by M. C. Adams
I walk up the stairs, my heart pounding. I’m embarrassed to admit this — and definitely confused — but I’ve got a feeling that when I get back into bed, there’s something I want to do before I go to sleep… Something that will make me sleep all the deeper… Something that maybe, just maybe, is an important step in finding out who it is that I really am.
And what I really want.
4
HUNTER
* * *
I really shouldn’t be doing this.
Especially after everything that happened last night… but fuck it. I’ve woken up horny as hell. If I don’t deal with it now, I’ll go downstairs and start rubbing myself up against Klein’s designer furniture.
I pump my fingers over my cock a little faster now, enjoying the feeling of the smooth cotton sheets beneath me. I’m bathed in light from the window — I never bother sleeping with the curtains closed, and I like to see what I’m doing in the morning when I touch myself like this. I fondle my balls, watching how big my cock has become, and I moan in delight at how aroused I feel.
Of course, I’m thinking about something. Got to have a scenario in my head or I can’t come. And the scenario I’m focused on is so damn twisted I can barely believe I’m letting myself think it. But… we’re not in charge of our own minds at times like this, are we? So I can hardly be blamed…
What I’m thinking about is lying on top of Klein last night. I’m imagining that instead of just knocking that guy on the carpet out, I’d actually killed him, with my bare hands. Now, murdering someone is definitely, most definitely, not something I plan on doing in my normal life. I’d be devastated to end another human being’s life.
But… the reason I’ve killed him, in this fantasy, is because it puts him out of the picture completely. Plus, it makes the stakes higher. Klein is terrified, because he was about to get snuffed out by an evil axe-murderer, and then I run in at the last minute, butt-naked, and I chop the guy’s dick off with his own axe. Then I put the axe in his heart for good measure. What a hero I am. Then, while he lies bleeding on the carpet, I jump onto the bed. Turns out Klein sleeps naked too, and he invites me under the covers. We talk about how he’s a cold person and I’m a warm one — that part did happen in real life. But then, when Klein says he could do with someone like me to keep him warm… well, that’s when I press my lips on hers, and then my kisses trail down all the way to his hard cock, and I begin to suck him like I haven’t eaten a man in years….
Fuck.
I arch my back and move my hand even faster. Making myself come is a difficult act — got to keep my head focused, my fingers quick and nimble — but this morning, in Klein’s bed, I get the telltale fluttering in my stomach and the white sparks swimming in my eyes, and I know I’m about to come. Hard.
I bite my lip harder than I meant to — so hard I taste the iron tang of blood — but nothing can stop me now. I come and come, trembling violently, spraying seed into my hand, a sweaty tangle of raw pleasure…
And then I exhale.
Shit. That felt good.
Even if it was fucked up. And it definitely was fucked up.
I clean up, then grab my phone and check the time. It’s already mid-morning. Klein and I never agreed our working hours, so at least I’m not late for my first day of work. Besides, it seems like I’m here round-the-clock anyway, so I guess the work never ends.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and head for the en-suite. My legs are still a little shaky. It’s been ages since I’ve come like that. Normally, these days, if I want to come, I have to think about this one specific scenario. It’s not as messed up as the one I just imagined, but it’s still pretty weird. I have to imagine I’m fucking someone who’s wearing a mask. Don’t ask me why — I’ve never done that in real life, and I’ve never wanted to — but in my fantasy, I’m not allowed to see my lover’s face.
Maybe it’s because all the men I get together with are such disasters that I can’t bear to imagine fucking them. Honestly, it’s been one issue after another with my exes. There was Peter, who was so jealous he wouldn’t let me go anywhere without him. Then there was Laurence, who decided he could only have sex with me if we talked about his stepbrother while we did it. What is it with people and step-siblings these days? And last but not least, Grant, who took so many drugs and got so drunk that one night that he actually threw up onto my cock. Yeah. Not cool.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m a shitty judge of character.
And for that reason, maybe, no one has ever made me come. I know it’s a mental thing. But no matter how long I’m with a guy, in him, I just can’t relax.
It’s okay, really. I’ve always been more of a giver anyway. Love the feel of a guy inside me. And I get nervous having people do stuff to me. When I’m getting fucked by a guy, or when I’m going down on one, that’s when I feel most connected to him. That’s when I feel like I can really let go. Let my animal side take over. I guess I’m a power bottom. Which annoys me, because I don’t like labels. But whatever.
Speaking of animals, it’s so long since I last showered that I’m being to smell like some kind of wild creature.
I turn on the shower and find myself a nice, fluffy white towel. God, this place is ridiculous. Everything about it is perfect. Even the shower head is one of those massive, rainwater ones, and the whole room is tiled so you can just get everything wet.
It’s really classy, this house, and cool and modern too. I couldn’t believe it when Klein showed me around last night. I just found myself closing up the more and more he showed me, though. It was like I was getting a glimpse into this other life that I’d never had, and it made me feel sad. I know you can’t blame your parents for everything, but I sort of can. I had a rough start in life. Got kicked out of home when I was young and had to fend for myself. But with my hatred of authority, I never behaved well enough to hold down a job. And now — now that I’ve flunked all my exams and messed up in just about every way possible — I know I could never have this life.
And until I saw it last night, I never felt like I wanted it.
It just shocked me, I guess. Meeting someone like Klein last night, feeling a connection to him in that club, while we danced together. And then realising there wasn’t a hope in hell that he’d ever be interested in someone like me.
I get into the shower, helping myself to the expensive shampoo and conditioner. I don’t even recognise the brand, but it feels immediately luxurious. Makes my hair lather up nicely and smells like heaven. I feel like I’m at a beauty spa.
I wonder how long this set-up’s gonna last. Feels so open-ended that it might only be a day, or it might be a year. I hope it’s the latter, but I just don’t know.
I’ll probably need to think about applying for other jobs at some point, though, if this is only a very short-term gig. Even if I do end up with a couple of grand in my bank account.
At least I feel like I earned my keep last night. I couldn’t believe it when I woke to the sound of Klein calling for help in the night. Thank goodness I was sleeping so lightly. Always do for the first night or two in a new place. Someone once told me, I can’t remember who, that it’s a common evolutionary thing. When you’re in a new place, only one part of your brain sleeps properly. The other part remains active, so you’re ready for any dangers that might crop up in a new place. It’s how whales and dolphins sleep, apparently, so they can remain vigilant for sharks.
Well, thank god I stopped that shark last night.
I ran in quick as a flash, and didn’t hesitate when I saw that fucker standing near Klein’s bed. It’s not like I’m not trained for situations like this. My experience as a bouncer has made me more than capable of wrestling a person to the ground. But it still got my heart racing. And when I heard Klein crying out my name, I was convinced that there was someone else on the bed, about to murder him… Didn’t mean to pounce on him like that. I really didn’t. Especially not while naked. But unless I�
�m reading it totally wrong, he didn’t seem to mind. He wanted me close to him. And if that fucker hadn’t come round when he did…
Then we might have ended with a situation a bit like the one in my fantasy.
But it’s for the best that nothing happened.
Last night was high-emotion. Klein was drunk, he was scared, he was vulnerable… he wasn’t thinking straight. It would have been wrong of me to take advantage. So I’m glad it never came to that. And I’m sure it was a one-off. This morning, I’m simply his security guard. Nothing more, nothing less.
I get out of the shower and dry myself off, then put on the same scruffy clothes I wore last night. I have a bunch of stuff in a locker at the train station — didn’t know where else to put it when I got thrown out of my flat. Good thing I always travel light, because I’m never in one place for long. I’ll go and grab my stuff later on today, but first I need to see how Klein’s doing. Heard him pottering around downstairs earlier, so let’s hope he had a decent sleep and isn’t too shaken up by the crazy shit he’s been through.
I head downstairs yawning, in search of a strong black coffee, but first I need to check in on Klein.
It’s super weird, though. He’s not in the kitchen. Or the living room. Or the other living room with the cinema(!) in it. Or the games room. Or the gym.
But then I remember. He has a pool. A freaking pool.
I head through the kitchen to the glass doors at the back, and sure enough — thank goodness — there he is. Lying on his back, gazing up at the sky, his long arms propelling him backwards.
This must be a fifteen-metre pool, I reckon, so it’s not Olympic size by any means, but it’s still big enough to get in some decent laps. I bet that’s one of the reasons Klein felt so toned last night. When you’ve got a pool right there next to your kitchen table, you can work off every single meal before you even eat it. Yeah. There’s something really specific about a swimmer’s physique. Lithe and strong and purposeful. And that’s what Klein is.
Since he’s lying on his back, I can get a pretty good view of him. I shouldn’t look, of course, but I do. Besides, he saw me last night, in all my glory.
He’s wearing a clingy, red swimming costume — a speedo, rather than loose shorts — which sticks to his slender form and shows me the shape and heft of his cock, which jiggles as he swims. And, if I’m not mistaken, I reckon he’s a natural blonde, because I can’t see any dark hairs lurking beneath the red fabric. Unless he trims, of course, which is a distinct possibility. Posh boys tend to manscape. Me? I prefer a more ‘natural’ look. I’m reasonably hirsute, always have been.
Klein reaches one end of the pool, and gets out.
He looks amazing with all those water droplets clinging to his body. His legs are so long and muscular, his stomach so flat. He looks like an athlete. I bet having those long legs wrapped around you would really be something else…
Just then, he turns and waves at me. Fuck. I forgot I was just watching him through two-way glass, and he can see me, just like I can see him.
I wave back, suddenly feeling weird and awkward, like a teenager trying to appear normal in front of a school crush.
He smiles at me, grabs a towel, and heads over.
‘Morning, sleepyhead,’ he says. ‘Oh no, you poor thing. Your lip is bleeding. That guy really hurt you last night, didn’t he?’
I think back to what I was up to this morning, how I bit my lip thinking about Klein, and I swiftly change the subject. ‘I’ll live. So… did you manage to get back to sleep last night?’
‘Actually, I did,’ says Klein, wrapping the towel around himself and then heading over to the coffee machine. ‘I felt so much safer knowing you were in the house. How did it go with the police, by the way?’
‘Pretty much like I expected. I told them he was wearing gloves and didn’t break anything. They said there was no point paying us a visit, but they logged it. Told us to call them again at the first sign of trouble.’
‘First sign of trouble might be too late,’ Klein says, sticking two white cups under the nozzles on the machine. ‘I take it you’re a coffee drinker, yes?’
‘Big time,’ I grin. ‘Fucking gasping for one right now, as it happens.’
‘Well, you’re in luck. This is an excellent Colombian dark roast. Please. Take a seat.’
I sit at the table, and he brings over the coffees and sits opposite me.
‘I’m glad you got the shower working okay,’ says Klein, looking at my wet hair. ‘You look… quite refreshed. And you must borrow any clothes of mine you want while you’re here. If you like, I can leave a selection of things on your bed. They’re probably not to your taste, but…’
‘Actually, I was thinking I’d go and grab my stuff at some point today,’ I say.
Klein looks a little concerned. ‘Oh, okay, yes, of course.’
‘If you’re nervous about being alone, you can come with me? I don’t have much. It’s all in a locker at the train station… But we could, er, grab some lunch while we’re out? There’s a kick-ass burger place nearby.’
Klein nods. ‘I’ve never really been out for a burger before, but… why not? Sounds like a novelty!’
My eyes widen. ‘Never been out for a burger? Damn, man, what do you eat? Caviar for every fucking meal?’
I think I might’ve just offended him, because he winces slightly. ‘There are croissants in the oven if you feel like some breakfast. I’m sorry. I know we’re from different worlds, Hunter, but… we’re not that different. Honestly. We’re both just human beings. Men. With hopes and dreams and… needs.’ He swallows.
‘You’re right,’ I say, holding my mug. ‘And we both take our coffee black. That’s like, the most important thing, right?’ I grin. ‘Anyway, you’re gonna love this burger place. Honestly. They’re all vegan, but you wouldn’t know it.’
‘Are you vegan?’
‘Nah. Not disciplined enough. But I admire the ethics.’
‘You’ll have to teach me about them,’ says Klein.
‘I can teach you on our date.’
Fuck.
That just slipped out. Didn’t mean to call it a date. I’m just… I’m not used to being in a man’s home, seeing him wearing little more than a towel, and this not being something.
Luckily, Klein is either being polite or he didn’t notice. ‘Feel free to take a dip in the pool this morning,’ he says. ‘You can borrow a costume, or… you can just wear what you wore to take that guy down last night…’ He flashes me a mischievous look, those pale blue eyes full of all kinds of flirtatious promise.
Aha.
So maybe last night wasn’t just a one-off. We’ll see, I guess…
‘Anyway,’ says Klein, standing up suddenly, ‘I’ll get those croissants, shall I?’
I nod. ‘I’d love one. I’m famished.’
Klein goes over to the oven and bends down to take out the tray. The towel only comes a little way past the top of his thighs, and I can’t help noticing the curve of his arse as he leans over. Damn. Even after this morning’s escapades, I’m still as horny as hell.
‘I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened last night,’ says Klein. ‘About the guy in my room. I know my wife is after this house, but it was an extreme measure sending someone round to scare me. Charlotte always had a bit of a cruel, dramatic streak, but I didn’t have her pegged as downright evil.’
He brings over the tray of croissants. Six huge, flaky crescents of golden-brown, buttery deliciousness. Wow. Nice one. I thought someone as skinny as Klein might be into measly portions and health food, but this is perfect.
I grab two croissants and put them onto my plate, then add extra butter and jam.
‘So,’ I say, as I bite into the pastry, my mouth full and my words coming out muffled, ‘if you designed this place, how come Charlotte thinks she has a right to it?’
‘Charlotte is a quantity surveyor. And a very good one at that. She worked as the commercial manager for the pr
oject. Basically, that means she was in charge of the purse strings. According to Charlotte, if it hadn’t been for her expertise, her ability to reign the costs in, to maximise cost efficiency, then this house would never have been built… Of course, that’s partly true. Every building project needs a commercial manager. But without my original design, this project would never have even got off the ground. My blood, sweat, and tears went into this place. Charlotte — well, all Charlotte put into it was a little parsimonious penny-pinching.’
I finish one croissant, and move onto the other. ‘Sounds complicated. But it seems like the house means a lot more to you than her.’
‘When Charlotte looks at this house, she sees pound signs — and lots of them. If she owned this place, it’d be sold within a month. I can guarantee you that…’ Klein takes a sip of his coffee, and then says: ‘Our divorce papers were finalised a few weeks ago. The problem is, there’s something we did when we got married that’s rather silly. It wasn’t my idea, and it wasn’t Charlotte’s, either, actually. But we got some bad legal advice, and basically, a clause was written into our prenuptial agreement, that if we were ever to divorce, whoever got remarried first would be able to take possession of the house. The other one, the one who didn’t marry, would get a greater share of the money. So it’d still be roughly equal, financially-speaking, and it would mean that the house we’d worked so hard to build wouldn’t have to be sold, and one of us could keep possession of it.’
‘Even though, in reality, it seems like Charlotte just wants to sell it now?’
‘Well, the thing is, this part of London has gone up in value dramatically since we bought the place. It’s always been an expensive area, but now… prices are through the roof. And lovingly restored buildings like this one are very in vogue right now, too. As well they should be. So… my guessing is that Charlotte is trying to scare me into giving her the house, and then she can make her fortune.’
I can’t help laughing at that. ‘Sounds like you two are already pretty fucking fortunate already. Some people always want more… I guess that’s how they get so rich in the first place.’ I chew my second croissant thoughtfully for a while, and then ask: ‘How come Charlotte doesn’t just re-marry if she wants to take possession of the place?’
