Chapter 12

Chapter

Twelve

S tan

"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask for the fiftieth time, putting my hand on Raff's forehead.

He pushes at my hand. "It isn't my forehead that's broken. It's my sense of dignity."

I try not to laugh, but a snort escapes me. "Sorry, sorry," I say as he huffs indignantly. "I'm not laughing, honestly."

"Then what was that sound, Stanley?"

"It was a commiserating noise so you don't feel so alone in your embarrassment."

"Oh really? And were you with me when I fell off a mountain?"

"No, but I think it was actually more of a hill."

"And were you with me when my archenemy Chris had to carry me?" he says loudly.

"No. I did walk behind, though. And if it's any consolation to you, he said he wished he could have thrown you off the side."

"And were you with me when he shook his manly hair, straightened his manly shoulders, and took most of my weight in his arms?"

I bite my lip. "Not that I remember," I say meekly.

"I didn't think so. He never even broke a fucking sweat, Stan."

I feel around for the damp towel, and he huffs and shoves it into my hand.

"Thank you," I say politely, pressing it to his forehead again.

"I can never show my face in this country again."

"That's a bit dramatic, babe. It was you, me, and a few old-aged pensioners."

"Who never fell off the mountain."

"It was a hill, according to Kostas."

"How would he know?"

"He's the guide."

"Hmm."

"Oh, and the two girls were there as well."

"Do you mean the two girls who laughed at me?"

"I don't think they laughed for long, Raff."

"Really? It was like a pack of hyenas serenading me to my eternal rest."

I snort again. "They stopped laughing pretty quickly, anyway. By the time we came down the hill?—"

"Mountain."

"Okay, by the time we climbed down from Mount Etna, one of them was telling me a particularly stellar story about when she had a threesome in a broom cupboard."

"I'll have to avoid Greece from now on."

"I didn't even see you fall," I add quickly. "So, if I didn't see it, it never happened."

"I believe that only works in preschool, but thank you for giving it the great British try."

I give in and start to laugh, the sound loud in the hotel room. "I wish I had seen it. I wish it so much."

"You're such a twat."

The crossness in his voice makes me laugh harder, and soon, I'm lying on the bed holding my side with tears running down my cheeks.

He pokes a finger into my ribs, making me squirm, and I get myself under control. "How are you really? Kostas said you fell quite far."

"He's too kind. It was more of a backward roll followed by a commando crawl back up to the fence."

I reach out, feeling for his hand, and pat it. "Well, you do like going commando."

"You would see the silver lining in a tornado."

"At least you've had a shower now. That'll have cleaned the cuts. Are there many, babe?"

"They'll be okay. I had worse in the ball pit when I was five."

I snort. "Was that the time Rollo took you and left you there all day?"

"Do you mean when he actually forgot his own child?"

"That was it."

"It was like Lord of the Fucking Flies in that ball pit, Stanley. Civilisation's natural rules were off the table, anarchy in their place. At one point, I remember being wedgied over the edge of the big slide. It's left me with a lifetime distrust of big drops."

"I can't believe he forgot you."

"His dick was screaming louder than his child, so he sidled after our headmaster's wife, who he apparently fucked in the ballpark car park."

"He didn't ." I'm scandalised and sit up. "Really? Mrs Chester, the maths teacher with the wolfhound?"

"That's her. Do you remember that fucking thing? It was a bit too much wolf for my comfort, and when you were called to her classroom, it used to stare at you like you were dinner."

"It used to walk to the betting shop on the high street on its own."

"Thereby explaining Mister Chester's sudden exit from his job a few months later under a cloud of suspicion about the misuse of the tuck shop funds."

I shake my head. "Rollo shagged her in the car park. I can't believe it."

"Do you think that's why I failed maths in Year Three?"

I chuckle. "If you want to think that then who am I to quibble?"

His voice is once more full of that sweet humour that I love so much. I settle against him on the bed, feeling his weight against mine. I can smell his shampoo and his body wash. It's something expensive, as Raff is addicted to high-end body and face products. It's impossible to move quickly through the beauty department of Harvey Nicks when you're with him.

Quietness settles in the room, disturbed only by the constant rush of the waves on the shore.

"What time is it?" I ask idly.

"It's about six o'clock. Where's your watch?"

I shrug. "I left it here when I got changed earlier."

"Ah, when you set off to talk with the delectable Chris."

His voice sounds tight once more, and I turn my head on the pillow, looking for his blur. However, the room is getting dark, so I can hardly see anything now.

"You never got on."

He sniffs loudly. "I think it was more that he hated my guts when he first met me, and it was downhill from then on."

"I liked him when we went out."

"Of course you did." His voice is strained.

"You, okay?" I ask, suddenly worried. I sit up as a thought occurs to me. "Did you bang your head?" I ask fiercely.

"No."

"Rafferty Albert Kendrick."

"Oh my god, what ?"

"Did you hit your head when you fell?"

"Maybe when I came down the slope, but it doesn't hurt. It's fine."

"It is not fine. We need to get you to a doctor."

"I don't need one of those ." He's characteristically outraged. The medical profession would have an easier run of it if there were only Raff in the world. He hates feeling like he's messing people about.

"Well, if you won't go, you know the drill."

He groans. " No ."

"Yes. We need to wake you up every hour."

"Oh, joy of joys. Could this holiday get any better?"

"Let me feel your head."

"I've had better offers."

"Stop being so flippant," I growl, fending off his hands, which are trying to stop me.

"Now you sound like Bennett."

"That's not the nicest thing you've ever said."

I win in the end, and he gives up with a dramatic sigh. I run my fingers through his hair. The waves are soft, his scalp a little damp, and the strands slip through my fingers like honey. Before I know it, I've levered over him, straddling him so I can examine him more thoroughly.

"Stan?" he says in a hoarse voice.

"Hush," I say, feeling the delicate contours of his skull and inhaling the scent of his cologne, which is heady in the warm evening air. He moves into my touch, pushing closer, and I swallow hard. "Raff," I say softly. "Tell me if it hurts anywhere."

He huffs and moves away, leaving me suddenly cold in the warm room. "Nowhere you can help with, that's for sure," he mutters.

Panic sears me. "What do you mean by that? Where are you hurt?"

"I mean, I'm fine, Stan. Get off me."

I resist his urging and tighten my thighs around his legs like a monkey sticking to a motorbike. "No. Let me help. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me where it hurts."

He stops dead. "You really want to know?" he snaps.

I frown in his direction. "Yes."

"Okay then."

Strong hands seize my hips, lining me up, and I flail before he settles me back over his lap and his… I groan. His very hard cock. "Oh god," I whisper.

"Well, you did ask. Now get the fuck off me so I can go calm down." I swallow hard as the silence grows. "Stan?" His voice is a question as I tighten my grip. "You have to let me go," he says hoarsely.

"What happens if I can't?" I whisper.

There's a moment of startled surprise that seems to last for an eternity, and then he says in a goaded voice, "This."

Raff

We spent months doing a hell of a lot more than just locking lips, but right now simply kissing him feels dizzyingly right.

His lips are soft and full, and I clutch the back of his neck, keeping him close as if he might run away.

My body is battered and bruised, and I'm going to feel it tomorrow, but all that is lost in the joy of having him in my arms again. I feel like everything's right again in my world, as if he contains some potent form of magic that allows me to be my true self. Happiness and arousal are a dizzying mix, making my head spin.

I make a garbled sound of protest as Stan pulls away.

He pats my face. "I'm not going anywhere, Raff."

His body shifts, his obvious goal my dick straining against my shorts, but I grab his shoulder, staying him. "No, Stan. Let me?—"

"You've been hurt. I want to look after you."

"It works both ways. Please," I beg. I want nothing more than to bring him the most pleasure he's ever had. We spent all that time having sex, and I thought we were close, but I never knew what it felt like to love him in bed openly and joyfully because my head was too clouded by worry and what-ifs.

"Yes," he whispers, and jubilation fills me.

"Lie on your back, baby."

His head cocks, confusion crossing his face at the endearment, but he obediently lowers himself down to the mattress a lot more gracefully than I'd probably manage.

"You are very overdressed," I point out. There's a familiar tenderness in my tone, and he must hear it, because he suddenly relaxes.

"Then get busy," he says, flapping his arms like I'm his servant.

"Very Downton Abbey ," I say approvingly, and he snorts.

The laughter dies as I unbutton his shirt, spread the soft blue cotton, and reveal his broad chest dusted in soft dark hair. I drop a chain of kisses over the expanse, pausing to lick and suck at his nipples. He goes rigid and then arches toward me. I strip off his shirt and throw it over the side of the bed before turning my attention to his shorts. After removing them, along with his briefs, my mouth waters as his cock hits his stomach with a meaty thwack.

He's nude, stretched across the bed, and I sit back on my heels to look at him. I never took my time with him before. I was so intent on rushing towards sex in case he changed his mind. He's so beautiful—long, lean, with golden skin and messy hair. He's magic in the quiet room, like a creature created by the moonlight and shadows.

"Now you." Stan's words break the spell, and he's once more my Stan, his face full of life. He sits up and pats across my chest until he finds the buttons on my shirt. He nimbly unbuttons them, tracing a path over my chest with his fingers. My sharp intake of breath acts as a starting pistol, and he moves with shocking speed to rip away my clothes until I'm naked.

When he starts to kiss my shoulder, I push him back. "Let me," I whisper.

He cocks his head, a funny smile on his face before he nods and lowers back to the mattress.

I lean over him, trailing my fingers over his face before fitting my lips to his. I kiss him slowly, sucking on his tongue and listening to his breathing get faster. His neck and chest are next for some attention. I nuzzle under his ear, licking and making him shiver before I drop kisses across his torso like daisy chains. He jerks and groans when I lick his nipple, and I watch as it pebbles. Then I suck harder, giving it a gentle bite that makes him jump.

"Wanker," he whispers.

" Your wanker," I correct him and move on down to his ribs.

He wriggles and curses as I lick and nibble at his rib cage, tasting the sweat salty-sweet on my tongue.

Then I kiss my way down his happy trail, hearing his breath hitch, feeling anticipation thicken. He arches up and groans as I bury my nose in his bush and inhale. The scent is spicy and dark here, and I rub my face against his cock, making him jerk.

"You're a tease," he mutters.

"Never. I always come through."

"Like a… Ah!" He gasps as I suck the head of his dick into my mouth.

I pull off. "Like what?

"I don't know. I think you just sucked all my brain cells out of my dick."

He moans as I lick a line down his cock, coming back up to suck the juicy plump head into my mouth again. It's wet with precome, and the taste explodes over my tongue like a supernova. I close my eyes and pinch the head of my own cock to quell my arousal. I suck him down, feeling the fat head against the back of my throat. Needing some pressure, I straddle his leg and lower myself, still sucking so I can hump the long muscle.

He cups my head, urging me on. No gentleman now. It makes me fiercely glad.

"Take it," he grunts. "Use me."

I rub feverishly, the hair on his leg abrading my cock in a way that makes my eyes cross. I swallow around his dick, and he grunts.

Suddenly, he's pushing me away and sitting, all the muscles in his body moving in a very distracting way. He taps my leg, and I obey his unspoken urging and scrabble into his lap.

"What now?" I whisper, straddling him.

He smiles. One hand around my neck draws me to him so he can kiss me. The other roams down my back before gripping my arse and tucking me tightly into his lap. I feel safe and unbearably turned on, so I kiss him, my hands roaming along his muscled arms, and then kneading his shoulders while I writhe in his lap, rubbing against his cock.

Stan's fingers trace my crack, and I gasp in a breath of sex-scented air. I pull back, resting one hand on his hairy legs and arching my body. With the other, I grab his hand and place it on my torso.

Stan explores my happy trail and then tickles the inside of my thighs, his expression full of concentration as he learns my body again. I cry out when he fists my cock. It's wet with early seed, making the glide sublime, and I push into him a few times before pulling off and sitting back.

"What are you doing?" he asks, furrowing his brow. It's unbearably erotic that his concentration and focus are being aimed at me.

I push him onto his back gently. "Lie back," I whisper. "I need to get ready."

"I'll do it."

"No, you'll lie still and let me love on you."

Everything stills. "Love?" he asks.

I kiss him, forcing those words back into my mouth. When he's focused on sex again, I pull away and reach for the lube in my toilet bag on the bedside table.

"Tell me," Stan demands.

"My fingers are covered in lube. It smells of vanilla. I'm warming it because no one likes cold lube. It's like drinking cold tea."

His mouth quirks. "This started off erotic, but it's going rapidly downhill."

"Rather like me." I rise to my knees, and my breath catches as I trace my hole with my finger.

"You've gone quiet. Tell me," he orders, the note of command in his voice turning me on even more.

"I'm rubbing my hole." I stop to groan. "God, it's so good . Makes all my body tingle."

"Put your finger in," he orders, and his smile is harsh as I groan. "That's a good sound."

"I'm opening myself up," I gasp. "Getting ready for your cock."

"You'll need more than one finger."

This cocky confidence is so hot on Stan that my fingers slip and it takes me a moment to get back to the programme.

"Two fingers now. The stretch is so fucking good."

"You like the burn, don't you?" he says hoarsely.

"It's the best bit," I whisper. "I love it when you put your cock in me, and it hurts."

"Slow," he orders, settling into the mattress and fisting his cock. The precome is wet on his fingers. "Make it last," he orders, and I groan as he takes my cock in his hand, using his own juices to slick the way.

"Shit," I whisper as I move back onto my fingers, sliding a third one in and then shoving forwards into his fist in an endless cycle of pleasure.

The tingle in my balls tells me this could be over before we get to the main event, so I knock his hand away and climb fully into his lap, his cock knocking against my passage. "I want you now," I mutter.

He lifts his hand to stop me. "Wait. What about the condom?"

"What do you think about no condoms?" The thought is extraordinarily erotic to me—to have his dick naked inside me and to feel his come wet between my thighs.

"Raff?"

"I want to feel you bare. I've never…" I stumble on the words. "I've never let anyone have that of me, and I want it with you." I pause. "But only if you do."

His shudder rumbles through his body like summer lightning. "God, I do ," he says fervently. "I'm clear of everything," he says.

I want to smile at his earnest expression, but I need him too much, and the desperation is riding me. "I've never done it like that either."

A fierce jubilation roars through me. In this thing, he's all mine.

"Stan." I hesitate. The words "I love you" are on my tongue, but I won't say them for the first time now—not while we're fucking.

Stan reaches for me. I put my hands in his and let him pull me down for a kiss. It quickly goes wild as we suck and lick until our lips are sore and the air is full of moans and groans.

Then I sit up and, holding his cock steady, I lower myself down. The head pops in, and we both pause. It's shockingly intimate to feel him bare, and I wonder if I'll even get him all the way in before I come.

"God, Raff." Stan's voice is almost reverent. "You've no idea."

"Oh, I have," I vow. "It's amazing ."

I wriggle and push down, and he slides in slowly until his balls bang against me. Then I stop, sitting on him stuffed full, relishing the burn and stretch. He lets me centre myself with his big body strung tight under me and his hands kneading at my thighs.

"Fuck why is it always so good with you?" he mutters.

"It's magic," I gasp and start to move on him.

When I'm underneath a man, I love a cock thrusting into me with the slippery advance and retreat, but when I'm on top, I'm all about grinding. I want to keep his dick inside me and just rock on it, never letting him slip free. And from the way he grunts and jerks as if he's been electrocuted, I'm guessing he enjoys it too.

I keep up the rhythmic movements, and he groans, raising his hands to cup my arse, guiding my movements, and I fall blissfully into his control—no thinking or second-guessing myself over his pleasure. I don't need to. It's as if we're linked mentally, and I can feel his pleasure echoing mine in the way our voices join in moans and curses.

The pace becomes more fierce, his cock hitting my prostate full-on, making me see stars. The nub feels swollen, and pinwheels of pleasure arch across my skin, and I shiver and cry out. He fists my dick in one hand, the other tight on my hip, steering the motion while he pummels me with commands in a tight, hard voice.

"Yes, ride me. God, you're so fucking sexy, Raff. Your hole is so tight and hot. I'm going to fill it up with my come until it runs out of you."

"Oh fuck ," I sob. Lightning travels up my spine and I'm done. "Stan?—"

"Yes, come."

I sit back, making his dick go high, and I give a high-pitched wail as he jacks my cock and pounds into me. My balls tighten, and I writhe, clutching his leg hard as my come spurts, catching on the ridges of his muscles and sliding down, glistening in the moonlight.

He grunts, his face screwing up, and I carry on riding him, slapping down on him, my fingers curling into his chest like claws. "Give it to me," I groan.

"Oh shit ," he shouts, all his muscles tightening.

I moan as hot liquid spurts into me, his thick cock twitching as it empties. I carry on slowly, gently milking the aftershocks until he whispers, "Come here."

We both groan as his dick leaves me, and I snuggle one leg over him as if he's going to escape at any moment. He strokes my hair, the movements sleepy and tender and such a contrast to the previous fierceness.

"I can't believe I came in you," he mutters. "I've never done that before."

I clench my cheeks, feeling the wetness there, and incredibly, my cock stirs. "It's so sexy," I whisper.

He lowers his finger to trace between my thighs and makes a sound of approval. Then he pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me. "Don't clean up. Let's just lie together," he says.

I keep snuggling gladly. After a few seconds, I realise his muscles are tense, and I raise my head, trying to see his face in the dark. "Stan?" I say hoarsely. "What's the matter?"

Is he regretting this? He hesitates, and his next words come out in such a rush that they're incomprehensible.

"What did you say?" I ask.

He huffs a cross sigh that makes me smile. "I love you."

" What ?" My smile disappears. I struggle up on my elbows and snap on the lamp, hissing at the brightness. Then I cup his face, feeling the sharp bones under my fingers. "What did you say?" I repeat. My heart feels as if it's coming out of my chest.

There's a flush on his cheeks, and his mouth is full and pink, swollen from my kisses. "I said I love you. I can't help it, Raff. It's always been you."

Chris was right.

Happiness bursts inside me, brighter than New Year fireworks. And then incomprehension. "But why?" I whisper.

He cocks his head. "Why do I love you?"

I swallow hard. "I'm chaotic and silly on the best of days. I'm flippant. I run away from any form of commitment." I want to punch myself in the throat because he just said he loves me, and I'm trying to persuade him not to. "You could do so much better than me."

"No, I couldn't." He takes my shoulders in his big hands and shakes me gently. "You are kind and funny and empathetic. Just being near you makes me feel…"

"What?"

"Loved." He takes a deep breath. "I feel loved when I'm with you."

"You're amazing. Do you want to know why?" He nods, and I lean in, wrapping my arms around him and bringing my lips to his ear. I'm fizzing all over as if I've swum in champagne. "My Stan is incredibly clever and the most determined man I know. He's overcome barriers that others would have fallen at. He's funny, sarcastic, kind, and outspoken. And I feel safe with him."

"You do?" he says softly. The lamp's low glow illuminates his face.

"I absolutely do. There's no safer place for me than with you."

And then he's kissing me, and the world spins away in a carousel of stars and fireworks.

Eons later, I come to. We're lying tangled together in the still of the room. Outside voices drift from the restaurant, along with the faint sound of music. Here in our room, all I can hear is the rushed sound of our breathing and the quiet thunder of my heartbeat.

The words are out before I even think about them. "Do you really want to marry Bennett?"

The question makes his muscles tense again. My love haze vanishes as I wait for his answer.

" No ," he says immediately, and the surety in his tone is a relief. "What the fuck? Of course not."

My smile feels like it might break my face. "That's all I need to know."

He comes up on his elbow. "But it's more complicated than that, Raff. You don't know everything that's gone on with Bennett."

"I don't need to," I say quickly. "You don't want to marry him. That's the hard bit. The rest is simple." I don't know where this calmness comes from, but it's settled over me like a warm blanket. He's mine now, and all my doubts over what sort of partner I'd make for him have vanished—blown away by the terror of nearly losing him to another man.

"I'm not sure anything about this is simple," he mutters.

"Ssh. Come here, Stan."

I nudge him, and obeying my urging, he nestles against me, and I hug him close, feeling the length of his body against mine. The sheets smell of us. It's a lovely scent, and it surrounds me like one of Stan's hugs, and we fall into a silence that's content.

"Raff?"

"What?" I mumble sleepily.

"When we're more awake I need to tell you something."

I haven't slept properly in weeks, and now it's catching up with me. "That sounds good, babe. I'm absolutely knackered."

I drift off to sleep with the sound of the sea and Stan's soft breathing next to me.