“An explanation from me, maybe,” Seve said. A quick, unidentifiable expression darted over his face. “I apologise for not giving you notice. I would have waited until after this weekend, if I’d had a better choice of flights. I know you’re busy today.”

  His cologne slid past me like a distant but fragrant breeze, and the heat of his body as he brushed against my arm was hard to ignore. I took my time closing the door and following him in, if only to regroup from such visceral excitement. “I’m not too busy to see you,” I said clumsily, as he turned to face me. “Ever. You know that, right?”

  He nodded but stayed a few feet away from me.

  What was going on?

  I snatched a towel up from the sofa where I’d been folding laundry and handed it to him to dry off his hair. Dark, silky hair; I knew how it felt, gripped between my fingers, or trailing up my thigh. “The ceremony isn’t until four.” Seemed I was still gabbling to fill the silence. “And after that, I just have to help greet the guests at the reception, keep an eye on things with the venue staff, and check Louis doesn’t drink too much bubbly, too quickly.” I gave an uneven chuckle. “Everyone my age seems to be settling down these days, getting married, having kids. And you know me. Always on hand to help move chairs, carry tissues for happy tears, and be a general all-round best friend.” Always the groomsman, that was me. Never the groom.

  Seve cleared his throat. He’d dropped his bag onto the floor when he dried himself, but was still standing in the middle of my living room. “Yes, I know you. Of course, you would be there for them. I hope that it goes well. I won’t keep you.”

  I bit my lip to hold back a snort of frustration. Because that was exactly what I wanted him to do. His voice was low and sensual, like always. But even though I knew that each time he spent time with his mother, his Spanish accent reasserted itself, his too careful speech was starting to worry me.

  “It’s just, you’ve never been here before, Seve. To my flat. To be honest, I thought my visitor was Louis, or someone sent by him, with tales of some crisis or other. Things have got a little out of hand from the start.” I laughed more easily at the fond thought of my friends.

  Jack and Louis were never ones to do things quietly, though maybe that was just the effervescent Louis’ influence. They’d been bickering, sighing, and wrangling for months over their wedding, which had originally been intended as a small ceremony at the Register Office, with a few friends back afterwards to the Fuzzy Peach, our latest favourite cocktail bar, partly because one of the Vs worked there and our friend Harry was dating the manager, and partly because it was a really fun, relaxing place.

  Like that was ever going to be the end of it.

  Jack’s friends from the police station had insisted they were coming. And Louis’ friends from the TV studio—and his drama school friends, the dancers from the clubs, a selection of drag queens, his agent, and his agent’s bloody dog, as far as I knew—had all invited themselves. The way things had been going, they were considering hiring the Pavilion for the reception. Right up until three weeks ago, they were frenziedly ringing around to find somewhere other than the overwhelmed bar that could cater a reception at short notice.

  And then the invitation from the newly-opened Compulsion nightclub had arrived. It was renamed Resurrection, would be opening the week before their wedding date, and the management would be gratified if the couple would accept a complimentary hire of the venue for the reception.

  It was a big surprise; Louis had long ago moved on to dance at other clubs, and develop his TV career. And Jack had been indirectly involved in getting Compulsion closed down in the first place. But it was an offer they couldn’t refuse. The Fuzzy Peach had been rescheduled for the less frenetic stag night—which we’d all somehow survived unscathed, with no one ending up in the sea or dangling in leather harness, wig, and stockings off the end of the pier—and all the actual celebrations had been swapped over to Resurrection.

  “They’re thrilled with the reception being at the club,” I said. My gaze darted around the room, trying to see what needed tidying, putting away, shoving under the sofa. Trying to imagine how Seve judged my clean but tiny living area. But when I turned back to him…

  His gaze was steady on me.

  “Did you have anything to do with their offer of a venue?” I asked. I hadn’t seen him for over three weeks, and even then, I hadn’t been sure how much of the wedding chat he’d taken on board. Our time together was always tense, often limited, and I never liked to waste it with chitchat about my relatively boring life.

  But he remembered you were a groomsman. I’d felt a small spike of pride in being chosen by the guys and, now, an equal rush of gratification that Seve appreciated it.

  He was frowning. “No, it was nothing to do with me. I told you, my family does not manage clubs any longer.”

  I didn’t know if I totally believed that. But he probably didn’t know everything about the Medina business anymore. And he’d promised me no more lying, hadn’t he? At least, on the serious stuff.

  That still didn’t answer the question of why he was here today. Not that I wasn’t thrilled to see him, but it had been a long, frustrating six months since he first left for Spain. I’d reconciled myself to his erratic schedule, never knowing when he could afford the time or money to fly back to England. Over time, and with good behaviour, I’d negotiated some leeway with Hayley, so I could travel to meet him at short notice. It was usually in sundry airport chain hotels, wherever we could find somewhere cheap and easy to stay, with complimentary breakfast and a large bed. Unsurprisingly, we didn’t do a lot of sightseeing, especially if he was only free for a couple of days. We had just enough time to get used to each other again—and fuck ourselves senseless, as much as we could—and then he’d be leaving again, while I checked in with Hayley, back at home in Brighton.

  He’d come on business trips near the south coast a couple of times, but we instinctively avoided Louis and Jack’s house. That was never gonna go down well on either side, even if I think the guys would have made a good try of accepting him staying with me. And he’d never been here, to my new place. Instead, I’d reconciled myself to rushed, desperately haphazard passion in generic hotel rooms, and somehow surviving the limbo between visits, coping with the constant ache of missing him, worrying about him, on tenterhooks as to when he’d call…

  Fuck it. Maybe I wasn’t reconciled in the slightest.

  “Max?” He stepped carelessly over his bag and moved towards me, concern in his eyes. Had I said something aloud? That was another thing I’d been trying to reconcile myself to—not always speaking my mind, trying to keep our time together free of argument and conflict.

  But the more I tried to shield myself from the emotional need to see him, the more I was coming to realise this situation was never going to work long-time. Yet what else was there for me?

  “Max.” Seve repeated my name, his voice softer, a plea underlying such a little word. “It’s okay. Come here.”

  I went. Straight into his arms, tightening around me, his well-trimmed beard brushing my neck, his lips pressed hard to my cheek. Jerkily, I turned my head, seeking his mouth, and we kissed. Hard. And again. All I could hear in the room was our mingled breath, getting shallower, harsher with our impatience. He broke away for a moment, panting, his gaze fixed determinedly on my mouth. He shucked off his jacket and toed off his shoes, getting more comfortable, and then he turned back to me, took my face in his hands, and returned to ravaging the hell out of my mouth.

  2 – Max

  Oh, Jesus.

  I gripped Seve back, unable to do anything other than surrender with total enthusiasm as he moulded himself against me, like he wanted us to fuse. When he pushed forward, I let him shuffle me backwards, until my heels hit my saggy old sofa and I nearly went arse over tit over the arm. Instead, his hand tightened on my waist, holding me upright as he continued to thrust his tongue into my mouth, tangling with my own.

  This. This had always been sure between us.

  His kisses were fierce but wonderfully rich, too. It was always like the first time, after we’d been apart, yet it was also ecstatically familiar. Today, though, there was something else underneath the lust. An edge of desperation mixed with a hint of hesitation, as if he was afraid of hurting me. That approach didn’t mesh with the sexually aggressive Seve I’d met all that time ago, nor the Seve who’d so strongly awakened my equally rash, wild side. Yet I couldn’t doubt his passion as his hands slid down under my buttocks, kneading the flesh. He was hard—I could feel his cock straining inside his trousers—and I most certainly was. We were on the express train on the way to Orgasm-ville, and my thoughts scattered, my whole body crying out for relief.

  I sucked in a deep breath, trying to keep my legs under me before I collapsed like a pile of limp spaghetti onto the floor, but then he pulled back again. I found myself leaning, begging, ghosting for his lips, breathing my desire into his face.

  “This shirt,” he said roughly, his fingers tugging my untucked hem. “Is it the only good one you have?”

  Busted. “Yeah,” I gasped. “I bought it specially for the wedding.”

  “You mustn’t spoil it,” he said. Almost reverently, he slid the tie from under the collar, slipping his fingers down the buttons until it was fully open. Then he pushed it off my shoulders, and stooped to pick it up off the floor. I watched, a bit dazed, as he folded the items carefully and placed them on the back of the sofa. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or sigh at his fastidious care.

  People would be surprised to know how gentle he could be when he chose.

  “Your bed, Max. Where is it?” His breath was harsh, pleading. His gaze darted around the room, his eyes dark and almost savage. “I need you, now. We can do it here, on your sofa. Or I’ll take you on the floor—”

  A cry of protest burst out of me, and I gestured wildly in the direction of my bed. This was intimacy for the first time in weeks, and the first time in my stark little flat—I wasn’t gonna get fucked on either scrappy seat cushions or threadbare carpet! We stumbled across the room, bumping into the screen which rattled and tilted as we both tried to push past it at the same time, laughing when I fell over a stray, steel-capped work boot, moaning when our hands were clumsy on our clothes.

  I fell first onto the mattress, with only my trousers and briefs to tug off. Then I took a moment to lie back, naked, to watch and admire as Seve stripped in front of me. He was a treat, every single time; I never grew tired of the sight of him. Still lean, tightly muscled, all that warm, olive-skinned flesh; still that tantalising trail of dark hair running down the treasure trail to his groin; still that thick, blood-red cock risen up above dark, heavy balls. There were times in the past he wouldn’t have bothered doing anything more than unzipping his fly; times he’d have torn buttons or seams in his impatience to get at me. But over the last few months, and despite the restrictions on our time, we’d both started to relax our sexual behaviour. We’d taken time to touch and explore, to discover new trigger spots, to lick and stroke and savour our bodies, and what they could and would do together. Of course, Seve always gave his passion free rein, to demand and take whatever he wanted, when he wanted it—

  “Now. Now!” he all but barked, prowling towards me on the mattress on his hands and knees, straddling me between his bare thighs. His eyes were on fire as he leaned down over me, breath heaving in his chest, his mouth wet on my throat, and warm pre-cum from his jutting dick trailing up my thigh.

  Like, yeah. Right now.

  He gripped my hands and yanked my arms above my head. I would have lain like that for him without restraint, but there was an extra frisson in feeling his fingers cutting into my skin; his braced arms pressing my limbs back into the mattress. When he slid his hands away, I stayed in position, my fingers interlocked in a tight fist.

  “In the top drawer,” I gasped. He’d know what I meant. There was lube and condoms, too. Somehow, we’d never got out of the habit of using them. He shuffled back to kneel between my thighs, and when he leaned over to grab the supplies his chest pressed onto me, his nipples catching and flipping over mine. My muscles tensed, and goosebumps ran up my sides. I was consumed with the ache of needing him. When his lubed fingers pushed up inside me, I gasped, arched, and wrenched my legs wider. My foot caught the edge of the bedside table, sending everything perched on the top onto the floor. I heard a definite crack as something bounced off the leg of the bed—that’d be the souvenir coin dish as first casualty.

  Seve continued to stretch and tease me. I’d played a lot with my dildo while he was away, but there was no substitute for the real thing. His fingertips touched places a toy couldn’t, or didn’t stroke so tauntingly, or didn’t carry the warmth of a real man’s touch. Of Seve. My shoulders stung from holding my hands above my head and my hips twitched, trying to encourage more from him.

  “I’m ready,” I whined, but he made a dismissive tsh noise.

  “You’re ready when I say so. You’re tight. It’s been a while.” His fevered gaze was on the place where his hand was moving in and out of my arse, playing havoc with both my hole and self-control. “I want to take time with you, Max… but, also, I don’t.”

  I knew exactly what he meant. I didn’t miss the tension in his jaw, or when his other hand strayed to his lap, where he was stroking his dick as he prepped me.

  “Do it, quick,” I growled. “Fuck me. We can play the sweeter games later.”

  Maybe I should have used a different word than sweet, because his eyebrows lifted in surprise. I doubted Seve Nuñez had ever been accused of being sweet. But how can a guy concentrate on vocabulary when his lover’s messing with his prostate, at the same time as taking way too long to follow it up with his more-than-generous cock?

  Seve didn’t answer, anyway, but he quickly rolled on a condom, then shuffled closer against my crotch. His hands under my buttocks tilted me up, and I felt his slippery latex tip nudge against my hole. He was breathing very heavily and his dick felt ramrod hard. I pulled my knees up and he released one hand to hold one of my legs in place by the ankle. Then he used his other hand, slippery with lube and sweat, to guide himself in.

  Oh, fuck! I think I yelled that aloud, too, because Seve made a chuffing, half-a-laugh sound in his throat. He just kept on pushing, and I kept on babbling happy but nonsense sounds, until he was snug up against my pubes. Then he hiked both of my legs into the crook of his elbows, and he started to thrust in earnest.

  My poor old bedroom had never seen such action! The pillows quickly slid out from under my head, bouncing off the bed, and the fitted undersheet was carelessly yanked off its corners. Two grown men going at it, no holds barred; the air quickly thickened with sweat and the smell of pre-cum. We were both panting, and the noises alternated between Seve grunting and me wailing for more. My skin slipped against him, sweat rising quickly. We slotted together like we’d never been apart, matched in desire and strength. He held me in place, but I’d always been a bolshy bottom where he was concerned, and I thrust back to his rhythm, riding him, egging him to go faster and harder. He stayed propped on his knees, but I felt his thigh muscles clench fiercely underneath me as he tried to keep his balance, and his hands gripped my ankles hard as he fucked me. I was being bent back in half, or it felt like it. And that was just how I liked it.

  I tried to keep quiet, mindful of Mrs B only a couple of floors below, but I was pretty sure she’d had noisier tenants in the past. And I tried to hold back the orgasm because there was nothing better than fucking Seve, and I wanted it to last as long as possible. But it was all in vain. The wait, the tension, the desperation—everything conspired to hurtle me nearer and nearer the edge. I could feel the ecstasy coiling in my belly, shifting in my balls, and my head started to swim.

  “Gonna come,” I gasped.

  “I know,” he said raggedly. He almost always did.

  “So good,” I moaned. “So… I can’t…”

  “Let it go, Max.” Seve’s voice faded to background noise under the pulse hammering through me as I came in a rush of anguished, shuddering pleasure. He gripped me harder and gave a shout—he was coming too. Our thrusts were jerky and uncoordinated, but we clung to each other like that infamous beast with two backs. We groaned and stuttered words, and let the shivers of aftershock ripple through our joined bodies.

  “Yes. Fuck, yes.” Seve was still muttering in my ear, his hands like a vice on me. “I want you to feel this in every fibre of your body. Make you remember how we are together. How we fuck so well.”

  How could I ever forget? I thought.

  But I didn’t say it aloud.

  I collapsed on the bed beside Seve, shoulder to shoulder, still panting, still sweaty, and not caring one solitary fuck that we’d wrecked the bedclothes, because it meant I would be able to smell him on the cotton fabric after he’d gone, and remember his fingers inside me whenever I caught sight of that stupid souvenir coin dish. It was gonna be one of my most precious possessions.

  When had I got so damn sentimental?

  “Are you okay?” he murmured.

  “I’m okay.” I nodded, then laughed just for the hell of it. “Really okay.” I rolled over to face him and reached across a hand, just to touch his skin, to rest my palm on his still-trembling belly, thrilling at the feel and warmth of his flesh. “You were as desperate as I was.”

  He paused; sucked in a breath. “Why would I not be? I haven’t seen you for weeks.”

  I hesitated too long, I reckon, because he rolled, too, the mattress dipping dangerously beneath his sudden movement. We were face to face, and his expression was thunderous.

  “Max, what the fuck are you thinking?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. Not quick enough, it seemed, because he grabbed my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his.

  “Listen to me!” he said urgently. “I am not fucking anyone else. I’ve told you that. Many times, since I left for Spain. Every time we meet again.”