Page 49 of The Player

“Shit,” I finally mutter. “Con, you’re so big.”

“Okay?” he asks through gritted teeth.

I nod furiously.

“I’ll go easy,” he promises and then cries out as I clench my arse around the length of his dick. He lowers his head and licks and sucks at my neck.

The whole room restricts to just him and me. Outside, the world goes on, but in here, our world is the sound of groans and grunts and flesh slapping. He pulls back, fumbling one-handedfor the lube and drizzling more onto his cock before shoving back into me.

“Oh shit,” I groan. “Con.”

“Hold on,” he says, and then he really starts to fuck me, slamming into me, his big hands clenched so tight on my buttocks that I know he’ll leave marks. The feel of him is sublime, and I screw my eyes shut. “Mmm,” I gasp. “Ohgod, keep doing that.” He’s hit my prostate, and I curl my fingers so tight into the sofa that they hurt. My cock bounces on my belly, and I screw myself down on him. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop,” I gasp. “I’m nearly there.”

“You’re going to come like this?” he whispers, and I nod.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop,” I chant again, feeling my balls tighten and screwing myself on his cock harder. Then I clench my buttocks and shout as my cock pulses into the air, shooting spunk in thick pulses over me.

“Frankie,” he shouts, and then I feel the sting of his fingernails as he holds me close and bucks into me. Then he slumps over me, panting, and I wrap my arms and legs around him, clutching him tight and kissing his shoulders.

We stay like that for a few minutes before his cock slips from my arse, and after he’s dealt with the condom, we stumble to the rug and collapse onto it together with chuckles and sighs. We end up lying with him on his back and me draped over him, my leg over his hairy calf.

There’s blissful silence for a while as his hand strokes my hair back, and he presses kisses into my hair. A breeze blows through the kitchen window, bringing with it the scent of earth and flowers. The rain has stopped, and the storm moved on. Finally, he stirs. “Frankie,” he says.

I raise my head from his chest and look up at him, almost afraid to see his face. But, unfortunately, at that point, a shadowcrosses the window, and I hear a half-stifled shriek of outrage and the sound of hurried footsteps.

There’s a startled silence. “Oh my god,” he sighs. “Tell me a tourist didn’t just see my cock?”

I bite my lip. “If we’d stayed on the back of the sofa, they wouldn’t have, but you insisted on spreading out on the rug like a particularly sexy exhibitionist.”

“Shit,” he says morosely.

“Anyway, while I’d like to tell you it was just a complete stranger, I think it actually might have been Lucy Scrimshaw.”

He swallows hard. “Oh my god,” he says again faintly.

I lay my head back down on his chest. “Serves her right,” I say callously. “And really, we’ve done her a favour.”

“How do you work that out?”

“Well, you’re a lot prettier than my garden.”

“Which would be a compliment if I didn’t know the state of your garden.”

“Look on the bright side. We’re probably going to be the only topic of gossip for either the next week or the next millennium. It depends if Molly Saunders is having any more cosmetic work done.”

“And how is that the bright side?”

“I have a sneaking suspicion that Lucy won’t be paying me any more unscheduled inspection visits.”

“Well, aren’t you Mr Blue Sky today.”

I chuckle and look up at him. His face is soft, his eyes dark brown in the half-light. His big hand pushes my tumble of hair back. I feel curiously shy, but I plough on. “How could I be anything but cheerful when I’m here with you like this?” I say softly.

His hand jerks, a finger catching a strand of hair, and I wince as his movement pulls at it.

“Do you mean that?” he says harshly.

I nod. “Of course I do,” I say and gasp as he grabs me close, burying his face in my neck. “Con?” I say.

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