By CLARE LONDON (16 page)

I sucked in a breath. “Whatever you want, Seve. Just get the fuck on and do it.”

He did. I heard a gentle thump as he dropped to his knees behind me. Cloth rustled, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw his shirt thrown down on the floor beside me. The flesh of his bare arm was damp on my thighs as he stroked across my buttocks and down between them to tease at my opening. His fingers were cold. I think I clenched with the delighted shock—I certainly gave a yelp of pleasure—and he laughed softly.

Then I felt his hair tickle against my thigh, teasing my nerve ends, and his hot breath brushed my buttocks. I felt the almost indescribable thrill of his wet, fierce tongue licking around me, swiping across my entrance. I stopped clenching at once and relaxed. His tongue licked all around the hole, and then a single slippery finger slid in. It thrust playfully in and out of my opening while he followed its path with his tongue, dribbling saliva on my skin. Some of it trickled down my leg and some of it—oh fuck—he nudged inside me.

I held myself there—God knows how, when my legs and arms were shaking with the tension—as Seve slowly fucked me with his finger and his tongue. The door was ajar and my body was still halfway out in the corridor. If anyone had come out of the lift or turned the corner at the end of the hallway, they’d have seen me, half-naked and on my knees, with my discarded jeans in a heap on the floor beside me. I was shuddering with ecstasy, my head dipping up and down between my shaking shoulders, with nothing behind me but the hint of a shadow and a figure that might or might not have been clutching me around the waist and pushing me inexorably toward the brink of a consuming, wailing climax.

“So hot,” Seve mumbled against my arse. His beard was rubbing up a small ridge on the crease of my leg. He grunted and nipped my buttock with sharp teeth. “You taste like soap. And rain.”

It was the final straw. I lifted one straining arm off the floor and grasped my cock. A couple of tugs was all I’d need. Seve’s finger went faster and harder into my arse and I bucked back against him, not caring if I hit him on the chin or not. The waves ran through me, my upper body arched, and I gulped down my yell as I came. Again and again, I spat seed out over my hand and my crumpled jeans. I couldn’t feel Seve anymore; I couldn’t hear anything. The only thing I was conscious of was the thrill through my own body and the retching of my cock as it gave it all up for me.

I fell to the floor on my elbows, unable to hold anything upright. Seve tugged me and my clothing inside, and the door slid to a merciful close behind me. But it seemed I still wasn’t going to be given the guided tour. As I lay slumped against the discreetly patterned wallpaper in his hallway, he crawled over to me on his knees and pushed my legs apart again.

“Need you.”

He was bare chested and with his trousers wide open at the fly. His cock reared out from his lap, well recovered from our antics in the lift. All I could do was nod. I needed him too. He hauled my legs up off the floor and over the crooks of his arms, then leaned forward and pressed his cock against my opening. I was wet from his saliva, but it felt like he’d prepared his cock as well—it was wearing a slicked condom and the aggressive heat that was the inimitable calling card of Seve himself.

I wriggled to get more comfortable, and perhaps he thought I was resisting.

“Don’t fight me, Max.” His voice was hoarse. “I know you want it. You want me.”

Every passion I’d ever repressed was shrieking to be let out. And it was Seve who did that to me. Of course I fucking wanted him, but I didn’t have to surrender quite that easily, did I? “I think you like a fight now and then.” My voice was muffled, my chin pushed down onto my chest.

“I think that’s just your idea of provocation.”

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re damned right it is.” I reached for him, gripping on to his shoulders for support. With a determined effort, I lifted my hips up onto his lap and down onto his cock, impaling myself. He gasped, but I was beyond gasping. I started to push down, drawing his dick up inside me. It was tight, awkward, painful—and fabulous. “Fuck me,” I said through gritted teeth. “Now!”

I WOKE suddenly and in the dark, unable to remember where I was. Disorientated and startled, I sat bolt upright. A clean-smelling sheet slid down my body.

Then I remembered I was in Seve’s flat. I remembered being fucked senseless by him the previous night, pounded against the wall and the floor until we’d both come again and then some. I remembered us moaning at each other, Seve keening as he held me tight around the waist. My own groans as I ran my hands over his smooth hair, letting its short strands trail between my fingers, reaching with my mouth to plunder his with my tongue again and again. Then we’d staggered to our feet with rueful grins and Seve fetched a clean pair of sweats for us both and a toweling robe for me to wear while my clothes dried. We went into his kitchen, where I had a beer and Seve had a glass of a thick red wine, and we realized we probably needed some food. He phoned up for takeaway Chinese, and somehow, between him hanging up the phone and me putting the menu down on the worktop, I found myself facedown across the kitchen table, the robe thrown aside, the sweats around my knees and my legs spread wide. There was the warmth of Seve’s hips fitting snugly in between my thighs, the bright snap of another latex package, and excitement as he thrust into me. Excitement—and barely controllable laughter! The slim chrome legs of the table might have been fashionable, but they were ridiculously insubstantial. We rocked together fiercely, and they scraped across the glossy floor tiles in accompaniment. I nearly fell off more than once. Guess they don’t make kitchen furniture fit for purpose—for ours, anyway.

By the time the delivery boy brought the Chinese food up, I was groaning loudly, clinging to the very edge of the table, and Seve was tensing for his climax. As he came, he dropped his head and marked my shoulder with his teeth—I felt the sudden sharp pain as he bit and sucked. In seconds I was hearing the angelic bells of my own next—and rather agonizing —climax, just as someone knocked on the door and called out something about spring rolls and fried rice.

I just about remembered the final staggering tumble into bed around midnight. More laughter as we reminisced about what we’d done, where we’d done it. And shared some more aerobic exercise before we finally slept. In a bed. Seve’s bed. Together.

And now it was early dawn, or so it seemed to me. I blinked my eyes, getting used to the dim light, and took a good look around the room. There hadn’t been much time last night to do anything except admire the size and sophistication of the flat. Now I was curious about the details of Seve’s home. We’d turned off the lights in the hallway before we fell asleep, but the morning brightness was already seeping through the blinds of the bedroom window. I could see a clothes chest and a table and chair. Both were of pale wood, well polished. A huge flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall opposite the bed. The bed was covered with a crisp linen coverlet in an Aztec-style design, and there was a matching rug on the wooden floor. I nosed around some more. No pictures, no photos, no ornaments, no books. It was a little like a hotel room, but without the Gideon bible. A clock and telephone on his bedside table; a pile of used tissues and opened condom wrappers on mine. With a wry, private grin, I tipped my metaphorical hat to them, shifted in the bed, and then winced at my sore arse. Always being bottom wasn’t necessarily the most comfortable long-term choice where Seve Nuñez was involved. I wondered if I’d ever dare to suggest anything else.

The room was cool like only good air-conditioning can make it, and the sheet over my legs was thin and soft. I turned to look at Seve sprawled across the bed on his belly, his sleeping head buried in the pillow beside me. Did I think he’d have left me sleeping and gone out on his own? I realized I had no idea what to expect in this new setting. It was a surprise to find him there, but a joy as well—so far, I hadn’t seen much of his naked body except his mouth, hands and cock. He was truly gorgeous, as I knew he’d be—a broad back, with glinting spots of skin where sweat had pooled on the tight muscles. A light covering of hair on his shoulders, though not as much as on his chest. The most perfectly formed arse I’d ever seen on a man, and long, supple legs, coated thinly with darker hair. I knew how those legs could pin me down to the floor, how they could press between my thighs, spreading me just as he wanted. I sat there, staring, wishing he’d turn over so that I could get a full monty view.

He sighed and rolled over onto his back. Thanks to the powers that be. The front was perfect too. Dusky skin with the brush of hair across his pecs, framing large, dark nipples. I wanted to dip my head and lick at them. Maybe later. Great definition, like he worked out. I suspected there was a gym membership in his remuneration package. Bony hips and strong thighs; a sexy treasure trail over his belly and down to his groin. His resting cock nestled in a bed of curlier hair, flushed with that fresh, smooth sweetness that is morning wood.

And then he was awake and I was caught out.

“Hi, Max,” he said sleepily. “Don’t say you’ve got to go. You usually do.”

I snorted and slipped back down in the bed. I knew now what he meant when he said I just fucked and ran. It’s my nervousness! I wanted to say. My need to make the decision to go before you make it for me. Before you tire of me.

And maybe not that at all. Maybe some kind of self-preservation.

“You look great.” He smiled, his gaze running over me. “Your hair’s great.” It had gotten seriously tousled as we rolled about in the hallway last night, and then I’d slept on it without a comb through. It was the one disadvantage of longer hair. Now Seve ran his fingers aimlessly through it, gently tugging out some of the tangles. “It feels great. All of you feels great. Want to fuck?” His hand was very warm and it was teasing between my legs, nudging my already eager boner with his knuckles.

I couldn’t roll over against him fast enough.

I FINALLY got up and dressed at about ten o’clock. My polo shirt was dry, though probably creased beyond recovery, and my jeans were stiff, but I managed to pull them on. The night before, I’d emptied my jeans pockets out on the side table—now I scooped up my phone, keys and wallet, loose change, and the red lighter with the Arsenal crest on it, and padded down the hallway in bare feet to find some coffee. I made a quick and quiet call to work to say I wouldn’t be in until later in the day. I didn’t like doing it, but I knew I wasn’t going to make it across town in time to clock in this morning. I didn’t often let them down—I was one of the most reliable contract workers they had. And even after the beating up, I’d gone back into work as soon as possible. I needed the money, but more than that, I wanted to do right by them.

I stood in the kitchen doorway and looked around. A bag of ground beans and a coffeemaker were two of the more familiar things I spotted. Otherwise it looked more like a showroom. Seve had all the latest gadgets—dishwasher, bread maker, food processor—but there was little evidence of cooking. And after I’d taken a nose around the fridge, not a lot of food, either. I found more bottled beers and only the basics: bread, cooked meat, and cheese. I supposed he ate out most of the time. The empty cartons from last night’s Chinese meal were still piled up on the counter.

To be honest, I wasn’t hungry, the taste and imprint of Seve’s cock and tongue still vivid in my mouth. I poked at the settings on the coffeemaker for a while, trying to find points of contact with Louis’s rather less sophisticated model, and eventually got it going. Then I went back to browsing around the cupboards while I waited for it to heat up. There were expensive-looking preserves, packets of dried pasta, bottles of oil with herbs suspended in them, and a couple of jars of something that looked like caviar. Definitely nothing I’d ever seen in my local supermarket. The coffee grounds had a Spanish name on the packet, and I nearly missed the sugar because it was a tin of solid brown crystals rather than the common granules I was used to. On the quest for milk, I examined an impressive store of red wine in a rack by the fridge. Some of them had names I’d only heard about in those celebrity dinner parties they show on reality TV.

Seve appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, smoothing his hair down, scratching his beard. Smart pair of sweats. Barefoot, no shirt. I wanted to jump him there and then.

“Not much for breakfast, Seve,” I joked. “What do you offer guests?”

“I don’t have guests,” he replied.

I was going to laugh, but then I realized it wasn’t a joke. I bit my tongue and placed a cup of coffee for him on the table. We sat down to drink. We both stared absentmindedly at the corner of the table where we’d fucked last night. I imagined I could see a stain from my come, but it was probably just spilled sauce from last night’s takeaway.

“I want to know more about you, Seve,” I said eventually.

He was quiet for another few seconds. When he replied, his voice was calm in that expressionless way he did so well. “That’s not information I share easily, Max. You don’t need to know anything else, really. You know what I do. What I like.”

Not really, I thought, but that wasn’t the topic for today. “I want you to tell me about Peck.” I knew I was pushing my luck, but something was driving me on. “How long has he worked for your uncle?”

“Peck?” He shook his head slightly as if he didn’t know what I was talking about. “Ah… him. I didn’t know him, I told you. I don’t hire all the men.”

“How did Peck get to be working here? Do you know what he does for your uncle in London?”

“What?” His eyes were hooded again, and his hands shook slightly. I think I was upsetting him—the man I thought was always in control. “You mean his job? You mentioned this before. I had assumed security, though you’re implying that’s not the whole truth. But I don’t need to know everything that goes on.”

“Seve, don’t you ask?”

“Ask what?”

I tried to work out if he was deliberately avoiding my questions or if he genuinely had no idea what I was talking about. “You must know what people say about the Medina Group—about the clubs. That they’re a front.”