25. Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Micah
“What do you fancy?” Lennox says, already reaching for his mobile. “There’s a place near here that does everything. Curry, noodles, that sort of thing.”
“I don’t mind, whatever’s easiest.”
He looks at me like I’ve said something mildly concerning. “That’s not how this works. What do you actually want?”
I think about it properly this time, because he’s clearly not going to let me off with a shrug. “Something spicy. Not too spicy. And rice, not naan.”
“Noted.” He scrolls to a contact and taps it before I’ve fully processed being asked a question and having the answer actually matter.
“You’re calling them?” I say.
“That’s generally how ordering food works.”
“I mean you’re not going to use an app? And you’ve even got them saved. Like a person?”
“They’re the only place around here that does a decent lamb bhuna.
” He says it like that’s a full sentence and not the start of one, and then someone picks up on the other end and his voice doesn’t change, it stays warm and easy.
“Hiya, it’s Lennox. Can I get the usual, and something with a bit of heat to it but not too much, rice not naan, for my friend.
” A pause. “Yeah, whatever you’d recommend.
” Another pause, and something that might be a laugh. “Twenty minutes, brilliant, thanks.”
He hangs up and looks at me as if nothing remarkable just happened.
I don’t have the first idea how to explain what just happened to me. Every order I have ever placed in my life has gone through a screen, a menu with photos, a little icon of a scooter tracking its slow progress across a map while I wait and wonder if the food will be warm.
It’s never been personal. I’ve never talked to a person. Definitely never been able to say my name and ask for my usual. I don’t make those kinds of connections with people, and sitting here witnessing someone who does, is utterly charming.
Nevermind that nobody has ever asked me what I actually wanted and then repeated it back to a stranger like it mattered, like getting it right for me specifically was the whole point of the phone call.
“What?” he says, catching my face.
“Nothing.” I shake my head, still a little stuck on it. “You asked what I wanted. And then you actually told them.”
“That’s generally how ordering food works, Micah.”
“You know what I mean.”
He looks briefly unsure what to do with that, the way he does with most things that get too close to the soft center of him, and then goes to find forks instead of answering it directly, which is its own kind of answer.
The food arrives twenty minutes later exactly like he said it would, and we eat on the sofa with the containers balanced on our knees, his shoulder against mine, the reading lamp doing its warm thing to the room again.
Mine is exactly right, warm and just spicy enough, rice instead of naan, and I catch myself smiling at a takeaway container for entirely too long before I notice him watching me do it.
Nobody says very much after that. We don’t need to. There’s something in the quiet that feels earned rather than empty, and I sit there eating food that somebody chose for me on purpose and feel like I’ve been handed something rare.
When we’re done, he gathers the containers before I’ve even set my fork down properly.
“I’ll help,”
“You won’t.” He’s already up, already stacking things with the brisk efficiency of a man who does not enjoy being assisted with domestic tasks. “Sit.”
I sit.
He comes back a few minutes later and settles back into his spot on the sofa, close enough that our knees are touching.
We look at each other and don’t say anything for a while, and the quiet stops being comfortable in the old way and starts being something else entirely, something with weight to it, his eyes dropping to my mouth once and then very deliberately not doing that again.
I feel it building in my chest, low and warm, the exact same feeling I get standing at the top of somewhere very high with the wind doing something to my hair.
It’s a new feeling. Giddy and intense, and I’m not sure what to do with it.
“Can I use your shower?” I say, before I do something else instead.
Something flickers across his face, quick, gone before I can name it. “Of course.”
He finds me a towel from an airing cupboard that smells like fabric softener, and I disappear into the bathroom before either of us can decide what almost just happened on that sofa.
The water is good, better than mine somehow, proper pressure instead of the polite trickle most old buildings settle for, and I stand under it for a while just letting it do its work, trying to talk myself down from whatever that was on the sofa.
I don’t manage it.
There’s a knock, two knuckles against the door, careful. “Micah?”
“Yeah?”
The door opens before I can decide whether that’s alarming.
“Sorry, I forgot to show you how the shower door works, it leaks if you don’t…” He stops talking.
I watch it happen. His eyes land on me, and every other thought behind them just quietly leaves the building. He’s still holding the door handle, still technically midsentence, and none of it is going anywhere.
“The door,” he says, faintly, like he’s reminding himself it exists.
“Lennox.”
“Yes.”
“Is there something wrong with the door?”
“I don’t remember,” he says, which might be the most honest thing I’ve ever heard him admit to.
He looks at me for another long moment, the water running down over my skin is very clearly no longer something he is thinking about as a plumbing issue. And then something decides itself behind his eyes.
“Can I join you?” he says.
I grin at him, delighted, giddy, every nerve in my body lighting up at once. “That’s a brilliant idea, Detective.”
He yanks his clothes off with almost comedic speed. His eagerness is flattering. And the sight of his handsome body is a joy to behold.
He hurries over to me, and I step closer to the showerhead to make room for him. He slips in behind me, as if this is choreographed. As if we have done this a thousand times before.
He reaches for the shower gel. I hear it squelch. Then his hands are running over me, soaping me up. His large, strong hands running over my chest and stomach, churning suds and water.
It’s a cacophony of sensation. My head falls back and rests on his shoulder. His hands glide up to my nipples. He begins to clean them very thoroughly. The feeling zings through me. My cock swells. My nipples peak under the attention, growing even more sensitive.
Foam and hot water cascade down my body. Lennox’s hand chases them down the plains of my abdomen. His wet, soapy fingers wrap around my cock. He tugs and pulls and plays. One head stroking my cock, one hand playing with my nipple.
I close my eyes and float on the sensation.
Lennox’s naked, broad chest feels divine against my back.
The shower stall is fragrant with the smell of him, and belatedly I realize he’s soaping me up with his body wash, the particular scent that my subconscience associates with him.
After this, I’m going to smell like him, and the thought of that excites me far more than is rational or sane.
He steps back a little, stealing his warmth away. His hand leaves my nipple and starts soaping up my ass cheeks. Then his fingers slide into my crack and diligently begin cleaning me there.
His hand is still gliding up and down my cock. Hot water is still pouring over both of us.
This is wonderful. Not just the pleasure, but also the intimacy. This feels far more tender than simply pounding away on a mattress. It doesn’t feel like sex or fucking. It feels like making love. And it’s so beautiful I think I’m going to cry.
At least the shower will wash away my tears, and Lennox will never know. I’m pretty sure he’d be alarmed by tears, and then all this perfection would stop, and I’d have to explain tears of joy while sobbing, and it would be a whole thing.
It’s easier this way.
Lennox reaches for another bottle on his shelf. I hear another squelch, then his fingers are back in my ass crack, running over my hole. Slick and cool with something.
It’s lube. He keeps waterproof lube in his shower. Lennox likes to masturbate in the shower and he uses lube.
My stomach flutters. I’ve learned something new, something personal and private about Lennox, and I like it. A lot. I also highly approve. Shower wanks are the best.
His finger pauses over my hole. “Okay?”
“Okay!” I gasp.
He eases into me carefully. One broad finger opening me up. Hard and firm inside me. I wriggle and writhe. I need more, so much more.
One finger becomes two, and it’s so much better. Two fingers in my ass and a hand working my cock.
His fingers slide in and out. In and out. Draw a circle. Curl. Brush against my prostate.
I yell out a shout of ecstasy as fireworks ignite in my mind and my toes curl. His fingers fuck and fuck. I sob and gasp.
“Want your cock!” I exclaim.
He grunts in assent. “I’ll grab a condom.”
His fingers leave my ass. His hand leaves my cock. My head spins.
“No, wait.”
He waits.
“I… my last test was clear.”
It’s much easier to say this to the white tiles. There is no way I’d be able to watch his face while I voiced my request. I wouldn’t be able to cope with any disgust or alarm flashing in his eyes before he said something kind. He’d be nice about it, but rejection is still rejection.
“Mine too,” he rumbles.
My mind fumbles. I’m too flooded with lust and arousal for my brain cells to be able to process words. His too? His what? Oh! His last test! He isn’t rejecting me, he is saying yes.
A strange gulping sound escapes me. Relief. Anticipation. Happiness.
Lennox steps up close to my back, returning his warmth to me.
I place my palms flat on the tiles, bracing myself. He is a head taller than me, so this is going to be tricky. I go up onto my tiptoes, bend forward, and hope for the best.
Lennox lifts my left leg, hooking it over the crook of his elbow and lifting me a little. He cock pushes against my hole. Bare apart from lube.
I breathe out. He pushes in. My body welcomes him in. He slides home easily. My hole stretches around him. A slight burn, a lot of fullness. He burrows deeper and deeper. I cry out in glee. He feels so damn good.
Without a condom, I can feel the full heat of him. Feel the silk of his skin directly against my flesh. It’s intense. I’ve never done bareback by choice before, and I’m so glad I’m choosing him for my first time.
He sheathes himself fully. And waits. Both of us panting. The hot water is relaxing my muscles. There is no cramping, only a profound satisfaction.
Lennox moves his hips. I scream as ecstasy burns through me. He hit the right spot straight away. He’s memorized the angle.
He groans low and feral, losing control.
His hips snap and I scream soundlessly as he fucks me hard. Pure, blinding pleasure consumes me. I fall seamlessly into an orgasm. Lennox shudders behind me as we climax in glorious unison.
The shower washes my load away, but it keeps on coming, and my ass is filling and filling with Lennox’s cum. He’s grunting and shuddering. Deep manly sounds and it’s so fucking hot.
Eventually his cock slips out of me. He puts my leg down. My muscles are shaking. Weak and useless. So I lean back against his heaving chest. He takes my weight easily, arms wrapping around me.
Lennox will never let me fall.