Chapter 11 Richard
RICHARD
Should I feel guilty for comparing Ashley and Angus and potentially making Angus feel like I was using him to get Ashley out of my system?
Is that what I’m doing? Maybe. But it’s what he signed up for, isn’t it?
He knew I needed distracting. We wouldn’t be here, together, if he weren’t okay with it.
Plus, unless I completely misread the subtext of his words, he’s up for another hook-up.
He breathes gently as he sleeps, snuggled up to me, his hand resting on my hip.
Tonight was amazing. The blow job in his Land Rover.
Half-dressed sex against a barn wall. Having him fall asleep in my arms. How many more ways will Angus persuade me to let go, relax, and release my inhibitions?
Not that I should see him again. Once was bad.
Two times is risking too much. His eagerness is irresistible, so is the knowledge that he wants me, even though he’s virtually a god and I’m a nerdy lecturer.
I should go back to being boring, sensible Richard.
The man I was before discovering Ashley was having an affair.
The man who would never have slept with a student.
Who would never have had sex in the back of a Land Rover, or in a barn.
The man who would never have let someone suck me off in a public car park.
Oh, but it was so fucking good. I close my eyes and smile at the memory of Angus’ hot mouth around my cock and how badly I wanted him to swallow my cum down his throat.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling as a cold reality sinks its claws into me.
Ashley was on birth control. She also tracked when she was most fertile each month, so we could be as confident as possible about not using condoms. She doesn’t like the feel of them, and frankly, neither do I.
But she slept with another man. Did he go bare, too?
I wasn’t exactly paying attention to whether Simon’s cock was gloved when he was having sex with my wife in our bed.
What if he wasn’t the first? Fuck, I could have an STD without knowing it.
Thank fuck for Angus being sensible enough to insist on condoms for everything we’ve done.
I should get tested. I will. Tomorrow. Are test centres open at weekends?
If not, I’ll have to go on my lunch break on Monday.
I focus on the pretty man in my arms. On holding him, stroking his hair, and making him feel safe as he sleeps.
The straw is getting less comfortable by the second, even with a blanket shielding us from the worst of it.
It’s much rougher and pokier than I imagined it would be. I chuckle. I’m such a city boy.
I doze on and off over the next hour, before gently nudging Angus.
His lashes flutter, and he whimpers as he opens his eyes.
“I promised I’d wake you.”
He looks exhausted, but he smiles happily. “Thank you.” He pushes up onto his elbow and kisses me. “I’m sorry, I need to take you back to your car so I can get some proper sleep.”
“Do you have to get up at four every morning?”
“By four. Not at four. And, yes. The joys of being a farmer’s son.”
“Do you enjoy working on the farm?”
“No.”
I frown.
“But, for now, Dad needs my help. He knows there’s a time limit. As soon as I graduate and get a job, I’m out of here.”
I remember the feeling of needing to fly the nest. For me, it happened when I went to university. I moved into halls of residence in my first year and never went home.
“Your dad is lucky to have you,” I muse.
Angus scoffs. “Try telling him that. He hates that I want to leave the farm.” He sighs. “The farm has been in our family for four generations. My great-great-granddad bought the land and built it up from nothing. I’m an only child, so Dad’s angry that he’s got no one to pass the farm on to.”
“Could he sell it?”
Angus nods. “Probably, to one of the big dairies. Small farms like ours struggle to compete, but we manage. Just about. But he doesn’t want to sell. He wants me to stay and run the farm.”
“What about what you want?”
He shrugs. “He doesn’t seem to care.”
“And your mum?”
“She’s more supportive. She’s also not here right now. Her mum isn’t doing so well, so she’s been staying with her for the last two months.”
“I’m sorry.” I stroke his shoulder and kiss his hair.
“None of it is your fault. Anyway, Dad can think what he wants. The fact is, I’m leaving the farm as soon as I can afford to.
Nothing’s going to stop me.” He climbs on top of me, straddling my hips, and plants his hands on the straw on either side of my head.
“And that’s the last I want to think about that stuff.
Right now, I’m here with a sexy professor, and I need kisses. ”
He leans down, touching his lips to mine. I kiss him gladly and hungrily, gripping his hips as I do so. My cock stirs at the stimulation of having him on top of me.
I break the kiss and clear my throat. “You need to get some proper sleep.”
He sighs and flops off me onto the straw by my side. “Ugh, why do you always have to be the sensible one?”
I chuckle. “Because I’m the professor.”
“True. And I should do what I’m told.”
“Exactly.”
He drags himself to his feet and holds out his hand. I take it and let him pull me off the straw.
“I’ll take you back to your car. Come on.” He gathers up the blankets, our supplies, and our rubbish and takes them to the Land Rover.
I follow him and wait inside it, while he returns to the barn to turn the lights off.
“Will you call me again?” he asks, as we drive the short distance to the beauty spot. “For sex.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“But will you?”
“Do you want me to?”
He smiles. “Yes.”
“For sex?”
He turns the Land Rover into the car park and pulls up alongside my car. Then he unclips his seatbelt, leans over and kisses me. He keeps his lips against mine and whispers, “Yes, for sex. I’m not looking for anything else. I’m happy to distract you for as long as you need distracting.”
It’s strange how indescribably happy his words make me.
He twirls his finger over my thigh. “Do you still need distracting?”
I kiss him, hard. “Yes.”
He chuckles. “Right answer. Call me.” He sits upright, grinning like the cat that got the cream.
“I will.”
Despite my better judgment, I do call Angus again.
And again. And again. I leave days in between each call.
Days where I try to convince myself that fooling around with him is a bad idea.
But then something happens. Ashley calls, or I have a bad day at work, and my resolve instantly crumbles, and I call the vibrant, gorgeous guy who claims he wants to distract me, and is happy to do so.
Each time, we end up at the barn. The first time, Angus brings a blow-up mattress and a foot pump.
By the time we’ve pumped enough air into the mattress for it to be usable, we’re exhausted.
Of course, we forget that as soon as we start kissing, running our hands all over each other, and taking each other’s clothes off.
It turns out, sex on an inflatable mattress isn’t easy.
We end up in a giggling heap, give up, and fuck doggy style on the floor in the middle of the barn.
The next time, Angus brings some carry mats and stacks them, which is much more forgiving on the knees. Afterwards, we sprawl on the blow-up mattress, naked and sated.
The time after that, I lounge on the mattress while Angus sucks me off like there’s no tomorrow. I’ve got the results from my tests. I know I don’t have an STI, but I don’t suggest not bothering with a condom for oral, even though I want to so badly.
In short, beyond short cuddles afterwards, we keep each meeting about sex. It’s hot, sweaty, and desperate. Two men losing themselves in each other for a short while.
It’s been a little over a month since I caught Ashley in bed with another man.
I’ve found a small, one-bedroom flat, which I moved into last week.
I have it on an initial six-month lease.
Hopefully, by then, mine and Ashley’s finances will be untangled, and I’ll be able to look for something nicer and more permanent.
I’ve spoken to her once since I went to pick up my clothes.
I wanted to talk to her about the house and other things, but she got emotional and begged me to come back.
I chose to hang up, not because I thought she could whittle me down, but because I didn’t want to give her false hope by listening to her.
Our marriage is well and truly over. The fact I’m tangled up in Angus’ arms yet again is proof of that.
We’re catching our breath after enthusiastic sex. Angus is kissing my sweat-soaked skin.
“I really needed that,” I say.
I probably should have explained just how much I needed to be distracted when I called him. But he didn’t ask questions, just happily agreed to meet at our usual spot so that he could drive me to the barn.
“Did something happen?” He strokes his hand up and down my side and over my belly.
“I got confirmation that Ashley agreed to the divorce.”
“That’s good, right?”
I nod. “I thought she was going to try to delay things. Maybe even take me to court.”
“I’m glad she didn’t.”
“Me too.”
“So, is that it, then?”
I laugh wryly. “I wish. No. Now we wait.”
“For how long?”
“Twenty weeks.”
He winces. “Ouch.”
“Even then, we won’t be divorced. It’ll take around another two months to finalise everything.”
“I guess they want to make sure you’re not getting divorced on a whim.”
“I’m not.”
“I know.”
I cup his cheek and gaze into his eyes. “We wouldn’t be sleeping together if I thought there was any chance I’d change my mind.”
He smiles. “I know.”
“I just wish it didn’t all have to take so long. It feels wrong, fucking you while I’m still technically married.”
“You’re separated, which is as good as divorced.”
“Is it?”