appreciative partner. I spread his cheeks with my hands…
He thwacked my leg once, quite hard, and I figured that was as good as any stupid safeword. When I looked up at him, he was clenching the quilt so tightly his knuckles were white and he said, “Fuck, Matthew, I haven’t got a chance of waiting if you’re gonna keep doing that.”
I lay down beside him and stroked his arm gently. “And you were so polite before,” I murmured, then I grinned at him.
He grinned back at me. “Seemed that doing what you told me, and waiting for you, was more important than trying to remember to say ‘please’.”
“Of course you’re right,” I murmured, then I kissed him, long and slow, kissing all of his mouth, making sure he could taste himself.
He moaned and whimpered and trembled on the bed, and it took me a moment to realise he was coming, even though neither of us were touching his cock.
He didn’t meet my eyes when I lifted my mouth from his, just kept his gaze lowered, so I touched his chin, lifting his face. He lifted his eyes, and I said, “I’ve never had someone come just from being kissed before. That was amazing.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and it was moments like this that made me hate being a dom. Part of the dynamics included setting challenges for the other person, and I always consciously tried to chose something that was reasonable, but obviously he had been more turned on than I’d realised.
“Don’t apologise,” I said, and it came out as an order.
There was a flicker of something in Andrew’s eyes then, laughter perhaps, and it reassured me. I said, “I’m going to fuck you anyway.”
He placed his hands carefully, one on a moss green patch, the other on canary yellow, and I stood behind him pulling a glove on. I rubbed my fingers together, warming the lube a little, making Andrew wait, then pushed two fingers into him slowly.
He was relaxed; the only tension in his body was in his arms; biceps and forearms taut, holding him steady; and my fingers slid into him easily. He was open enough I could have just fucked him, but that wasn’t what we were there for.
He was making tiny noises now, involuntary responses that grew louder when I added a third finger. Fuck, I would have loved to fist him like this, but it wasn’t good practice, not unless he was pumped full of drugs and held steady by suspension wrist cuffs. Three fingers would have to be enough for both of us.
I was so focused on what I was doing, twisting my wrist to press my thumb against his perineum, working my fingertips inside him to give him maximum sensation, that it took me a little while to realise he was talking to himself.
“Yes… please, must… can’t,” he was muttering under his breath. “Need… must, you…”
“And you shall have me,” I murmured, leaning forward so my face was pressed against his neck, my cock against one of his buttocks.
He was trembling again and I reached around his waist with my other hand to stroke his cock. He groaned, and I knew I’d misjudged again, he was much closer than I’d anticipated. “Right now,” I added, and his moan was relieved.
Neither of us wanted him to fail again.
I withdrew my fingers, rolled a condom on, lubed myself up quickly, and moved to stand behind Andrew.
It was a damn good thing we were the same height, it made this so much easier, and I only had to bend my knees a little.
The bottom bead caught and I had to push a little harder than usual to drag the bead in. He cried out, sweet and sharp, and I eased myself into him.
With us both standing the angles were completely different and I had no control over them, but it felt amazing. I rocked into him, no finesse, just his weight holding me in as deep as I could go, and reached around to stroke his cock.
It took a moment for us to establish a rhythm, then we were rocking together slowly; him braced against the wall, my weight pressing against his back. We couldn’t sustain it for long, not without at least one of us cramping, but this wasn’t going to take long, not when it felt like this.
I closed my eyes, the colours on the wall burnt into my memory so strongly I could see them with my eyes shut, and bit down on Andrew’s shoulder without meaning to.
I tasted blood, metallic and hot, and it made me come.
Andrew slumped in my arms, completely drained, and I held him as well as I could, pulling out of him too roughly in my attempt to stop him from falling down.
He was heavy. We staggered backward to the bed, and it was a huge relief to be able to let us both fall safely into the quilt. Andrew looked utterly exhausted in my arms, and when I looked up, there was come streaking the painting.
It took effort to drag the quilt out from underneath Andrew and pull it over him, but I managed. I left him, already asleep, and did a quick tidy up, picking up the damp towels, getting rid of the condom, turning lights off downstairs, checking the security system was on.
I didn’t touch the wall, concerned that if I tried to wipe it clean, I’d disturb the colours.
Chapter Forty One
A strange beeping woke me, and it was Matthew’s turn to kiss me and say, “It’s just the alarm on my phone. I’ve got to get up, you go back to sleep.”
Going back to sleep… Now there was an unusual idea.
I didn’t go back to sleep, just stayed curled up comfortably under the covers, watching Matthew bring me a cup of coffee, wearing nothing but his shirt. If only all room service was this hot.
He let me pull him back down onto the bed for a smooch, then he said, “I have to go to St. Georges now. I don’t think that sleeping with all my supervisors, just to make sure I’m never in trouble for being late, is a viable option, so I’d better turn up on time.”
I let him go reluctantly and said, “The elevators at St.
Georges are well-maintained, so don’t plan on using that excuse either.”
He pulled on his trousers, no underwear underneath, and my eyes must have widened because he grinned at me.
“You’ve worked there?”
I shook my head and reached for my coffee. “No, but Tim, my ex, does. Watch out for a wandering vegan festooned in animal rights buttons.”
“Think my supervisor is a Dr. Clarke. That’s not him, is it?”
Matthew asked, sitting on the bed to put his socks on.
“Not him,” I said. “But you’ll be able to spot him in the cafeteria; he’ll be the only person eating a lentil sandwich.”
“Gross,” Matthew said, wrinkling his nose and making me laugh.
He came back into the bedroom a moment later, shaving cream on his face. “You are kidding, aren’t you? About the lentil sandwich?”
I shook my head. “Only person I’ve ever met who believed that you could make a pancake solely with rice flour and soy milk.
“You can’t?”
“No, that makes glue, not batter, and if you cook it, you have cooked glue,” I told him.
Matthew disappeared back into the bathroom again, making ‘yuckyunck’ noises.
It was quiet when he’d left, and I stayed in bed while my coffee cooled, enjoying my mini-holiday while it lasted.
At nine, my phone rang, and it was Human Resources at London, asking me to bring in my CV that afternoon, and passing on an invitation from Olivia Holland, the senior oncology consultant, to visit her in her office.
