Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
The sun has set, and the sky’s a moody deep blue beyond Florian’s reception room windows.
He’s turned on the lights, including a large copper orb pendant lamp, which hangs over the broad table.
In front of us is a small still life I arranged: a bowl, an orange, a candle.
Florian listens as I give him the drawing lesson.
When he draws, his marks are tentative, but I encourage him to keep going.
“Only if you draw too,” Florian says, glancing over, and smiles.
I shake my head wryly and take up a pencil.
The paper in front of me has a variety of marks on the page where I showed him different pencil techniques, from shading to hatching.
I flip it over. “Okay, fine. One thing that’s important to consider is the relationship of the objects to each other.
Look how tall the candle is compared to the bowl.
And how tall the bowl is compared to the orange.
You can look at the negative space around the objects too, like the outline they make in the space around them.
” I draw him an example with a quick sketch.
Florian’s eyebrows climb. “That took you maybe thirty seconds. I’ll be here all week trying to draw the orange alone.”
Despite myself, I laugh. He looks so genuinely surprised. Which is probably fair after the way I’ve been so reluctant to show my work; he probably thinks I lack talent or experience. “It’s a skill, Florian. Like I couldn’t even begin to imagine your job on the day-to-day.”
“Very boring by comparison.” Florian chuckles. “A lot of boardrooms and meetings.”
“I’m probably not cut out for that sort of life,” I confess.
“I like working with my hands. Whether it’s art or mixing drinks or helping my parents back home with their pub in the village.
There was always something to do, especially as they have a small hotel above the pub too.
Going from the village to Brighton was a shock.
From two hundred people to who knows how many in Brighton and now millions of people in London.
I’m way out of my comfort zone, whether it’s the big city or professional jobs.
And… I don’t want to disappoint my family.
They’ve already given me so much support. ”
Florian nods slowly, considering me. “I can see how that would be a big change. But you’re already settling into London life, with a job and home base.” The way he smiles at me sets my heart off careening around my ribs like it’s looking for a way out. “It proves you’re making it happen.”
“I guess. I mean, that’s why I also want to get into tutoring art. Because London’s so expensive. And… I do a lot better one-on-one than in, like, your job.” I give him a tentative smile back. “Luckily, you’re already doing that.”
Florian laughs. It’s a thrill, and goose bumps cover my arms in response. “Well, I can vouch that you’re an excellent tutor, and I’m happy to give you a reference anytime.”
I brighten. “Thanks. That means a lot. And for dinner. It’s been very nice. Especially for fake boyfriending.”
He laughs again, then searches my face. “I suppose I should let you go home before it’s too late…”
Glancing down at my watch, I see it’s already gone ten o’clock. Which isn’t that late in terms of my bartending life, but transportation does get trickier the later it gets. Plus, Florian works a day job. Which probably starts early.
“Probably,” I agree, getting up with some reluctance and packing up my pencils and sketch pad. “I can leave the books with you for another time. Though I guess that’s the gala, and that would be weird to bring books to a gala.”
Florian chuckles. “Usually not often seen at black-tie events, it’s true.
Unless it’s a literary event, then expected.
” He rises too, and suddenly, we’re standing very near each other, with my rucksack beside me on my chair.
I’m near enough to him to see the deep green of his eyes, those gold flecks again.
“It’s not a literary event…” I manage. “Is it?”
“It’s not,” Florian agrees softly. “More about nature.”
“Billy’s rewilding work for his charity,” I offer, because I haven’t forgotten that point either. Like my life depends on starting an index of facts about Billy and Florian.
“That’s right. I’ll send you all the details.” His voice is quiet, his gaze searching mine. “Let me walk you to the door.”
“Okay.”
Fuck. I’m fucking this up. Noah would totally ream me out right now, but it’s like someone else’s legs carry me through Florian’s house with its too-bare walls. Like, say something. But my mouth’s gone dry, and it feels like it’s packed with sand or something, muffling me.
In the entry, Florian gets my coat while I stand there, watching him, unmoving as I stand beside my shoes. When he turns back to me, his gaze is curious.
“Florian?” I whisper.
“Yes?”
“What if… what if I don’t want to go? Not yet. Even… if this is all fake. Especially because this is all fake.” Somehow, I manage to get the words out. Mostly coherent words. Points for me.
Florian nods slowly, a glimmer in his eyes, something open in his expression. “I was hoping you might stay longer—”
And then, I step closer toward him, as though I’m daring him to touch me.
We lean in, and next thing I know, our mouths meet in a lingering kiss.
He slides his arms around me to draw me close to the warmth of his chest, where I swear I can feel his heart thundering as wildly as mine.
Florian’s lips are on fire against mine.
His fingers are in my hair, and I shudder, tingling down my spine.
The kiss is slow and deep, his tongue finding mine while blood rushes in my ears, and I don’t want this moment to end.
These slow kisses. The way we savor each other, which feels far beyond fake.
Finally, Florian straightens and gazes at me. “Stay,” he murmurs. “Please, Matty.”
The way he says my name makes me shiver again, the yearning in his voice.
I nod and kiss him again. This time, he cups my face between his hands. Our kisses continue, deep and slow, like time is a worry for other people. Before long, I’m breathing hard, and parts further down are very invested in this situation.
“Yes,” I say at last as we straighten. “I’ll stay.”
“I was hoping all along you would.” A broad smile stretches over Florian’s very kissable mouth. “Besides, I never gave you the tour I promised,” he says coyly, taking my hand.
“I’m not sure where this falls in the fake dating rulebook. Practice?”
“Yes. For one more event.”
And then our arrangement’s over. If it’s going to be over soon, what’s one more hookup? It’s totally reasonable. Then he’ll go on being corporate, and I’ll go on doing whatever it is I’m trying to do. Paint, but it feels like a lifetime ago since I left Brighton.
I let Florian guide me back inside his flat. This time, we continue along the ground floor. “The bedrooms and my office are down the hall. The main reception room is above us.”
“I would,” I whisper, “be very interested in seeing the bedroom.”
Florian laughs, leading the way.
We step inside his dramatic bedroom with its high ceilings and midnight-blue walls and wooden shutters over the windows. There’s a set of sleek wardrobes along one wall, with a suit on a hanger over a door. His king-size bed has dark sheets.
Pausing, I turn to him to search his eyes. I hesitate. He waits. “I… I liked it very much last time. But could we go slower this time?”
“Of course,” he murmurs, “anything you want. Show me.”
The first thing I show him is that I’m ready for more kisses, and we continue, fumbling with the buttons of each other’s shirts. Eventually, I walk backward to the bed and pull Florian down with me.
He kisses my jaw, and I shudder with longing, running my hands over the planes of his shoulders. “Like that?”
“Oh yes.”
Florian laughs, continuing, and he teasingly kisses along my throat, the whisper of his breath along my skin. “And that?”
“Fuck yes.”
He lifts his head long enough to grin down at me where I’m sprawled on my back.
His shirt hangs open, and I push it off his shoulders.
Florian tosses it aside, and I admire his toned physique.
He takes his time, kissing his way along my body, my chest. With his tongue, he teases my nipples ’til I writhe, burying my fingers in his hair.
“Oh God—more.”
Florian chuckles and continues, his mouth burning, to work his way with agonizing slowness to my cock. He unfastens my belt and my jeans, smiling when he realizes how hard I am for him. “Very interesting.”
“Please—”
Shifting, I push my boxers and jeans down, revealing my erection, which reaches for my belly.
Florian grins and then leans over. With a flick of his tongue, he teases the head with his mouth ’til I cry out.
Then he slows, licking the length of my shaft, taking me in his mouth.
I close my eyes and moan deep in my throat, giving myself over to his intoxicating touch.
With agonizing patience, he teases me ’til every nerve of my body is on fire for him.
As if August in London hasn’t been hot enough already.
“Florian—” I beg, gasping.
“What do you want, gorgeous? Tell me. Show me.”
“Give me your cock.”
He’s eager to slide out of his boxers and jeans, moving up the bed beside me.
I roll and shift and take him in my mouth, rigid and firm against my tongue.
And God, he tastes incredible. I work a rhythm, and he’s so responsive, I can’t get enough.
He gasps, thrusting into my mouth as I work him with my hand and mouth in an escalating tempo ’til he squeezes my shoulder and tells me he’s going to come soon if I keep going.
So, I ease and stop to look at him, flushed and disheveled, and all I want to do is flush and dishevel him more.
Florian groans when I at last release him. His gaze flickers down, his fingers running along my jaw. “What do you want now?”
“I want you on your back. Got any lube?” I ask.
“Drawer.”
I find the lube and warm it up in my hands, putting a generous amount on his cock and then on myself and I straddle him.
“You’re sure?” he whispers, rubbing his cock against my thigh.
“I’m sure.”
Florian’s biting his lip as I slowly ease onto him. I shudder at the fullness of him, how hard he is. I’m moaning too, staying very still as I get used to the sensation of him inside me.
Our gazes are locked, and I’m breathing hard, trembling. I lower myself forward, slowly riding, and kiss him deeply. “Like this,” I whisper a moment later.
Florian grunts his agreement, closing his eyes in obvious pleasure. He’s damp with perspiration from us, from the warm night, from the incredible way he’s making me feel. His fingers grip my thighs.
“Fuck,” I breathe, starting to stroke myself as I shift, on the edge. My hips quicken their movement.
He opens his eyes to watch me in frank admiration, rumpled as how I imagined against the pillow. “You feel so good—”
He bites his lower lip, encouraging me with his body, increasing his movements to match me with a moan.
And then there’s nothing beyond this room or us, and how special he makes me feel when he looks at me the way he does.
I’m shaking when I release, my cum across his chest. And soon, he follows me, gasping raggedly as his fingers dig into me.
At last, I collapse onto him for a kiss, and he wraps me up in his arms tight the way I craved in Brighton when we had to leave, blood rushing in my ears. I don’t want this moment to end and to carve a space to live inside tonight.
Once more, his kisses are slow and lazy and perfect for me right now. We’re plastered against each other and sweaty, and I wouldn’t change a single thing to feel his heart pounding beneath mine.
I rest my head on his shoulder, and Florian holds me tight.
We should clean up, have a shower, but neither one of us wants to move and break the spell.
His fingers are warm on the nape of my neck.
And in the comfort of his arms, we soon fall asleep.
Tomorrow, we can figure out what the updated terms of fake boyfriending are.