Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Harry
Toby’s mouth, that generous, torturous, infuriating mouth, is now under mine.
But he’s no passive recipient of a kiss. Instead, Toby is kissing me back with everything he has.
It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed. So long since I’ve had the delicious slide of tongues, someone’s mouth consuming mine.
Toby’s stubble scrapes the side of my mouth, and I can’t help a whimper as I continue to devour him.
I’m almost delirious with want.
Our bodies are flush together, and I can feel every inch of this man.
He’s so hard against me, and my own cock throbs with desire.
We no longer have underwear, so when he pushes his hand into my trousers, he immediately encounters my very erect cock.
Then his hand is on my cock. I see stars and desperately unbuckle his trousers so I can have my hands on him. Feeling the very large evidence of his arousal almost tips me over the edge.
Toby tastes of smoke and energy bars.
He tastes of oh my God, holy fuck, and don’t stop because those are the words he’s gasping that I’m swallowing down. As much as I don’t usually agree with what comes out of Toby’s mouth, I’m definitely obeying his instruction not to stop.
I frantically stroke him as we buck against each other. Everything is a blur of movement and sensation, of exquisite feeling.
Toby’s fingers curl tighter around my shaft, his grip firm. Fireworks light me up as he strokes me with the same rhythm as my hand on him. We’re locked in a frenzy of touch, creating a symphony of sensations that threatens to overwhelm me.
Toby. The rasp of his stubble against my cheeks. His tongue still rammed in my mouth, battling mine, his hand around my cock driving me insane.
It’s too much, and suddenly, I’m erupting, my orgasm so intense my head is thrown backward.
In my daze, I’ve stopped stroking him. Toby has no qualms letting me know what he needs, thrusting until I get with the program and continue to move my hand.
His hazel eyes are on me, and it feels like the most intimate thing I’ve ever done to stare back at his flushed face as I continue to give long, rapid strokes from the base to the tip.
He whimpers, and then he’s coming, and I get to see exactly what Toby Webley’s expression looks like when he’s having an orgasm, the lines of pleasure etched into his face. It’s a memory I will take to my grave.
Bloody hell.
Toby’s head falls forward onto my shoulder.
Our breathing settles from frantic gasps to something back in the normal range.
I retrieve my hand from Toby’s trousers, wiping the stickiness off on my mine.
Toby pushes away from me. He’s still flushed, not looking me in the eye.
My legs are shaking, and I make a concerted effort to remedy that, to regain my usual composure.
I can scarcely believe what just transpired. I can’t believe I kissed him.
But I’d reached the end of my tether, having Toby so close, so always there. The memory of my dream of kissing him and the real, fresh memory of what it felt like grinding against him was so fresh in my mind, with no amount of willpower capable of shaking it.
It had tipped me over the edge when I stood face to face, arguing with him. Something inside me snapped.
I’ve never lost control in such a manner before, and I feel a flash of shame.
But Toby had definitely been a willing participant.
I swallow hard.
What does one say to their nemesis—whom they’re stranded alone with in the wilderness—after having just engaged in a spectacular, out-of-this-world sexual encounter?
All the etiquette training my mother provided me with never covered this particular scenario.
“Right. So that happened,” I manage.
Toby’s raised scornful eyebrow communicates exactly what he thinks of my attempt at addressing this with words.
“We’re still not continuing on,” he says.
It takes me a moment to realign my brain and realize he’s revisiting the argument we were having before we started kissing.
It has been wiped clean from my brain.
“Was that merely a persuasive technique of yours to get your own way?” I ask.
“I think you’ll find you were the one who started that,” he says as he bends to wipe his hand on a tuft of grass. “And now we’re going to have to light another fire.”
My forehead creases. “Why do we need to light another fire?”
“Because we’re going to need to wash our trousers,” he says.
I grasp his meaning and feel my cheeks start to heat.
He’s right. Neither of us is wearing underwear, which means the insides of our trousers have been soiled by the results of our encounter.
I’m fairly certain the care instructions inside my woolen Savile Row trousers don’t suggest washing them in a river and then drying them by the heat of a fire for the second day in a row.
“All right then, let’s gather some material to start another fire.”
I’m relieved to be able to focus on practicalities at this moment.
But as we gather firewood, I notice something about Toby is slightly…off. His movements seem stiff and distracted as he snaps twigs with more force than necessary.
I don’t know what I expected after that encounter. It’s not as if I thought we were going to engage in postcoital cuddling or anything of that ilk.
However, I would have expected Toby to respond in his usual mocking or joking way, not grow quieter and quieter.
And as much as I want to ignore the awkwardness, I feel duty-bound by my conscience to address it.
I kneel to clear a spot for the fire. “I apologize if you’re uncomfortable about what just transpired,” I say stiffly.
Toby’s eyes fly to mine. “I’m not uncomfortable with getting off with you, Harry. But obviously, there is one aspect I’m not happy about.”
I’m truly perplexed. “What aspect?”
“You’re married, Harry,” he says in a low voice.
“You just cheated on your wife. And I know you might want to apply the ‘What happens in the Nordic wilderness, stays in the Nordic wilderness’ principle, but I’m not comfortable messing around with someone who’s married.
I got caught up in the moment earlier, but now that I’m thinking about it, I feel complete rubbish.
” Toby’s jaw clenches as he snaps a twig in half and adds it to the kindling pile.
Oh, so that is what is bothering him.
I feel a pulse of relief.
My throat works as I try to figure out what to say.
“It’s not like that,” I say finally.
“What? It’s not like what?” Toby concentrates on stacking a pile of twigs.
“Prunella and my marriage. It’s…ah…a marriage of convenience. A lavender marriage.”
Toby jerks his head up to stare at me. “A lavender marriage?”
“Yes. Prunella’s asexual and aromantic but was facing pressure from her family to marry. I needed a wife when I entered politics. We were already friends.” I shrug. “It works.”
I strike the ferro rod, sending sparks flying, but the paracord refuses to catch.
From the surprise on Toby’s face, he wasn’t expecting that explanation.
“Do you like women at all?” he asks.
Bollocks.
But I can see no point in not answering his question honestly.
“I like women a lot,” I say slowly. “But not in that way.”
Toby blinks at me.
“People deserve more than a lavender marriage, Harry. People deserve a rainbow glitter marriage if that’s what they want,” he says softly.
“I’m not sure if all members of the Conservative Party agree with you there,” I say stiffly. “Besides, I’m not sure you’re one to give advice on romance. You go through men and women like trendy restaurants. What is it, six months tops, then you ditch them?”
“I didn’t realize you’ve paid such close attention to my romantic life.”
I strike the ferro rod viciously. “I wouldn’t call noticing a very obvious trend playing close attention.”
The flame sparks, and the paracord starts to burn.
“So this whole time, you’ve been pretending to be married to a woman while getting it on with guys on the side.”
“I haven’t been pretending anything. I have been married to a woman. And I have not been ‘getting it on’ with anyone.”
Toby pauses. “No one?”
“Not since I married Prunella fifteen years ago.”
“Oh my God, Harry, that’s a long time to go without one of life’s necessities.”
“I think most survival experts would agree that sex is not a necessity,” I say stiffly.
“No wonder you were so…”
“So what?”
“So…pent up,” he says.
I harrumph. Because I can’t exactly deny I was pent up when he saw obvious evidence of it less than half an hour ago. I occupy myself with adding more pine needles to our growing fire.
“Personally, I’m all for whatever.” Toby shrugs. “Being out here has definitely given me a seize the moment, enjoy every second mentality because, let’s face it, who knows how long we’ve got left to enjoy life. So if something feels good to both of us, I don’t see why we shouldn’t do it.”
It takes a moment to process his words and grasp their meaning.
He’s offering to do that again.
I feel my whole body flush at the thought of another encounter with Toby.
Toby, with his flushed cheeks and bright eyes, the way his breath hitched, the expression on his face when he came. The feel of him in my hand, his mouth under mine.
I don’t think I can handle keeping this going with Toby. Not without forcing myself to reevaluate all the decisions I’ve made in my life. And then where would I be?
“I think it’s probably best if we refrain from a repeat.” I studiously keep my tone neutral as I brush the dirt from my hands and stand abruptly, moving away from Toby. “We need to focus all our attention on survival. We don’t need any other distractions.”