Page 58 of Sorry, We're Closed

“Just so you know, you look incredible in button ups.”

“Even in times like these, you’re still as polite as ever.”

Sawyer rolls his eyes and scoffs jokingly before I continue on his neck and earlobe with more desperation than before. One spot in particular, just below where the collar of his shirt sits, makes Sawyer’s thighs tighten around my hips, and I noticed a rise in his trousers which begins to press against me. The feeling is most definitely mutual, and I wonder if he notices as he throws my shirt behind him and onto the counter floor.

His hands explore my build from my chest to my abs, across the defined V-line and trail of dark hairs which lead into my ripped jeans, in and around every dip and curve. His touch is soft, slow, teasing, as if he’s trying to remember every part of me and fulfil his words of never forgetting me.

“Avory, you’re so unbelievably gorgeous.”

Sawyer struggles to let his words escape between his breaths and whimpers, and he’s definitely driving me crazy. I hum into his skin in response as I begin to slowly nip and suck on his warm skin. Blood begins to prickle at the surface, creating an array of maroon and violet splashes while Sawyer’s grip tightens against me, a sweet moan escaping his lips. Fuck, he sounds so goddamn beautiful.

“A-Avory.”

Shit, now he’s saying my name? He really knows how to cause my entire body to burn with desperation and need for him. As I continue making my way across his tender skin, his hands make their way to my belt buckle, and as he tugs and pulls to release it, I could collapse right here, right now. I peel myself from him for however many seconds it takes to ask him.

“S-Sawyer, are you sure? We haven’t spoken about this before, have you ever—”

I speak in between our shared kisses, until the familiar bang of the fire exit door interrupts us, echoing across the café.

Twenty-Seven

Sawyer

It has been corrupted into my every thought for years that a man being with another man in any other way than as toxic sport fans who chug beer by the gallon, is a sin, a disgusting act to commit, a reason to disown the ones around you.

Well, I’ll happily accept being a sinner, being a part of any of these supposed disgusting acts, and I’ll lose everyone around me if it means my hands never leave Avory’s bare skin. My hands will have to leave his body one day, though. Maybe if I leave enough of my prints on his sculpted and burning skin, then he’ll be able to relive this exact moment whenever he wants? Maybe if he marks my skin hard enough, that tender yet soothing pleasure of prodding at his bruises will never leave, and will forever be embedded in my muscles?

No, I can’t think like this, I can’t be thinking about the future, because we’ve agreed to think about now. Us right now, with my legs wrapping around his hips, his low hum vibrating against my skin, and my fingers struggling to undo his goddamn belt buckle.

“S-Sawyer, are you sure? We haven’t spoken about this before, have you ever—”

My rationality is still with Avory telling me about leaving while every other motion and thought has been overthrown by our decision for our final days. Which leads to where we are now. With my mind minutes behind my actions, I start to consider what I’m doing. With my fingers still wrapping around his belt buckle, one thought becomes prominent in my mind, and it forces me to stop and consider all of this.

I have never done anything near to this with a man, yet it's another thing to add to the list of why everything seems so effortless and natural with Avory. He makes me forget that I’ve never been with anyone before, and that I would need to be guided through it all.

I couldn’t imagine anyone else to be my guide.

As my mind attempts to rationalise the idea of going any further with Avory on the café’s counter, like a chilling glass of water to the face during an interrogation, the fire exit door slams shut and every single scenario possible rushes to the front of my mind. Every possible person in every possible scenario who could come through that door stumbles over each other, but one woman stands front and centre and thoroughly enjoys the chaos which spirals within my mind. Fuck. Fuck.FUCK.

Avory seems to figure out the severity of that goddamn fire exit door slamming before my mind finishes processing every possible scenario as his lips, hands and warmth strip themselves from my goosebump covered skin. Avory grabs my hands and pulls me to my feet, the stinging sensation spreading up my legs as it seems so long since I last used them.

Avory throws himself over the counter and onto the tiled floor where he crouches behind the counter, seeming to tuck himself in by the bins which slot nicely under the marble tops. Even with everything he knows, with our agreement, he still puts my safety and secrecy first. Why is it only smacking me across the face now how much I’m going to miss this man?

The staff room door flies open, and my breath refuses to leave my chest. My lungs remain tense, and my eyes remain forward. Her heels click against the floor with each step, and each click seems to replace my heartbeats. As she storms closer towards me, the familiar scent of burnt coffee and liquor lingers in the air, the scent turning into a taste which sizzles at the back of my throat.

A chesty cough of hers releases into the air before she spits, “Paperwork. Where is it?”

I know exactly where it is: Tucked away on a shelf, under the till, which is behind the counter, alongside a shirtless Avory.

“I’ll get it, hold on.”

My eyes lock onto her being, refusing to even blink because she cannot come back here. As I approach the till, I glimpse Avory in my peripherals, but I refuse to look for him. I can’t give her any reason to poke and prod behind here.

“Hurry up, for fuck’s sake, I don’t have all night. Got somewhere to be.”

I pull out the folder and begin my cautious walk back to her as I speak, “What do you need the paperwork for? Because I’ve been told something about the café being—”

“Sold? Yes, it’s no use to me, and I want it gone.”

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