72. Dex

The tattoo of rainfall in my bedroom becomes a roar of white noise as I pull the French doors open. The smell carries up from street level, too—that distinctive scent of oil deposits on long-parched roads being washed away. It's a smell that's objectively acrid, unpleasant, and yet always makes me happy, because of the associated relief it signifies, I suppose.

It's not unlike the relief I feel at this small, temporary break in my personal storm. I'm blindly feeling my way through this thing, acting mainly on instinct, keeping this fragile, secret side of me protected as I navigate such seismic shifts.

But Max is my very own deluge, merciless and corrosive and intoxicating, washing away all the layered bitterness that so many years of secrecy and lies and denial have created and leaving me clean. Renewed.

I tug him into my room, then, with a new sense of bravado, of ownership, because he's right about one thing. This man is a prize, a treasure, and God knows he'll make every one of my sacrifices worth it. Despite his brand of tough love just now, I know I did a good thing, a brave thing, today, and I'm damn well going to take my prize. I've earned it.

I've earned him.

And when I look into those striking eyes of his—eyes so clear and blue they could only belong to a man who doesn't guard the secrets of who he is, who doesn't shroud his authentic self in cloaks woven from shame or taint—I see the approval, the permission to be as bad, as depraved, a man as I possibly can.

He's totally egging me on with his gaze and his smirk as I paw at his shoulders and fumble with his belt buckle and shove his trousers down and wrench his shirt clumsily open. He undresses me at the same time, but his movements are elegant. Measured.

Of course they are.

And when we're both naked, he does that thing I love, taking my eager, straining cock and laying it against the impossibly hot hardness of his own in the palm of his hand.

‘I brought lube,' he says. ‘I figured you'd be far too proper to walk into a chemist and buy some for yourself.'

‘I have lube,' I tell him archly. ‘I got some in my online Waitrose shop last week.'

He grins, stroking his thumb over our cocks. It's a simple act, but it still feels like a miracle that I can even do this with him. ‘You do Waitrose shops? I didn't think you knew how to cook.'

‘It was beer, protein shakes and lube, I think. Oh, and some crisps.'

He laughs softly. ‘Classy guy.'

‘I try.' I tilt my head up for a kiss, but he dodges my mouth.

‘I want to tell you something.'

I pout at his rejection. ‘What?'

‘You'll get your kiss in a second.' He squeezes us more tightly, and God, it feels so hot and so intense to have us pulsing together in his hand. ‘But I want to tell you something.'

He looks at me with those clear blue eyes, and I almost forget how to breathe. His smile turns a little sheepish, I think, and something else. Self-conscious, maybe?

‘The first time I saw you…' He trails off. ‘I've wanted this from the very first second I saw you, basically.'

I think back to that moment at the club, where he was waiting for me with a GT and an air of confidence I could never hope to emulate, and I recall how unsettled I was. I labelled the feeling hostility at the time, because he was with Darcy and I wasn't, and because he was obviously a smug bastard, but I'm well aware that was inaccurate at best.

‘At the club,' I say.

‘No. Well, yes, at the club. But before that, the night Darcy met you. She came home all giggly and confessed that there was a guy she'd met whom she was very attracted to. That was the night she pitched the threesome. And we found your photo on your sister's Instagram feed, and?—'

He pauses, his hand flexing around our dicks. Desperate as I am to get off, I find myself more desperate to hear what he's going to say next.

‘I took one look at your photo,' he says. His voice is so quiet now, his eyes on me so soft. ‘You were laughing—you had your head thrown back, and—I was in freefall. As soon as I saw you, I was gone. You affected me so powerfully from that moment, and everything I've done since the second you walked into Alchemy that night has been to get you, and not just for Darcy. For myself, too.

‘And I may have been heavy handed with you—I know I've pushed you hard, before you were ready for any of it—but I don't regret a thing. But I wanted you to know how I feel, because if you think I've come here this evening thinking with my dick alone, that couldn't be less true.'

His words, his amazing, potent, generous, raw words, hang in the air between us as the rain beats on and our dicks throb side by side. I'm used to Max being self-assured and cajoling and relentless; I'm used to him being in control. So vulnerable, heartfelt Max is a lot for my poor heart to contend with.

I resented his heavy-handedness at first, of course I did, because it forced me to do and feel all manner of things I absolutely wasn't ready for. But he knew I needed all those harsh, terrifying, mind-altering lessons more than I would ever let on to myself. From the moment we met, it's always felt like I'm utterly transparent to him, like he can see me more clearly than I can see myself.

We've come so far—he's led me so far—and I have no intention of meeting his honesty with anything less than my own truths.

‘I think you affected me, too, from the second I met you,' I tell him now, ‘and that's why I tried to run for the hills every time you pushed me. You scared the absolute shit out of me, because the reactions my body was having to you were everything I'd tried very hard not to acknowledge my whole life. And not just my body,' I add, because I don't want him thinking I'm leading with my dick, either. I couldn't bear it if he thought he didn't affect me the way he says I affect him.

When he kisses me, it's ardent and possessive, and the flames of new, astonishing emotions lick at my heart as fiercely as his tongue licks at my mouth. Our dicks are still in his hand, but I know I'll be able to hold off. I know I'll wait for whatever he deems it right to give me.

I know he'll make it worth my while.

He always does.