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Hayden doesn’t answer my question.
Doesn’t move.
Doesn’t look as if he even breathes, but that’s okay. I stopped breathing too, didn’t I, last night.
When we kissed.
I would have traded plenty for more of that—would have handed over my phone and all of its data to carve out more time with him. Now we do have time, at least until the end of the wedding party that I can still hear faintly, and if I learned a single thing from watching all those exchanges made behind sand dunes, it was to make the most of mutually beneficial chances.
Most people don’t get a second.
I’m not wasting this one, so I stop asking questions and issue an order.
“Get over here.”
He moves then, and for a first time, I glimpse what it must have been like to face him in his first life. He commits, going all in with nothing held back, and that always does it for me.
I hit the mattress with him on top of me, and me being half naked while he’s still dressed also does it for me.
I’m back to picturing that stove, that kindling catching alight, with no idea why this contrast between skin and fabric ignites me. Maybe it’s down to friction—the scuff of his suit jacket against my chest. My nipples are hard enough to cut glass already, and that’s a sharp shock, a little unexpected burst of sensation while our mouths are locked together.
His belt buckle against my stomach is another contrast. That prod of metal is as hard as his dick soon gets, which means I can’t just lay here getting tongued to death by someone who kisses like he hasn’t stopped thinking about last night either. Not when more than a wedding-party clock is ticking.
I’ll be gone tomorrow.
It’s still hard to hurry, and what started out as hard and fast now slows to almost glacial.
His tongue slides against mine in careful exploration like we’ve got all the time in the world, and I’ve never been more turned on from so little.
From so gentle.
It’s another mind-fucking contrast, like his lips being this soft while his hold on my jaw tells me I’m going absolutely nowhere.
I don’t want to.
I’ve seen enough shitty human behaviour to recognise a good guy when I meet one despite his axe-murderer first impression, so I wiggle a hand between us and wrench that buckle of his open to get his fly down.
His mouth leaves mine. Not to tell me no. His lips explore my jawline while I trace the thick, hard outline of what his underwear still covers. He must like where the heel of my palm presses. A hum rumbles through him, and I’m glad we’re chest-to-chest so I get to feel that, even if it means my hand is trapped between us.
If I was warm before, I’m on fire when his mouth reaches my throat, sucking, and I’m not sure if it is my dick that throbs or his. I shiver at the graze of his teeth shifting lower, which isn’t due to his beard scratching. My tremor is involuntary, a response to him being so hungry for me that our teeth clash when we next kiss.
Only for a moment.
He repositions to suck on my tongue like he can’t get enough of me, so it’s no wonder I’m caught between wanting to melt and combusting at the same time.
He lights me up so fast, and so what if we’re both a little clumsy or that his lips slide wetly while he’s figuring out how we best slot together. His hands find my arse, pressing us closer together, my hand still caught trapped where his cock swells, and I’ve never got harder faster than when I squeeze and he lets out a small sound.
It says so much without speaking.
That groan was an almost silentfuck, yesfollowed by adon’t stopthat I can get on board with after spending a whole day wanting this with someone who goes all out for other people with no showboating.
I wonder if he knows how rare that is—how plenty of people turn up at the camps with flags and banners to advertise their do-gooding before disappearing the minute shit gets real. Reece’s boyfriend is one of them, which is surprising. I’m already pretty sure Hayden wouldn’t act anything like him. Fuck it, he’d probably weave lifeboats out of willow, or at least try to, and that makes it easy to want to give back, so I do.
I push him onto his back, and he lets me. He also doesn’t argue when I look down while those little lamps highlight that he’s still dressed. If we had longer, I’d strip him fully naked, but music rises from a party that I can’t help thinking Hayden should be at. Because here’s something else I’m not sure he sees but I’ve noticed over and over—he made it happen. All of it. The whole thing from start to finish.
Him.
That dance floor where I dodged a good-looking soldier? Hayden is the reason that it’s full of happy couples. And that singer who so many wedding guests now dance to? He’s only here due to the man who cups my face as I bend to kiss him.
