Page 81 of After Felix
He looks back and grins. “That’s because I’m not. Last time I took this route, I was pissed out of my tree.”
“Whenweren’tyou pissed out of your tree?” I mutter, avoiding the hanging tendrils of a plant. “You’d have given Lindsay Lohan a run for her money.”
He laughs. “I’m always amazed I didn’t take a header into the water.”
“That’s because you’re like a cat. Only with ninety lives.”
And I thank God for every one of them, I think with a passionate fervour that brings a flush to my cheeks.
He shrugs. “Considering some of the scrapes I’ve been in, someone must have been looking after me.”
“Whoever it was is probably in rehab now, Max. You should send a fruit basket.”
I’m grateful for his laughter because it covers up the turmoil of my feelings. It’s so easy to imagine Max taking a faulty step or three and tumbling into the water or in front of a car. He’d been reckless for years. I might never have met this big, warm man, never heard his laugh, never had all his attention beam on me like a lighthouse, illuminating parts of me that nobody else ever bothered to see.
We come out onto a path, the canal stretching ahead of us. The water slops gently, and the houses crowd over us, big and narrow with their tall windows. Voices and music come from one house, bright windows sending lozenges of colour over us and illuminating Max’s expression as he gazes into my eyes. I look up at his handsome face, watch the breeze tousling his wavy hair, and suddenly it’s all too much.
“Max,” I whisper.
I slam into him, pushing him against the dark building beside usand pressing my lips against his. For a second, we both still in surprise, and then he groans loudly and opens his mouth to my tongue. Everything instantly dies away—all my thoughts and worries—replaced by a surge of the delicious heat we’ve always generated together. A sudden feeling of sweet relief makes tears prick my eyes. Nobody has ever felt so right against me, as though I’m made for just him.
I sag against him and he gives another deep groan and grabs me closer, kissing me furiously, his good hand roving all over me as if he’s familiarising himself with some terrain he used to know well.
I don’t know how long we kiss for, but when he pulls back, our panting breaths are loud and humid between us, puffing white in the cold air. I shiver, feeling the loss of his heat immediately, and he hugs me to him.
“Felix?” he says hoarsely. There’s a question in his voice and all the answers I can’t ask for yet.
I nod, pressing my head against his shoulder. “Yes,” I say, my voice suddenly clear as I push everything away that’s been clouding my head for two and a half long years. “Yes, Max. Please.”
“You don’t ever have to say please.” He clasps my face and smacks a kiss onto my mouth. I think he meant the kiss as a brief punctuation of his words. But “brief” has never happened with us. He kisses me again. And again. Coming back for more until we’re panting and I push him away.
“Not here,” I whisper.
“Come on.”
I take his hand and let him draw me after him. The journey back to the hotel seems almost like a dream. One minute, we’re walking closely together with his arm around me and his scent in my nostrils. The next, he’s opening the door to our room, pushing me through and slamming me against the wall, then kissing me as I start to strip off our clothes.
We fall onto the bed, still kissing. I’m down to my T-shirt and briefs and one sock, and he’s just in his boxers. He rolls on top of me, and I wind my legs around his waist, thrusting up at him so our cocks grind together behind their layers of cotton. I send my hands greedily all over him, trying to relearn a country that I once knew so well, awarethat he’s doing the same to me, his cast rough on my skin. And still, he kisses me, eating at my mouth with a fervour that he never showed before.
His body feels exactly the same, and I moan my pleasure into his mouth, the sound becoming a sharp intake of breath as he pulls back and pulls my cock from my briefs. He holds it in his long fingers and then bends to lick a stripe up it and rub it gently over his face. The stubble is a bright prickle of pleasure-pain.
“Oh shit,” I mutter.
He roots his nose at the base, inhaling deeply. “I’ve missed this smell,” he says, looking up at me with heavy-lidded eyes.
“Hardly the pulling technique of the century to call your partner smelly,” I say snootily.
He smiles and I can’t look away, because it’s so completely and utterly tender and looks so right on his handsome face.
“I missed you too,” he says, and the simple honesty in his voice floors me. “Every single day.”
I open my mouth to try and steer us back into the snarky sex we used to have, but lose my train of thought completely as he takes me back into his mouth and starts to suck. My eyes roll to the back of my skull, and I groan loudly.
When I come back to myself, we’re both naked, and he’s lying between my spread legs, his head bobbing as he sucks me with his finger rubbing at a spot inside me that makes my mouth tingle.
I feel the tell-tale tightening in my balls and grab a fistful of his hair. “Max,” I say hoarsely. “Please now.”
He lets my cock go and stares up at me. His lips are full and red and shiny, and his breaths are coming quickly.
