Chapter 8

LIAM

There's a bell over the door of the pub where Rowan's staying. It tinkles the same way as when I delivered a carrier bag holding the scuffed pair of glasses he wears. Now the creak of old stairs adds to my usual internal radio station, but I tune into a different frequency as soon as Rowan fumbles with something outside his bedroom.

He's quiet. So quiet that at any other time I might miss his whisper turning shaky. "Get it together, Byrn."

He's talking to himself, not to me. That doesn't stop me from asking, "You okay?"

He holds up an old iron door key. "Yeah. It won't turn."

"Good thing you're hooking up with an ex-Royal Engineer."

I reach around him, and he surrenders a key I don't need, because here's a rule the army hammered home good and early—always assume operator error. I try the handle, and the door swings open.

"You didn't lock it."

"Ha!" His laugh is strangled. "Anyone would think I was in a hurry." There's plenty of evidence of that, and not only in an unlocked door. It's right there in the contents of the bag I delivered, chocolate canister and tissue paper now strewn across his bed. He points at that and at a window hanging wide open. "Too late to play hard to get, right?"

"You don't have to play anything with me."

We're still in the doorway. He still has his back to me, which begs for me to press close, only there's a jittery edge to his next laugh.

I could back off.

Maybe I should, only I can't ignore this sudden tension that a mirror across the room confirms isn't my imagination. It reflects a crystal-clear signal that Rowan's as wary as the first time I saw him. He's back to holding himself as tightly as he held that lamb, so I offer another option. "Or we could just flick on the kettle and see how that hot chocolate tastes. Is that what you'd prefer, Row?"

His headshake is instant, and so is me sliding my arms around him. My front is pressed to his back, and I'm still half hard after that alleyway kiss. He must feel how much I want to pick up with what he'd seemed on board with.

His breath still hitches, his heart going like the clappers under my palms, and his breath catches again when I kiss down his neck to his shirt collar. That fabric stops me from mouthing any lower, so I touch a button and check in. "Yeah?"

"Y-yes." He gets with the programme, unfastening his shirt while I yank his shirttail from his trousers and get my hands on bare skin. A final button opens, and I skim a smoother chest and stomach than mine. His nipples are another signal, hard and tight points already despite it being a warm evening. That could be down to the breeze through that open window.

"You still good?"

The open window also lets in the sound of the sea, which blends, thank fuck, with internal noise that can sometimes drive me crazy. Tinnitus means peace is hard to come by, but here, with my mouth on that sweet spot at the base of his neck and my hands roaming, what I hear loudest are the sounds he lets out when I suck, and that's more than enough confirmation to keep going.

I drop a hand to his fly. He's hard under the heel of my palm, his groan another positive signal. I move forward, still behind him, taking him with me so the door can close behind us and I can get his fly down in private. His trousers puddle, tangling over his shoes, and he stumbles until he kicks them off. Then I steer him to a bed littered with proof that I haven't stopped thinking of him, hoping all afternoon that he was okay. I still can't stop wanting that for him, even now, and the tightening of my arms around him again to stop him tripping over his own feet only confirms it.

We're a step away from his bed but I can't let him go yet. I kiss the taut stretch of the side of his neck again, my arms banding so tight around him, and this time, he hums.

That sound usually keeps me company even when I don't want to hear it.

From Rowan?

I can't get enough of him telling me without words that he likes this. Being hugged, I mean. By me. Because that's what this is. I'm hugging him like he hugged that lamb, and thank fuck Matt isn't watching. He'd never stop laughing at me for ditching him for a good long cuddle.

Or maybe Matt would give me a thumbs-up at Rowan melting like this. That's what he does when I can't keep in a happy rumble of my own—he melts as if he's touch-starved and a good long hug is exactly what he's needed.

I'm projecting.

It's me who hasn't stayed still long enough to let anyone grab hold and keep me in one place. Tonight, I'm in no hurry to get done and get gone. I keep hold of him to squeeze out more of this happy humming, and maybe my touch tank has run down to empty as well. All I know is that I'm standing in a bedroom, soaking up his reactions like a cat might soak up sunbeams, and almost purring.

Then he turns and we're kissing all over again, and it wasn't a fluke back at the foot of the stairs this afternoon or in that alley. We fit so well together. His hands are under my T-shirt, pushing it up, and I only break off so he can pull it all the way over my head. I can barely find the patience to wait while he unfastens my shorts. Or at least, that's what he starts doing before he pauses.

There's that hesitation again.

His gaze rises, his eyes twin wide and wary pools of honey behind lenses still speckled with sand, and from this close up, that looks a whole lot like real worry.

I kiss it away, slowly at first, close-mouthed, finding each of the moles that dot his shoulders. There's a heart-shaped one beside his mouth. I kiss that too before he melts again, so I guess that hesitation was him letting me know that going slow works better for him.

I'm good with that. He's had a high-stress day, hasn't he, so I kiss him until we're back to a give-and-take of his small hums and my deeper rumbles, and yeah, tinnitus can fuck off. I prefer this new soundtrack of him exploring my body and that's what this go-slow allows. I'm his map. His canvas. His fingertips could be brushstrokes, and who knows what images he traces, but Rowan slides his hands over every inch of my shoulders like their span is a big deal to him. My torso and chest too. They're bulky compared to his slimness, but he must like that contrast in our contours. He hums again, and his fingers on my pecs drum the beating pattern I'd know anywhere after being trapped with the swoosh of my own heartbeats all too often.

He echoes my inhales and exhales next, as if copying my timing matters. We're in almost perfect sync right down to him mirroring my head tilt to kiss him deeper. He's only a beat behind all the ways I touch and stroke and grip him. It's so different from the quick hookups I've had when worksites get too lonely that I'm okay with playing this slow game of follow-the-leader.

Okay with it?

I'd keep playing it like this with Rowan until hell freezes over.

Eventually, his hands find my arse and clutch it, which pulls me close against him. He has to feel where I'm aching. He even outlines where I throb, but here's another beat of waiting until I help out by finishing what Rowan started, getting my fly unfastened. My shorts drop and I leave them behind, my underwear following as I steer him backwards, and when he stumbles next? It's because I've backed him against the bed. He turns away, bending over—to shove a hot chocolate container out of our way, I realise a beat too late, not so I can fuck him while still standing.

Tell that to my cock.

It throbs again against the crack of his arse with nothing but a thin layer of his underwear between us. I hook a thumb underneath the waistband, but another moment of stillness from him means I have to ask another question.

"No?" I tag on another question. "You've done this before, right?"

His laugh is a surprise. I'm pretty sure he says fuckwit under his breath before he says a louder, "Of course." He looks back, and here's a reminder of that wariness edged in bravery. From anyone else, this might sound boastful. "I've done everything. You're going to do me, right?"

"If that's what you want." I know I want to, but I still move slowly, sliding down the last of what he was wearing, along with his socks, so we're both naked. I crouch there for a moment—his arse really is a beauty, complete with a tattoo as fiery as the sunset out of the window. I stop admiring it to stand, and my cock is back to nudging his arse and fuck me, that skin-to-skin contact feels good. So does sliding my dick between his thighs, and maybe that rub and nudge against his balls does it for him. They draw up, and that's a green flag to ask, "You've got something?"

"Something?"

He sounds bleary. I am too—with want, with the way he keeps his thighs closed, and with the way he pushes back against me like we're already fucking. My hips stutter. So does my voice. "F-fuck. Fuck."

I can't wait to get inside him.

I move back to glove up. "Got a rubber?" I should have slung some into my basket along with that hot chocolate at the Co-Op, only I already had a teasing Matt-shaped shadow, and I hadn't planned on doing more than delivering Rowan's glasses to him.

Fucking liar.

I wanted to see him but bottled it at the last moment.

Rowan looks back at me like I'm the opposite of a coward. Then my cock gets his attention. He blinks fast a few times when it bobs as if to say let's get this party started. That's where his gaze fixes, and I know I'm a lot, but I'm not sure his swallow means he's pleased or daunted. He even stutters like I just did. "A condom? N-no. I don't."

He wets his lips, and I lurch forward. Not to get my dick into him regardless. It's his mouth I want more of. Those amazing full lips. This irresistible and almost constant urge to kiss him. My weight shoves him onto the bed, where I cover him again to meet his mouth.

This angle is awkward. He's still on his front, having to twist to kiss me back, but it's still so good. That's how he feels underneath me, lean everywhere that I'm thicker, his arse firm, rounded perfection. Even his ink fits for this about-to-take-flight feeling. I kneel back to grasp each cheek, covering that rising phoenix, and he sucks in a breath. His exhale is a quick gust when I find his hole and rub it.

His phone pinging on a bedside table is an unwelcome interruption.

I don't reach for it even though I'm tempted to hurl it out of the open window. I couldn't care less who wants his attention. They can get in the sea or into the sun because he's all mine, for now, and we're busy.

I do lean across him to yank open the drawer beneath his handset, and I'll have to thank the manager of this place for supplying at least something that means I can still make this good.

I click open a lid, pour a stream of glistening slick into one hand, and then squeeze that inky phoenix with the other. "Up on your knees. Legs together."

He moves so slowly, I wonder if he heard me.

Or is that a no-go signal?

"Row?" I rub a reddening handprint I've left over flames and feathers and mutter, "Sorry. Don't know my own strength."

"No." His answer is breathy. "I like—" I hear him swallow. "I like knowing you're there. Here. With me."

I don't let him doubt that. I slick my dick and run its full length through his crease again, the head of my cock so close to where it wants in. He squirms, my dick catching where he gives a little, and that's so tempting it almost hurts to shift until I'm between his thighs again. He reaches back, and now that he's silent, his hold on my hip the only clue he's into me fucking through them. Who knows why that makes me chatty.

"Knew you'd get it." I reach around to give his cock something tight and slick to slip through. I also pull him upright. "Knew you'd dig deep and find more of that grit."

"Get it?"

His thighs are perfect clamped around me. They squeeze what is more of a groan than a clear answer from me. "The job. The one you wanted."

"At Glynn Harber?"

"Yeah. Knew you'd get to teach there." Of course they took him. I mean, yes, I bawled him out for going after that lamb, but who wouldn't want someone with his protective instincts around children? Got to respect the man if not the method. Plus, he was too happy when I saw him in the alley to be a loser. He looked like he'd scored the prize he wanted.

I also come to a decision.

I'll message Dominic Dymond as soon as this is over.

Tell him I'll squeeze in his project even if I have to slot it in around my other bookings.

I'll give Rowan a safe building to work in. Someone's got to keep him out of danger. Here's a good example: he says, "No. I—" while twisting too far and we both overbalance.

Rowan rolls to face me on the mattress and we're kissing again, pressed so close we could be back where this all started, only this time, we aren't on a ledge above the ocean. We're both bollock naked and horizontal.

At least that means I get to grasp one cheek again. His glute flexes as I clutch him, and he grinds against me, still kissing until I see stars behind my eyelids and hear a bomb-blast roar like the one that ended my military career and hasn't let up since.

This one is even louder.

For once, I don't want it to stop. Not when it comes with him hitching a leg over my hip and pushing, and I could push back but this doesn't seem the right moment for a tussle, for a wrestling test of strength we both have to know I'd win without even trying. The payoff for letting him shove me where he wants me is worth it—he struggles upright, straddling me and smiling.

It's wild how much I prefer that look on him, and I've never wanted inside anyone as much as I want inside him, until he shuffles back on my lap, making room to hold my cock upright. Then all I want is his mouth on me.

He bends over it, his breath coasting the head in quick, hot gusts, and here's another of those pauses I guess are his thing.

Again, he doesn't hurry.

No wonder he wants to be a teacher. He studies my dick like it's a test question. I'm not about to quiz him. He can suck it anyway that suits him as long as he watches me while he does it, because those eyes? I slide off his glasses, and yeah, they're exactly as wide as I remember after a lamb gave him woolly kisses and I wanted to do the same.

Now his breaths huff over part of me that feels close to combusting if he doesn't crack on soon and suck it, only he retreats, and I've never been more pissed off that I lubed up early—that must be why he changes his mind about getting his mouth on me.

He looks up, his gaze back to that wide and wary I'm never going to forget, and now isn't a time for him to worry. He's experienced enough to know what works for him, and I only want him gagging on me in a good way, so I'll deal with not getting blown this evening. Instead, I hook a hand under his arm and hoist him up the bed with me until my back is against the pillows.

He straddles me again there, only we're both upright, and maybe I'm soft in the head for going back to kissing instead of rolling him onto his back and rubbing off hard and fast against him, but Rowan kisses like this is as good as full sex for him. He sucks on my tongue, and that's better than I ever remember it feeling. He also grinds his cock against mine, his groan encouraging me to reach for the lube again. This time, I wrap a slick hand around both of us, and he trembles.

He trembles even harder when I reach around and score a tight bullseye. He's also suddenly rigid, the tip of my finger against where he'd open if I pressed any harder, and we're close enough that I see a flush spread and deepen. "Wait." I check in. "You don't take?"

I'll live with his answer. It's not as if I'm about to do him raw this evening. Or ever, an internal voice whispers. You'll be long gone come September when the new school year starts.

I ignore that voice when Rowan shakes his head no. It's a minute movement followed just as quickly by a nod, which is confusing enough that I have to ask this. "You know I'm not going to fuck you, right? Just play." That flush deepens the moment I tag on another quick question. "You've done that before, right?"

At least this reply is instant. "Of course I have. I told you I've done everything."

This probably isn't the best time to take the piss, but he's so fucking huffy, I can't help it. "Everything? Just how old are you? Because I'm almost thirty but I'm pretty sure there are still a few things I haven't done yet in bed." This kind of easy teasing is an example, which he joins in with.

"Well, maybe not everything, but I've done plenty. Want a list?" I love the way he tilts his chin up. I bet he did the same when I told him to throw that lamb down instead of up to me. He's just as fearless while grabbing the lube. Just as snippy as when he told me No shit, Sherlock. "Only I've got to check out tomorrow morning, so if you do want a list, I better get started."

I get the subtext. He knows what he's doing, so I hold out a hand, and Rowan pours more lube for me. He also lifts a knee, one foot flat on the bed as I slip in a finger, only getting knuckle-deep before he shudders. That works for me—I get to see how that shudder comes with a cock twitch, telling me he likes the stretch and wants more.

I'll give it to him as soon as he relaxes. Until then, I hold still as he sinks another hot, tight fraction that, despite what he just suggested, takes forever. I can't help encouraging him when a frown flickers. "That's it."

"Y-yeah?"

He doesn't need to ask if I'm okay with this slow progress. Anyone watching could tell that. Not that I'd share this moment, or the sight of him like this, with anyone else. He's mine, even if only for a few hours, until I need to get gone to my next job. For now, I'm just as into enjoying this prolonged contact, this delayed gratification, as he seems. "I'm in zero hurry." Fuck it, I'd go even slower if I didn't have to leave first thing tomorrow for another short-term contract.

I still can't rush getting him off, not when every gasp he lets out cuts through my internal static. And each clench? I'd come in seconds if it was my dick inside him instead of a single finger. He sinks some more in a gut-wrenching preview of what I won't ever get to witness. Even his groan is pornographic.

I don't push for more or faster. Not when he's so flushed and already breathing heavy. I can't make myself speed up where this excruciatingly slow show is headed. He's killing me, even though I'm the only one of us trained in combat.

He's got my heart in his hand, or at least he braces a hand against my chest, so he must feel it thunder when he doesn't only push back, taking a little more inside him. He also wraps a hand around both of our cocks, and I take a turn following his lead. Our combined strokes are jerky—the opposite of smooth and practised. It's still so good. So is the way he lifts himself a little only to sink back with another full-body shudder.

His furrowed brow asks a question, and I've been with enough people to know is this good when I see it.

I don't know why he's asking. I've never been harder from so little. It does prompt me to tell him, "I could do this all night. You feel fucking amazing." Forget thundering. My heart seizes when he beams. It's a sudden flash of lightning, and we're kissing again until I'm as deep as I'm going to get inside him. I also must graze his prostate just right because he chokes like he wasn't expecting it or this sudden splashy payoff.

He clenches again, coming, his spunk stark white against the black hair on my belly.

Rowan gapes at it like I'm spattered with something surprising, not the result of the hair trigger that explains why he takes sex this slowly.

His pupils are shot, offline until I rub inside him again where it matters, and yeah, he's super sensitive—another groan and spurt follows, and he melts, collapsing, and I've never felt more of a stud for doing almost nothing even if I do end up getting myself off while he's uncoordinated.

He's still staring while I kneel over him. Still wide-eyed, only now he isn't wary. He's absolutely fucking gorgeous when he's this wrecked and happy. I don't expect him to cup my balls, or to sound this dreamy.

"Even these are massive."

I'm not saying I've never laughed during sex. I just don't remember the last time it happened. But this evening, with Row?

Like him, it comes easy.