“Yes, yes. I do. And I love you too. I never stopped.”

  A choked sigh and a need for more pulsed through me. Chasing the heat of his mouth I backed him into the sink and plastered myself against him, sealing the tiny space between us. As he deepened the kiss, tendrils of pleasure unfurled in my chest, his hands dug into my hair, his tongue tangled with mine. Time stood still, as his smell, his taste, and the way he fucking melted against me hurled every other sensation from my mind.

  I slid my hand down to his slim hip, then lower still to his thigh, gathering it up, as if I could climb inside him. Putain, I wanted to climb inside him, if he’d have me. My insistent grinding was rewarded with a sweet hitch in his breath.

  “Will you stay? After Papi’s gone to bed?”

  He huffed a laugh. “Christ, I’m not sure I could leave.”

  I dragged his fingers over my groin, rubbing them along the iron rod trying to escape. “I’d like to… aah… pick up where we left off.”

  I didn’t need to spell it out, the widening of Charles’s dark eyes and another cute moan told me he understood.

  “I’d… yes. So would I.”

  He nibbled on my lips, achingly soft kisses, relearning, promising, torturing me with their delicacy as a ninety-minute football match drew to a painstaking close. As if now we’d laid out our desires, we were saving ourselves for the moment we were behind a closed door. But his kisses only increased my thirst, like drinking deep from a pool of salted water. If the football match ran into extra time, every scrap of clothing Charles wore would join the rubber gloves on the floor, and Papi be damned.

  A century later, the TV turned off and we pulled apart. A flush crept across Charles’s face as he smoothed down his shirt and straightened his collar. His kiss-smudged lips parted as he caught his breath.

  “I love you,” I said again, because my heart overflowed with it. And my man was looking anxious. I snatched another quick kiss as Papi shuffled about, gathering his things, heading for bed. As much as I hated letting go, I had an old man to supervise and a night light to turn on so his midnight wanderings didn’t find him nosediving down the stairs in the dark.

  “Two seconds, mon chèri. Hold that thought. I’ll be back.”

  CHAPTER 35

  CHARLES

  Florian’s lips were two perfect curves, created for kissing, the man himself more perfect than my heart could hold. I loitered in the kitchen whilst he cared for his grandfather—because that was what it was—however he tried to shrug it off, occupying myself with drying crockery, wiping the table, and straightening cushions.

  Florian loved me. He’d seen me covered in snot and sweat, talking gibberish and cowering in a bathroom, and he loved me.

  And now I was going to bottom for the first time and, yes, a little flush of orange seeped into the corners of my mind.

  Before I knew it, his arms swooped around my waist; those perfect lips moved against my skin and orange receded. Nimble fingers unbuttoned my shirt in time to each damp kiss imprinted on my neck. My bare shoulders came next, lightened of every burden, and he caressed those too, wordlessly, as if his whole being depended on it. Then my belt, and I shivered at the clicking of the metal clasp sliding from its loops before dropping to the floor with a clank. Florian crouched at my feet next, helping me out of my shoes, peeling away my socks with utmost care, like he was unwrapping priceless treasures and not just my milky-white, ordinary feet. Finally, when nothing but my trousers remained, sagging around my hips, he knelt back and spoke, trapping my gaze with those brilliant sea glass eyes.

  “Come to bed, Charles.”

  Four simple words, silver and smoky. Undressing my heart and unzipping my mind. Surrounded by a trail of shed clothing, he took my hand and kissed the palm. Papi wasn’t the only person he knew how to care for. I tried to answer, to say something seductive or witty, or even hint at my nerves, but want, need, and desire rendered me mute. And paralysed, while a blurred kaleidoscope, stuffed with all the broken facets of me, whirled through my head. I shook it, as if it would help settle them into a coherent pattern.

  Florian’s voice was tender and soft at my ear and his wiry arms looped around my waist, ready to catch my fall. Now and always. “You’re overwhelmed, yes? Don’t be. We’ll take it slow. Tell me which colours you’re feeling, Charles.”

  The truth spilled from me. “Every colour of the rainbow.”

  I shook my head again, with a half laugh and leaned into him. “I’m feeling every single one. The good and the bad. It’s a… a little too much.”

  “Ssshh,” he soothed. “Come to bed, Charles. Let me take you to bed and love you and kiss you and stroke you. Let me love the colours out of you. Until there’s only us. Until only silver and green remain.”

  I remember nothing about the climb upstairs except the feel of Florian’s warm hand in mine. I didn’t see his room either, blinded with every touch of his mouth, drunk on every inhale of Florian’s ocean spray scent and his essence bleeding from the simple pieces of furniture. From his plain and narrow bed.

  Nor did I feel the touch of his hands making light work of my trousers and underwear, then lifting the covers and slipping under, inviting me to follow. His mouth pressed hard against my forehead, burning a kiss into my soul, setting fire to every nerve ending. Little by little, I came back to myself.

  He lay alongside me, fingers weaving through the scant hair of my chest. With the tip of his thumb, he traced a line down from my chin to my stomach before scratching a path around first one nipple then the other. I shivered, already arching my spine up and into him.

  “You remembered what I like,” I breathed, as he repeated the scratching, this time with the edge of his teeth.

  “Of course. I thought of it every day after you left. I lay here at night imagining you were with me. Imagining your face when I did this and how this look would be multiplied with me inside you.”

  “I’m so sorry I left you, Florian.” I shivered again and he pulled me closer. “I don’t just mean going to England. I mean in here.”

  I touched a hand to my chest, and he stilled it with his own, shaking his head and shushing me.

  “You were ill. It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have let you go. I should have fought harder for you to stay.”

  I swallowed thickly. We hadn’t come to bed to be maudlin. “You didn’t know how ill I’d become. How it would take hold of me.”

  “Sshh,” he said once more. “I won’t let you get like that again. Ever. I promise.”

  His nibbles and kisses trailed a path down my belly while his fingers soothed along my thigh. He’d undone his hair and it lay across me in a thick dark fold, brushing my skin. Without warning, his tongue naughtily flicked into my navel, making me gasp and squirm. Eyes made for laughing peeked at me from under thick lashes.

  “I also remember what you don’t like.”

  And just like that, he’d brought me back from the past. A stupid horny grin spread across my face, even as I attempted to reprimand him. “Do that once more and I’ll paint you, full-length naked like now, then hang it from the rafters in L’Escale.”

  With a long slow lick, the fucker did it again. I squealed.

  “Sshh! Quiet, Charles!” He put a finger to my lips, tutting. “We’ll wake Papi.”

  His mouth that formed my name so beautifully was now on me, skimming bare skin, loving me properly. My nervous ball of emotions switched to neediness. Warm fingers grazed my balls before he knelt up and reached for the bedside drawer.

  “No. Please. No condom. I want you bare.”

  His movement stuttered. “Okaay.”

  I squeezed my eyes closed, blanketed by a wave of embarrassment . “I… um… didn’t have sex for years before you; I imagine I am an exceedingly low-risk for any unwanted surprises.”

  Unwanted surprises? I could blame it on French being my second language or just admit I had a fucking awkward prudishness sometimes. I should have said nothing and let him carry on. Opening my eyes, instead of finding Florian smirking at the glow stealing up my neck, he was gazing at me as if I’d just handed over the keys to Camelot.

  “Unless you want to use one. I mean, I… we… we are exclusive, aren’t we, Florian?”

  He chuckled and settled back down next to me, holding an enormous bottle of lube. Christ, how much were we going to need?

  “Charles,” he began. “I’ve told you I love you, like a million times in the past half hour. And you’re asking me if we’re exclusive? I’m not planning on doing this with anyone else, like, ever.”

  Goodness, how he handed his love over to me so unhesitatingly. A world of silver in every shade dazzled my eyes; I closed them as fingers and a lax mouth resumed mapping my body. One hand dipped between my thighs, coaxing them open.

  “Shall I tell you what else I used to imagine after you left?” he murmured, his voice low and raspy. Breaching me with the tip of a slick finger, he grunted softly. “Undressing you in the hot evening sunshine. Behind my salt shack, out of prying eyes.”

  The finger massaged the rim of my hole before edging a little deeper. “Then I’d pin you up, naked, against the back wall.” His tongue glided along my jaw, and he adjusted his angle. As his insistent finger moved inside, a feeling of warmth unfurled, from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes.

  “I’d spread your legs wide.”

  I gasped as he added another, my thighs fell wider still as I arched into him.

  Florian’s voice dropped to a breathy whisper; each word punctuated with an open-mouthed kiss against my neck. His hard shaft glided wetly against my hip. “Then I’d kneel in the dirt and bury my tongue deep inside you. Tasting every last part of you.”

  “Oh, Christ.” My dick throbbed, releasing a jet of pre-cum. The delicious torturing of my mind and whatever miracle he was conjuring with those fingers needed to stop soon.

  “And when that’s too much and you’re all wet and open for me, I’d enter you. Just like that, from behind, hard and fast, with the sun beating down on your beautiful white shoulders.”

  “I’m going to come, Flor,” I panted, twisting the sheet in my fists. Impatient silver fireworks fizzed in my head. “And you haven’t even touched me.”

  He withdrew his fingers, thank God, and I pulled back from the brink, even as the filthy picture he’d painted still danced through my mind. I dared look at him as he sat back on his heels, reaching for more lube. A blush of colour sketched the crests of his cheek bones, his wavy dark hairline damp with sweat. With slow, easy strokes, and not taking his eyes away from mine, he slicked himself until his whole shaft hung heavy and wet and glistening. Restless, I thrust up against nothing, my empty hole achy and wanting. I squeezed my dick and Florian inhaled sharply.

  “Ready?”

  He shoved a pillow under my hips, tilting me up, exposing me even more, and trickled more of the cool lube along my crease. My thighs trembled a little, as his dark eyes drank in the sight. “On my back, like this?”

  “For starters.” With a wicked grin, he gave himself a few more lazy strokes. “You are so pretty spread out, Charles. You’re a natural. I could stare at you open and begging for me all night. Maybe I will.”

  “You’re a fucking tease,” I growled, even as I flushed crimson, digging my heels into the mattress, and squirming up at him. More wetness pulsed onto my belly.

  Finally, fucking finally, he settled between my legs, a fall of hair hiding his face as he lined himself up. I pushed it back. “Want to see you.”

  He was much thicker than two fingers, somehow more solid too. My tense thighs clamped reflexively around him, as did my panicky hole, and he paused, twisting to kiss the tender inside flesh of my knee. “Relax, Charles. Push against me. Let me in—you’re choking off the blood supply. My dick will drop off.”

  I huffed a laugh. More lube dribbled into my crack and around my opening until we were practically swimming in the stuff. Scrunching my eyes closed, I gripped his arms tight enough to leave marks and bore down, focusing only on Florian’s coaxing, silvery voice. I yelped; for a fleeting second, the stretch and burn was fucking intolerable, and then something gave, something opened up around him, and he slipped inside.

  “Oh, fuck,” I panted, full to bursting. “Oh, fuck.”

  Florian waited, hushing me softly. I counted to ten, then twenty, and when I dared open my eyes, his bent elbows framed my head and his handsome face smiled down into mine. A butterfly kiss landed on my lips.

  “Uno,” he whispered. I snorted against him.

  “Idiot.”

  Florian pressed another kiss to my lips then winced. “Mon dieu, topping you is going to be stressful. You are so fucking hot and tight.”

  I’d remember that expression on his face as we both regrouped, for the rest of my life. A melange of care sprinkled with love, merging hazily into lust and desire. We kissed, sloppy and open-mouthed, sharing the heat of each other’s tongues. And then Florian hitched one of my legs up to his shoulder and began moving, tiny gliding shifts of his hips, his eyes watching my every response, his kisses fucking my mouth in an echo of his hips. His thick hair fell like a heavy curtain around us, his sounds—the sighs, the moans, his tender words—mingled with my own. The scent of it I’d remember too, of sex, of sweat, of Florian’s salty skin. The heaviness of my sweet lover’s shaft buried deep inside me, joining us as one.

  He changed angle, minutely, and a silvery flame of pleasure lit me up from the inside out. Chasing it, I wrapped both my legs around him, gripping his lean hips and he sunk deeper still, seated against that hidden part of me, like a finger hovering over a switch.

  “It feels good, non?”

  At my frantic nod, the look on his face changed to one of simple wild abandon. As if I’d granted him permission to fuck me harder. And he did. Every deep thrust brought a fresh wave of pleasure, building a home in my balls and my belly, layer upon layer, until I was crammed full. At the edge of spilling over, he withdrew, breathless.

  “Turn over, mon chéri.”

  I found myself face down on my elbows with my arse in the air. In one swift, hard movement, Florian pressed into me. The force stole the breath from my lungs; I bit down on the pillow as with one hand digging into my hip, the other around my shaft, he systematically tore me apart. Every colour in the universe vanished from my head. All finesse vanished, replaced by determined thrusts and ragged coarse sounds; a creaking bed, a rattling headboard. Balls slapping against cheeks, low grunts in time with my own. And then a half sigh, half sob as liquid heat poured out of my lover and into me, over and over, spilling higher and higher, like an infusion of boiling love into my bloodstream.

  I came a split second later as his sounds pushed me over the edge, hard and fast, soaking his fingers, my belly, and the sheet underneath. With a panted curse, Florian collapsed above me, sweaty and hot, chest heaving, and pressing me into the mattress.

  “Putain, Charles. My Charles. I love you so much.”

  Starfished underneath him, I sank deeper into the pillows. For a long while we lay like that catching our breath, falling back to earth. Behind my eyes, a still and silent stretch of blank canvas floated just out of reach. A quiet, strange calm spread over my body as licks of flame receded from my limbs, taking my bones with them. My heartbeat slowed and dulled.

  Drifting in and out of consciousness, I became aware of Florian shifting off and pulling me into him, sweeping me into the circle of his arms, of his cool breath and tender kisses landing at my temples, the bridge of my nose, the cleft of my chin, on each thin eyelid.

  “What colours do you see now, Charles?”

  As his whispered words ghosted across my cheek, the bare blank canvas rippled, as if his breath blew life into it. Bit by bit, like a shy new dawn peeking over the horizon, a lush emerald-green, hung with hundreds and thousands of brilliant silvery stars unfurled. Until none of the white was left.

  “I see us, my love. Only us. And we’re beautiful.”

  CHAPTER 36

  FLORIAN

  I’d never woken in my childhood bedroom with a man in my arms before. I could become very used to it. And Charles had slept through. Aside from a brief interlude when we’d reached for each other half-asleep, at around 2 a.m., and gently frotted. Charles lay on top, his sighs and low-pitched moans dusting the cool night air like a thousand fragments of confetti. And then again, just before six, when my dick, without any instruction from my mind whatsoever, took it upon itself to settle into his crease, prompting my hand to refamiliarize itself with his heft, reaching yet another very satisfactory conclusion before falling asleep once more.

  Safe to say, my shy otter friend took his morning ablutions alone.

  “Papi is up.” Charles snuggled his arse cheeks back against me. My mind was willing; my knackered, soft dick had nothing left to give. Which was just as well, seeing as it was after ten. The sound of my grandfather arguing with the radio wafted up.

  “He’ll be surprised to see me sauntering down the stairs.” Charles yawned and stretched; sleepy and well-used.

  “Mmm,” I agreed. The nape of Charles’s neck smelled so fucking divine. Maybe I could persuade my dick to go for a fourth round after all. “Especially as this is only a two-bedroomed cottage.”

  My lover stilled. “Aah. I… um… you did not apprise me of that.”

  Chuckling, I peppered his warm skin with a ridiculous number of kisses for a little longer. “Would it have changed things?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “He’ll have to get used to it,” I declared. “I want you here every night from now on.”

  Charles had several months’ rent remaining on a perfectly respectable house over in Ars. Bigger than my cottage. I suspected the bed was bigger too. Yet now Papi sometimes wandered at night, I was loathe to leave him on his own. He looked back over his shoulder at me, all adorably creased and mussed.