Page 101 of For Real

“Well, they can’t have me. Because I’m yours.”

He nods.

I tip my hips into his. “Say it.”

He hesitates. Longer than he ever has, even when I’ve made him beg for something he doesn’t want to want.

It makes me anxious, the way his other waiting doesn’t. I guess because this time it’s not a game.

“Because…” It’s hard to read someone in the dark. I can only catch the gleam of his eyes. “Because…” The word kind of rasps the second time he says it, like he’s almost in tears. “Because…you’re mine.”

“I am, I so am.” I throw my arms around him and nearly fall over because that only leaves me one leg for me, but he holds me up, safe between him and a five-hundred-year-old wall.

His cheek rubs against mine. His jaw’s a bit rough. Calvados foam and centuries of civilisation, but Laurie still isn’t tame. “Oh God, Toby. I’m so sorry I—”

“Don’t you fucking dare. I loved it.”

“Did you now?” There’s a different note in his voice now, playfulness and a hint of threat I find insanely sexy.

I grin. “Yeah, because I’m a dirty little flirt, remember?”

He catches my wrists and drags them over my head, cradled in his palms so they don’t catch on the stone. I’m not really into being restrained, but when it’s Laurie, it’s somehow still something he’s giving me, all his strength for whatever I want to do with it.

I give him what I hope is a dirty-little-flirt look. “It’s how I bring powerful men to their knees.”

He groans in this deep, helpless way, and it echoes in the cloisters, this suddenly far-too-intimate moment. And then he’s pulling me away from the doorway into the shadows, and we’re kissing again, fumbling in the dark, everything reduced to touch and sound and secrets.

Laurie’s rough with me, but in a good way, a little bit out of control. His body traps me against the wall again, but I keep my hands free so I can twist them in his hair, span them over the tight-pulled muscles of his back, dig them into his arse. Grope my way up to the remote in my breast pocket and hit the button, so he shakes and grinds against me, muffling his cries in my shoulder. And he’s even wilder now, turning me round and bending me over the ledge of an archway.11

My hands come down on cold stone. Laurie leans over me, his teeth scraping the back of my neck, and I make a guttural, shuddery sound.

We must look fucking amazing. Framed in filthy tableaux in the moon-drenched cloisters.

I love doing this: imagining us together while we’re together, all the ways we’re different and the same, all the ways our bodies fit and all the ways mine can make his yield.

Laurie’s fingers are under my cummerbund. The button on my trousers comes loose with a snick and bounces away—plink plink plink—and then, in one ruthless tug, I’m bare-arsed in an internationally renowned institution of higher education.

It’s honestly kind of thrilling—I’ve come a long way from the boy who thought being fucked facing the foot of the bed was way out there—but at the same time, a bit nervous-making.

Except we’re right at the back and it’s dark and I’m pretty sure Laurie wouldn’t be doing this if there was any danger.

So I just wriggle at him and arch my back, loving how powerful it is to be the dirty little flirt he thought I was.

He groans again, and then I hear him spit, which is so out of place here, so obscene and exciting. Also terrifying, because Laurie is, uh, sizeable and I’m kind of a lube fiend. And I definitely don’t think I’m a sufficiently high-level sodomite for him to cruise in on saliva and a fair wind. His hand lands between my shoulder blades, holding me down, and he drags his slickened cock over the crease of my arse, which—considering his cock has been in my arse—shouldn’t be as shocking as it is. But I guess my arse is kind of vulnerable at the moment, and I stifle a little whimper, knowing how hard and hot he is for me, wanting this urgency and this exposure, this weird little edge between threat and desire.

Then he shoves his knee between my legs and his cock between my thighs. And holy shit, that shouldn’t feel like anything, but it does…it really does. There’s just something really basic about it, this make-do conjunction, and it sends my stomach all wibbly and my legs all shaky. The skin of my thighs is wet and tender around his cock, like it’s my mouth or something, like he’s inside not outside, and I squeeze around him, tight enough to make his fingers curl and his breath catch. He thrusts…against…into? me, and his shaft rubs the underside of my balls, not entirely gently, but it makes startled little tingles ricochet through my whole body.

Sliding his arm around me, he lifts me off the ledge and reaches down to my cock. I guess I’ve had a pretty intense day—teasing Laurie on the train, fingering him into a pleading mess over the desk, knowing there’s a plug inside him because I put it there, and now this—and I’m honestly not very good at restraint at the best of times. I’ve been a bit proud, actually, at how well I’ve controlled myself, but the moment he touches me, I sort of lose my mind. He gets his other hand over my mouth just in time to catch my scream.

Fuck. His hand. His cock. His body and the stone around us. His hot breath. The cold air. The cloisters.

His hand tightens over my mouth because I can’t even breathe quietly. I’m making these funny little raspy, moany noises as he jacks me off and fucks between my legs, and everything is sweaty and sticky and a little bit awkward, but that’s what makes it perfect. It feels raw and dark and a little bit ugly, and I come, biting his hand and sobbing because it’s just so good, so fucking good.

He doesn’t even let me catch a breath, just pushes me down again.

“Say it.” A hot growl in the darkness.

“Say what?” I’m not messing with him. I’m just genuinely, fucked-out delirious.

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