Page 49 of Handle with Care
“Do you want to come to my place?” Will dares ask, glancing over. “There’s no flatmate.”
“Bold suggestion. There’s no telling what might happen without a chaperone.” There’s another burst in my chest. I pretend to act way more chill than I actually am. “I would love to. Because, frankly, I don’t want it to be midnight yet either. Also, the voyeur in me wants to see how you live. I imagine like a god.”
He reddens once again, and it’s thrilling to see how he responds to my quips. “Alright. And believe me, not like a god.”
“Where is this flat of yours, anyway?” I ask, as if I have a clue about London geography beyond that of the museum and my neighborhood. Fake it till you make it, they say.
“Chelsea, technically. Near South Kensington.”
And when we reach Will’s neighborhood, it’s decidedly much nicer than mine, which tells me what I need to know about it. He parks on a street with mature trees providing shade to three- or four-story Victorian tan brick buildings with white trim and bay windows by a park. Privately, when I glance up and down the street as we get out, I scan for any signs of a red McLaren, but there’s none in sight.
Will gestures at one of the terraces, albeit a bit sheepishly. “This way.”
I follow him up the steps to a black glossy double door as he unlocks it, taking it all in like the greedy tourist I am. Part of me would kill to tell all to my—our—coworkers, but I’m really starting to like Will, and I wouldn’t betray him, no matter how tempting it is. “You must pay a lot in rent.”
He looks embarrassed as he unlocks the front door of the ground floor flat. “I don’t.”
“You don’t?” I let out a low whistle as we stand in the black and white tiled entry of his flat. He has contemporary colorful paintings and furniture, very much an adult house and not living like he’s some sort of frat boy or in a student dive. “Steal of the century, man.”
“I, er, own it.” Will’s flustered, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“Shit.” I’m beyond impressed. The idea of owning any property is about as likely as declaring myself a merman and living an aquatic life in my own castle deep in the sea. “Well, then you must pay a lot in mortgage.”
Will doesn’t say anything, looking at me, taking me in. I can finally see his eyes now that he’s no longer wearing the aviators. He’s a little pink, both from blushing but also the day’s sun, despite all the sunscreen. The reflections from the sun out on the water must have done it. I focus on his gaze, something vulnerable in his eyes.
“Sorry.” I give him a wry smile. “Too far. I usually go too far. Like my mom said, I’m a chatterbox, and she could always tell where I was by the sound?—”
And then Will steps closer, within reach. Purposeful. And I couldn’t break his gaze even if I wanted to. Which I very much want. The intent way he looks at me is everything.
“Dylan.” Will catches my face between his hands. They burn. I gasp with the heat, the sudden nearness of him, the contact that feels so intimate.
Immediately, I stop talking. He more than has my complete attention.
Instead, I grab Will’s shirt and pull him close. It’s hard to say whose mouth meets whose first, both hungry for each other. We’re kissing and kissing with growing ferocity against the frontdoor. Will grabs my shirt. I groan deep in my throat. Then, our hands are all over each other, and I’m rewarded with the sensation of Will’s firm muscles under his clothes.
The kiss is way, way better than my daydreams, and it takes me right back to that incredible morning at the hotel of waking up entangled in bed with him. And how happy he looked to wake up like that, burned into my memory for approximately forever. Our mouths are fire. Will tastes delicious, like summer personified, sweet and spicy at the same time.
We are all eager hands and urgent exploration, a hunger finally out in the open. My fingers fumble with his shirt buttons. I’m too turned on to focus properly. Will seems to be having the same problem. Till he stops abruptly. And so, I stop too, searching his eyes in the midst of this growing debauchery in this very respectable entry.
I’m breathing hard, and so is he. Will’s rib cage rises and falls as he gasps. I’ve half unbuttoned his shirt, enough progress to see his chest, which is way better under my hands than in my imagination. He’s already looking deliciously undone, and I only want to undo him further and more vigorously.
“Will? Are you alright? Is this okay? I don’t want to take this any further if you don’t—” The words fall out of my mouth in a rush.
“It’s more than alright,” Will assures me, still gasping. “I… well, I don’t want to lose my balance because I’m totally distracted?—”
“Oh fuck, I didn’t even think?—”
Will waves me off. “I’m thrilled you didn’t think about that,” he confesses. “It’s… it’s been a long time. And…” A strange look crosses his face. “I really, really like you, Dylan. I wasn’t joking earlier. I was attracted to you the first day I saw you. But I never expected to like you so very much.”
Quite simply, I stare at him, incredulous. It’s everything I can do to keep from gawping. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I step closer, yet his body language tells me to keep back. He catches my shoulder to keep in place. That same vulnerability’s come back in his expression.
“And here I thought you really hated me, at first.” I give him a crooked smile.
“No. I was terribly embarrassed about splashing you with my car. Then, I couldn’t stop thinking of you. And… and, God, I can’t think how we’re going to go back to working together and pretending that nothing has happened if we let something happen now. I don’t know that I can, honestly. Because I do want you. And… this means something to me, Dylan. I’m not out on Grindr or barhopping or?—”
“Will.” My expression softens. “I really like you too. But I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do. I’ll be disappointed, because you’re fucking hot, and I want you too. But I get feelings are feelings, and we all have our limits and all that?—”
He gulps. “I want to take you to bed so badly.”
