. “You’re too easy. Which is patently obvious after your request.” He snorts, and I shake my head. “Sounds fine to me.”
“Does it?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’d have thought you’d have been looking for a relationship at your age.”
“I’m sure that’s what all the young bucks were doing in your day, Grandpa,” I say, and he shoves me. “But I definitely don’t want a relationship. I think I’m actually allergic to the word.”
“Well, no need to keep any antihistamine in stock on my account.” He looks serious suddenly. “I just don’t need any feelings developing, Felix. I’ll never be about that, and you’re young enough to change your mind.”
I break the momentary silence by nudging him. “Not likely,” I say cheerfully. “You’re not that irresistible, and if I ever do develop feelings for someone, you’ll be the last person who’ll ever know about it.”
He relaxes, and we smile at each other. “Look on the bright side,” I advise him. “We can have sex whenever we want without any stupid commitments, and my complexion is going to be as bright as the sun if I keep using your fancy hotel face masks.”
Chapter Four
Two Weeks Later
Felix
I’m pottering around in my kitchen when I hear a knock on the roof and a cautious “Felix?”
I pop my head out of the door and grin at Max. “You found me, then?”
“Might have been easier if you’d told me that you lived on a narrowboat.”
“Now where’s the fun in that?” I cock my head to one side. “You coming onboard the Aunt Sally or just going to stand out there like a garden gnome?”
“A garden gnome?”
I nod, repressing a smile. “Yes, one of those little potbellied ones with a fishing line and a constipated expression on his face.”
He laughs, but his eyes are already everywhere, taking in everything about the boat’s shiny blue-and-red painted exterior. We might have spent our entire time together over the last two weeks testing out the durability of the mattresses at various hotels, but I’ve noticed one crucial fact about Max. He’s fucking nosy. There isn’t anything that doesn’t interest him, and once that interest is caught, he becomes very intense about knowing everything on the subject. I suppose it’s what made him a superb journalist. People are like puzzle pieces to him, and he has a great charm about him that people respond to.
I don’t share his nosy characteristics. I’m sure anyone shagging him would want to know everything about him, but I’ve totally avoided it. Instead of researching him like I originally planned, I’ve avoided it. I’m not sure why. I told myself it was rude to research him, but I think the truth lies in the slight twinge that tells me this man is dangerous to my aim of zero involvement. He’s too handsome, too charming, too funny. Max Travers is just too much.
He breaks my chain of thought by grinning at me. “This is amazing. How long have you lived on here?”
“I’ve had this mooring for a few years. I moved around the first couple of years that I had the boat, but then I settled here. I like Little Venice. It’s right in the centre of things, but it’s really quiet. There are some brilliant pubs and restaurants too.” He opens his mouth to undoubtedly ask me more questions, and I roll my eyes. “I’ll give you the details, but I’m letting you know now that there’s a time limit on this interrogation.”
“Interrogation?” he says, stepping aboard. “What interrogation? You use the strangest words.”
“It’s the thing you do to everyone who is doing something that interests you. It crops up at the oddest moments.”
“I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
I shake my head. “Oh, really? It wasn’t you, then, who tied me to the hotel bed last week and then went out to the other room to sign for room service. How long were you gone for, Max?”
He scrubs his hand through his hair, looking embarrassed. “Half an hour?”
“Yes, I must say that’s definitely one for my memoirs. I can’t describe how lovely it was to lie there and count the seconds while hearing you ask about the fascinating intricacies of the old dumb-waiter mechan
ism. It’s got to be the single most riveting sexual encounter I’ve ever had.”
He laughs. “I do like to come first in things. My mother always said it was a fault in my character.”
I shake my head. “Coming first is actually a compliment to the other man or so Trigger-Happy Terry told me last time I slept with him.”
He laughs loudly. “At least you’ll remember me.”
“It’s a good job the waiter didn’t come into the bedroom, or we’d both be memorable for all the wrong reasons.”
He cocks his head to one side as if suddenly noticing me. “What are you wearing, Felix?”
I look down at my outfit of pyjama pants, an ancient hoody, combat boots, and my grandad’s old tweed coat. I’ve accessorised this charming outfit with a rainbow-striped beanie. “Erm, warm clothes? It’s only spring, and it turned very cold this week.”
“Well, that’s just stupendous. All this glamour just to shag me. I can’t think why I didn’t have to fight my way through a long line of suitors.”
“It’s their lunchtime,” I say solemnly. “They’ll be back at two.” When he laughs, I grin at him. “It’s bloody cold on the boat. April isn't exactly balmy this year.”
He shivers suddenly as if he’s just felt it. “Why is it so cold? Is it normally cold on boats? What do you do when it snows and what—”
“Oh my God,” I say loudly. “This is press intrusion at its best. Why don’t you thrust your microphone in my face while you’re at it?”
He winks. “I’ll keep my microphone to myself for the moment, Felix. A man must have some decorum and not just thrust it willy-nilly.”
“Is it because your microphone malfunctions?” I say sympathetically. “Because I’m sure it happens to a lot of men.”
He bites his lip. “Does it?”
I shrug. “Who fucking knows? I don’t hang around after microphone failure. I do have standards, you know.”
He returns to his original question like a heat-seeking missile. “Why is it so cold in here?”
I roll my eyes. “The boiler’s packed up. I’ve got a space heater, but it doesn’t give off enough warmth to heat a gnat’s chilly backside.”
