But with Connor? Oh, I’d go there. I want him to tie me up and make me his in every conceivable way. This trust I have in him is inexplicable. On an academic level, I am wary of his career choices and I resent his line of work. But here, now, I would willingly put my life in his hands.
I’m sure as hell putting my expectations of pleasure in them. I am panting with a need to feel him inside me, desperately hoping I haven’t built him up to unreasonable proportions.
What if this isn’t good?
Am I kidding?
I’m about this close to coming and we haven’t really started yet.
‘I have wanted to fuck you since the first day I saw you,’ he says, lifting one hand to my hair and tangling his fingers in its length. He pulls at it, not hard, but enough to make my head jerk back. I moan, low in my throat.
His words thrill me because I have felt exactly the same. His admission is an acceleration of power; it thrills in my veins.
‘I have imagined having you, like this.’ And then he thrusts into me, immediately commanding my body, and he’s so hard, so big. He moves a hand to my breasts and cups one through the fabric of my dress, his touch possessive and dark in every single way.
He thrusts again, my muscles tight around him, and I explode, crying out as a fierce orgasm that has been building for four weeks rips me apart. There is passion in his darkness, and his utter, devastating need for me. I don’t know how I know it, but I understand intrinsically that this is just about him and me. The way he’s owning my body is because of what he feels for me. He’s not just made this way.
He doesn’t stop despite the fact I’m crying out in ecstasy. He doesn’t give me a moment to breathe. He continues to thrust into me until another orgasm builds like a wave on top of the first, pleasure unrecognisable for its blinding strength. It is unlike anything I’ve ever known.
I moan loudly as I break apart and this time he pauses, holding me while I get my breath, his hands moving back to my arse as he moves slowly inside me now, almost as if his hard cock is whispering sweet nothings directly inside me. His fingers run along the curves of my arse and then a single finger traces the circle of my butt.
Fuck.
I move a little closer and he laughs, a thick, hoarse sound.
‘If I touch you there I’m going to fucking come, and we don’t want that.’
‘I do,’ I whimper, needing everything he can give me.
‘No.’ He pulls out and I can barely breathe at the ache his absence has left me with. ‘No protection.’
The words come to me from a long way away. I stand up straighter, my dress falling lower, and I spin around. My knees are weak. I press myself back against the wall, needing its strength; stars sparkle in my eyes. I can’t get adequate breath into my lungs; they simply won’t inflate.
I can’t believe we just fucked without a condom.
And that my biggest care isn’t that I could have got pregnant or something sinister—but that he didn’t come when I did. That he didn’t come at all.
His cheeks are slashed a dark red.
‘Do you have one?’ I demand, my eyes narrowing.
He shifts his head in a tight nod, almost a resentful nod, as though he’s still fighting this. As though he’s holding back from giving himself over to me completely, even when we’ve already begun. Even when it’s inevitable.
‘So?’ It’s a challenge and he throws his head back on a hoarse laugh.
‘Where?’ I push, knowing I need to keep this moving. I want more. I would prefer not to be fucking him in a maintenance corridor, but beggars can’t be choosers. After almost a month of getting to this point, this is where it happened.
I see now that it was always going to happen. From that first day when our eyes met and our bodies pulled, there has been no point fighting this. We delayed for a noble amount of time, but delay was all we could hope for.
He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a condom, handing it to me.
I hold his eyes as I rip the top off and then I drop to my knees in front of him. I keep looking at him as I slide the condom out of its foil. And then, before I force it over his throbbing dick, I open my mouth and take him in deep. I taste us both and it is a heady mix of our pleasures.
He swears and his hands rip into my hair once more, pulling at its length as I move my head up and down his shaft, rolling my tongue over his tip and tasting the beads of his precum; power swells in my chest.
‘Jesus fucking Christ, Olivia. Stop.’
I don’t want to stop but, selfishly, I need to feel him inside me once more. I pull away from him but his hands remain in my hair. I stare at his eyes as I slide the condom on and then his hands are under my arms, pulling me to standing.
‘This fucking dress,’ he says again, and his anger at the dress is as unreasonable as it is amusing.
I grab it at the sides, hoisting it up around my hips as he lifts me, positioning me at his waist and pushing me down on his cock. He steps forward so my back hits the wall and every thrust he makes slides me up and down the cold white plasterboard.
‘I want to fuck you properly,’ he grunts.
‘Aren’t you doing that?’
He doesn’t answer and it makes me wonder what a proper Connor Hughes fucking would feel like... Help me... I can’t even—
I tilt my head back and he dips his forward, his teeth pressing into the flesh at the side of my neck, biting me, tasting me, and I whimper as he thrusts harder and deeper. I see stars once more—I am one of them, a celestial being high up in the heavens.
It is me and the galaxy.
‘I want to rip this dress off you,’ he grunts and I shake my head.
‘Don’t you dare.’ I can’t deny that the idea of his bare hands shredding it from my skin holds appeal. I told you. His animal savagery is stunning.
He thrusts hard and I say his name again and again and again as pleasure breaks over me like a hurricane. This time he explodes with me, his urgent movements bringing us both home, satiating us simultaneously.
We might be mop-adjacent, but that was the best sex of my life.
I’m already wondering when I can be with him again.
* * *
We cannot do that again. I stare across the room at her, seeing the way she smiles as that idiot from Scott Manning Grey says something he thinks is funny and Olivia laughs. She is immaculate. There is barely a sign that I’ve just fucked her hard against the walls of Tate Modern. Only I would be able to perceive the way her hair is a little like a bird’s nest at the back, from where my fingers tangled in the curls and pulled them hard.
Her lips are fresh once more, lined with bright red lipstick—the same lipstick that is smeared over my cock.
Jesus. The way she was as crazed by what we are as I am. The way she wanted everything. Demanded it.
We can’t do it again and yet I know we will. As sure as day follows night I know that wasn’t enough for either of us. Not by a long shot.
‘Connor.’ I tilt my head towards the voice, a tight smile on my lips when I see someone I know approaching.
‘Aston. How are you?’ I extend a hand and he shakes it. Life hasn’t been kind to Aston in the eight or so years since I saw him last. He’s gained a tyre around his middle and lost all the hair on his head. His cheeks have the ruddy glow of one who’s been imbibing all evening. And he probably has been.
Our glasses, Olivia’s