Page 41 of The Player

He throws his head back, all the cords in his neck standing out. “Frankie,” he says hoarsely, and I rub frantically, digging my knees into the side of his thigh and feeling the telltale tingle in my balls.

It comes on me in a rush. I have no time to prepare. One minute we’re rutting furiously, so melded together I can’t tell his body from mine, and the next, I’m coming with a wild shout spurting over his cock and balls. He grabs my arse, pulling me in tight, and then gives a low, tortured groan. I feel his semen hot on my skin, and I fall onto him, knocking the breath from him, but his arms tighten to keep me there.

I’ve never felt anything like that, and I let that recognition settle into my mind, where it will undoubtedly ferment into outright worry. For now, though, I just lie savouring the warmth and feel of his big body and feeling his breaths strike the side of my face and the occasional nuzzling warmth of his kiss against my temple.

After a long moment, I roll off, and we lie on our backs, staring up at the ceiling, the room full of the sounds of our slowly steadying breathing. Semen is growing cold on my skin, and consciousness starts to seep back. Consciousness and concern.

“Jesus,” I finally say. “What the hell just happened?”

“Frankie, look at me.”

I slowly do as he asks. I’d do mostly anything he asked of me, maybe even hide a body, but somehow this is harder than that. He’s watching me, his eyes mysterious in the moonlight. I stare at him. Is he going to say he regrets it? I become aware that I’m holding my breath, and I let it out unobtrusively.

“What?” I finally ask. My voice is hoarse and soft. “What was that, Con?”

He watches me for another second, but then incredibly, he smiles, and it’s a smile unlike any he’s ever directed at me. It’s full and warm and lights up his face.

“It was simple and easy,” he finally says. He rolls to his side and runs his finger down my face, tracing my cheekbones and ending at the corner of my lips. I compound my foolishness by kissing it, and he smiles again. “And yet it was everything too, if you know what I mean. Does that sound silly?”

“Not at all,” I say, and we exchange slightly shy smiles.

I open my mouth finally to try and clarify what just happened. My senses are reeling. That was simultaneously the hottest event of my life with the person who, up until two months ago, I’d never looked at like this. How has this happened?

However, Con sits up and scatters my thoughts. “Come on, Frankie,” he says, his voice low and tender. “The middle of the night isn’t the time to analyse stuff, and I can see your brain starting to rumble.” The latter is said with an air of wild tenderness that makes my heart beat faster.

“So, what is the middle of the night for?” I ask, letting him clean us off with his T-shirt and push me into the bed. He slides up next to me, pulling the covers over us and slinging his arm around me so his warmth and scent envelop me. It seems funny to inhale that familiar scent now it’s cut through with a trace of spunk.

“It’s time for sleep,” he says. “Sleep with me, Frankie. Close and warm.”

And I do. I drop off so fast it’s like free jumping off a cliff.

chapter

eight

I come awake slowlythe next morning. I’m warm amongst the sheets. The room is cool, a breeze blowing through the curtains. I stretch, and memory returns all of a sudden as my foot encounters a hairy leg.

I twist around before I can stop myself. Con is lying there amongst the rumpled sheets, the white of the cotton showing off the tanned length of his body and the wideness of his chest. His chin is roughened by brown-blond stubble, and his eyes are bleary. He’s never looked better.

He’s also awake, watching me with eyes that betray nothing.

We stare at each other for a long few seconds, and then I can’t help it. I smile at him and watch as his eyes close as if in relief.

“Con,” I whisper.

He opens his eyes, and I gasp as he grabs me close in the tightest hug.

“Can’t breathe,” I gasp. He lets up a little and presses a warm kiss to my temple, lingering there and inhaling as if taking in my scent. I feel tears pressing against my eyes. “Con?”

He pulls back. “Frankie,” he says softly, his eyes smiling.

“Con, I—” I come to a stop as my phone rings. “What the fuck?” I say instead. I check my watch. “It’s six in the bloody morning.”

He reaches over and grabs my phone, seeming to take every chance at rubbing his body along me. By the time he’s finished, I’m pretty sure my cheeks are cherry red, and it takes two tries before my eyes clear enough to see the name on display.

“George,” I mouth at Con, who frowns.

“Hello,” I say. “Everything okay, George?”

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