Chapter 44 #2
Of course white-tie dress isn’t designed for quick hookups.
Harry’s trousers are held up by braces, and I curse under my breath as I struggle to unfasten them, my fingers rendered clumsy by the desire and urgency running through my veins.
Harry chuckles softly, his hand moving to cover mine, guiding me through the motions until the braces are finally loose and his trousers are pooled around his ankles.
“Go fast,” he says.
“As the Right Honourable Harry Matheson commands,” I reply. Then I lean forward and stroke his cock. “Fuck, did me calling you that just make you harder?”
He laughs down at me, and it’s a sight I never want to forget. Harry Matheson, this gorgeous, handsome man, laughing down at me.
I’ve never wanted anything more than to give him pleasure right now.
I’m in the moment, just focused on what I’m doing, which is seeing this man come undone, that rare event only I get to witness.
His hands tighten in my hair, and he lets out a small moan, which only encourages me further.
God, how can it be that I missed this so much, missed the taste of him, the way his thigh muscles bunch, the sound of his ragged breathing.
I’m aware it’s turning into a form of worship.
I’m supposed to be going fast, lest we get discovered, but instead, I slow down, not wanting this to end, wanting to hold on to every single second of this.
Harry’s eyes are closed, and I can see the muscles in his jaw twitching.
All my want for him narrows to this moment, when I get to make him feel good, when I get to see a side of him no one else does.
He opens his eyes, and they’re hazy with desire.
“Toby,” he rasps.
I moan in reply around him, and suddenly, he’s coming. I swallow every last bit of Harry.
I love how even though he’s just come, Harry’s pulling me to my feet, unbuttoning my shirt with enthusiasm, and touching my chest as he kisses me thoroughly.
Then he slides onto his knees for me.
I don’t want to mess up his hair, so instead, I stroke down the side of his face.
He’s barely taken me into his mouth before I’m erupting, but luckily, Harry is too much of a gentleman to comment on my lack of duration, or maybe he takes it for the compliment it is, how on edge I was from having him in my mouth.
I slump onto the carpet next to him.
He turns to me, his pupils blown out, his lips red and messy, his eyes dreamy.
Something pulses inside me. It feels deeper than desire. It feels like something I’m never going to escape. And I’m not sure I would want to escape even if I could.
“It appears absence makes the heart grow hornier,” Harry says.
My laugh is too loud for the space between us. “I’m fairly sure it wasn’t your heart that was happy to see me just now,” I say.
Harry stares at me with those piercing blue eyes.
“Are you sure about that?” he asks quietly.
Oh fuck.
He’s looking at me with such intensity, like he’s on the verge of expressing all the unspoken things between us.
My chest tightens. I don’t want to have this conversation with him now. I don’t want to put a name to this. I don’t want to talk about the absolute impossibility of the situation we are currently in.
“We better get back before someone notices we’re both missing,” I say as I stand. Then I’m frantically pulling up my trousers, doing up the buttons on my shirt, running a hand through my hair as Harry watches me wordlessly from the ground.
I don’t want to look at him too closely because I’m fairly sure the same mess of emotions I’m feeling will be reflected back at me.
“I’ll, ah…see you later,” I say.
My throat is tight as I walk away from him, my footsteps echoing in the empty library.
When I return to the hall, most people have abandoned their seats and are milling around chatting. I scan the room, trying to locate Oliver among the sea of tuxedos and glittering gowns.
I finally spot him below the statues of the giants, Gog and Magog, who Callum explained earlier are the giants from legend who protect London’s residents from enemies.
But I don’t need protection from enemies right now. I need protection from myself.
I thread my way through the guests, my progress slowed by the occasional handshake or polite exchange of pleasantries. All the while, my gaze remains fixed on Oliver, who seems to have noticed my absence and is now watching me with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
When I finally reach him, he steps out of the group of people he’s talking to, his gaze meeting mine.
“That was a long time in the loo. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“So, what held you up?” he asks.
I can’t lie to Oliver directly. That would violate the years of friendship and trust between us.
“I just ran into Harry,” I say the words casually, like they are of no consequence.
Oliver raises an eyebrow. “Is that why your shirt is now buttoned incorrectly?”
I glance down in horror, only to discover my shirt is buttoned correctly.
I look up into Oliver’s knowing gaze.
“Thought so,” he says.
The truth sits between us like a heavy, tangible presence.
“Toby—” he begins, but I cut him off.
“Am I really about to get a lecture from you about the appropriateness of who I have sex with?” I ask archly. “Because that would be rather ironic, wouldn’t it?”
Oliver pauses, his eyes searching mine.
“No. You’re going to get a lecture from me about the appropriateness of who you’re handing your heart to,” he says finally.
His words hit me like a punch to the gut.
I look down at the floor because I can’t meet Oliver’s gaze right now.
“Because it’s one thing for something to happen between you and Harry when you’re alone together in a survival situation. But if you’re continuing it now, that means it was more than just convenience,” he says in his typical Oliver way of cutting straight to the heart of the manner.
Harry’s voice from the other day echoes in my head.
It appears you are still a necessity.
“As much as I hate to admit it, Harry’s probably going to be the prime minister in a few months,” Oliver continues.
“He’s also married. I know how hard it is to maintain a normal relationship as the prime minister, let alone a secret relationship with an opposition MP. I’m worried you’re going to get hurt.”
When I raise my gaze, Oliver’s face is a canvas of concern.
“And what if not being with him hurts me?” I ask in a low voice.
His concern is replaced by sympathy.
“Oh, Toby,” he says finally.