Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sometime later, we’re entangled in bed. Stef tries to catch his breath, staring up at the coved ceiling after I sucked him off again and gave him a show as I jerked off.
I’ve flopped face down beside him, covered in perspiration.
He reaches out to trace my shoulder, leaving goose bumps in his wake and blood rushing in my ears.
At last, I lift my head to look at him from the crumple of my down pillow.
“Fuck, that was hot,” I manage breathlessly.
He pushes my hair out of my eyes and flashes a quick grin. “Yeah… now I’m going to be wrecked forever.”
“Not sorry. Also, not the first time I’ve gotten that complaint.”
He growls playfully, thrilling me to no end.
“What?” I ask innocently and prop myself up on an elbow to lean in and kiss him till he shudders under me. Then, I shift to suck his nipple.
“Ohmygod—” Stef squirms, burying his fingers in my hair, gasping.
Lifting my head, I lick my lips and savor the sight of him in my bed.
Something to imprint into my memory for getting off in the future.
Because this is probably never happening again when he comes back to his senses.
It’s a well-established fact me and sense aren’t on speaking terms or even passing acquaintances.
He’s flushed as he lies spread-eagle on his back, twisting his fingers in my hair with a light pull. “Mercy.”
I nod and sit up. “We never set a safe word, did we?”
“A safe word? I mean, I know what a safe word is…”
“Yeah.” I shrug easily. “Like… oh, Aegean or… necromancy. You know. Just in case any of this gets to be too much in the moment.”
Stef peers at me, smiling. “You like Greek words.”
“Maybe. But I like Greek men more,” I drawl, interlacing my fingers with his, then brush my lips over his wrist. “Pick a word, and I’ll make dinner now after starving you.”
“You would actually say necromancy… in the heat of the moment… if…” Stef tries, coughing. “And stop?”
I rise and indulge in a languid stretch as he gawps at me. “Yes. Absolutely.”
“Well. Necromancy it is.”
“Good.” I pass Stef a couple of tissues to clean up, admiring the sculpted sight of him. With reluctance, I pull on my boxers and tracksuit and try not to think how boring my bed will be when he leaves.
Remember, Stef hasn’t even kissed another man before you. Don’t totally overwhelm him.
But he’s obviously not complaining as he smiles at me. At last, he sits up.
I remember to breathe and focus and act like I have my way with princes whenever I want.
“I make no promises the food will be edible, just warning you.”
Stefanos’ eyebrows climb. “What are you planning?”
“You’ll see. I’ll give you a hint. It’s a curry, but you need to guess what kind.”
With a glance over my shoulder to admire Stef getting out of bed, I make my way to the kitchen, and he follows moments later.
He leans against the counter, bare-chested and barefoot, helping himself to a couple of cashews from the bowl beside him.
When he licks his lips, it’s all I can do to make myself focus on our dinner. Distractingly hot.
After pulling out the veg I chopped earlier, I pause to give him a thorough kiss before starting the business of preparing our meal, then teasingly bite his lower lip.
A real fear that I’ve actually starved him sets in, that he might be still too polite to say something. Stef has that kind of energy.
Stef watches me curiously. I set rice to cook, pull out the pureed spinach, and he smiles.
“Palak paneer?” he diagnoses as I set to making a tomato gravy.
“Yes. Well done. Your reward is pouring the wine. Glasses are over there.” I gesture.
He laughs and gets down to pouring.
Before long, we’re at the table. In some ways, sharing the meal together in my home feels more intimate than earlier. Stef nods after the first bite. “It’s very good.”
“Not regretting your choice of London restaurants tonight?”
“Not yet.” Stef grins. “I’d say it’s excellent, but I’d hate for that to go to your head or anything.”
And it’s my turn to growl.
He lifts his wineglass, his shoulders relaxed. He ducks his head and gets back to the serious business of eating, glancing up a moment later. I wink.
“This is actually really good.”
“Hey, don’t be so surprised. I have a couple of go-to recipes I’ve learned over the years. To impress my lovers.”
“Like beans on toast?” Stef asks archly. His lips twitch.
There’s nothing more I want to do in this moment than to pull him into my arms and kiss him.
“I’ll cancel you,” I threaten, gesturing at him with my fork, suppressing my smile as he grins.
“Don’t worry, people are trying to do that already,” he jokes.
But that strikes too close, bringing back recent yachting events before I can stop any of the memories from tumbling back. By the shift in expressions on his face, it hits too close for him as well, and he tries to cover by drinking his wine.
“I’m still terribly sorry,” I tell him urgently. “Please—let me know what else I can do to help. To make things better for you. I mean it. Talk to your father. Your family. Pay the insurance deductible, whatever it takes.”
Stef shakes his head firmly. “Your charity donation was very generous. And please don’t talk to my father about what happened to the yacht.”
“The donation was the least I could do, for the record.” My gaze locks on his till he wavers. “Please.”
“None of this happened on purpose…” Stefanos tries as if I need any convincing.
“Of course it didn’t. It was an accident.”
“I know…” Stef gives me a tight smile, then finishes his meal with a last bite of naan. He shakes his head. “Still. There’s no deleting the press…”
“No.” That is a familiar wish of mine. “Unfortunately not.”
Stef looks at me for a long moment, something shifting again over his features, as if he’s weighing something out. “It doesn’t get easier, dealing with what happened, seeing you.”
I shiver, watching him closely, waiting to see what else he’ll say. Does he regret coming here?
“And I can’t get caught being seen with you,” he whispers, “So I should go.”
“Stef… wait.” I reach out for his hand, but he pulls out of reach. I frown, not liking where this is headed, not liking the stress across his face. I want to reach out and brush away the creases around his mouth with my fingers.
Stefanos clears his throat. He glances away. “I mean, you’re already seeing other guys anyway and—”
“I promise it’s only a cover.”
Stef shakes his head impatiently. “Even if it is a cover, the whole future Danish King thing is not. And, well, the accident coverage doesn’t help. Being seen together definitely won’t help either of us. Maybe… maybe I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”
“I’m so glad you did.” My voice catches somewhere deep in my throat.
He gives me an uncertain look. “I like you, Theo. I don’t know anyone like you. But… we’ve got very different lives to live.”
“Yeah, maybe, but—”
He rises, coming over to me and taking my jaw in his hand. I lean into his fingers, tilt my head into his stomach, take his thumb into my mouth, and suck. When he gasps, I feel his breath ripple through his body as if it is my own.
Stef shifts, and I stand to kiss him, catching his face between my hands.
He tastes of salt. And I can’t help but wonder if I hadn’t messed up his life for him in the last few weeks, if we would have had a decent shot.
Or, more likely, I’m totally delusional because I’m in reputation overhaul mode already, what with Freja’s plans to abdicate. There’s no way to make this work.
Unhappily, I release Stefanos with great reluctance. It would be far better to wrap him up in my arms and take him back to bed to continue where we left off in our lustful explorations of each other.
His expression is soft. “I really ought to get back to my hotel. My father’ll call later. And I can’t have people wondering where I’ve been. Or… risk getting caught.”
“I wish you could stay longer,” I murmur. “There’re so many things I’d love to know about you. About your life. It’s amazing, having you here in my flat.”
Hesitating, Stef brushes his mouth against mine, the warmth of his lips intoxicating. “I miss you already.”
“Fuck.” That definitely doesn’t help make this situation easier.
With a wry smile, Stef returns to the bedroom to dress.
And I’m left to stare out the window at the Mayfair night beyond, the movement of traffic in the street below, the life that continues day and night in London, which I ordinarily love so much.
A life I’ve become accustomed to. Even if, I admit, it’s lonely sometimes.
Especially after everything that’s happened.
After Stef emerges again, dressed, albeit rumpled, I walk him to the front door, watching him put on his shoes and coat. As he buttons his coat, I shake my head and lean against the wall. It feels like I’m watching him from outside of my body.
“You’re welcome here anytime.” I tilt my head slightly, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “You know that, right?”
His smile is tight. “I don’t know if the Duke of Wiltshire would approve,” Stef whispers, his hand on the door. As I gawp at him before I can say anything else, he slips out into the early spring night.