“Why wait? Lube’s already here in the tub with me.”
Nathan laughed with surprise and reached down for the tube in Jaymes’ hand.
“You came prepared?”
“Did I not tell you I was a Boy Scout?”
After Jaymes claimed Nathan’s mouth again, he turned him around, his fingers constantly working him. At the sound of the tube snapping open, cold lotion joined experienced fingers, probing deeper, stroking his sweet spot. Nathan kept backing onto the fingers, his erection straining painfully against the tiled wall, eager for release.
“Jaymes, please.”
No sooner had the words escaped him than Jaymes positioned himself and slowly began to push forward. As always, the initial breach burned, but soon Jaymes claimed him, his hot length buried inside, stopping with his arms wrapped around Nathan’s chest.
“Oh God, Nathan. You’re so beautiful.”
After a few seconds of savouring the moment, Jaymes began the push and pull, one hand reaching down for Nathan’s erection, stroking gently while Nathan braced his hands against the bathroom wall. Eventually Jaymes’ pace became erratic, until Nathan could hold on no longer and spurted over Jaymes’ hand. Jaymes came seconds later, filling Nathan and groaning loudly. They stood that way, under the spray, for a full five minutes, neither of them moving, even though Nathan’s leg muscles trembled with weakness.
Only as they dressed and Nathan put his watch back on did something shocking occur to him. The sudden realisation hit him hard, and he dropped to sitting on the side of the bed. Jaymes noticed immediately and rushed over to hold him.
“What’s the matter, baby?”
“It’s six-thirty. I haven’t phoned the shop to check on them. Not once. Didn’t even occur to me.”
Jaymes smiled and pulled Nathan into a hug.
“And nobody called you. What did I tell you? Everything’s okay. Did you check your messages?”
“No, not even that.”
“Well, we both have one from Polly saying she’sborrowinga bottle of your wine. She’s been invited to a party tonight and forgot to go shopping. Some excuse. Come on, let’s go and find that pub. My stomach thinks my mouth’s filed for divorce.”
* * * *
The following day, Jaymes insisted they explore the countryside. Unlike Crumbington’s surroundings of deep green, ancient forests and flat farmland with houses built from grey flint and black slate roofs, the area around Kemble boasted gently rolling hills, neat patchworked farm fields and pretty cottages constructed from golden Cotswolds stone.
Aesthetically, Nathan could admire a cluster of trees as they strolled into a lane or crested a hill. But Jaymes understood things differently, deeply and beyond mere beauty, as though he saw a crowd of familiar faces and knew each one by name.
Jaymes ate an apple as they walked. “Keep up, Nate. I’m going to be testing you on this later. The trees to your right with the scarlet berries are called Rowans. Sorbus Aucuparia. Also known in folk history as the wayfarer’s tree because they were said to make sure travellers didn’t get lost. This would have been in the Middle Ages, before satnav apps. And those to your right…”
Nathan barely heard a word, preferring to be lulled by the sound of Jaymes’ voice and his enthusiastic tone while raising his head to the horizon and soaking in the warmth of the sun. They strolled down a deserted lane of drystone walling surrounded by a beautiful undulating landscape. As they reached the local village, which made Crumbington look modern by comparison, their phones picked up a satellite connection, because Nathan’s device buzzed urgently and Jaymes’ phone made a loud pinging sound. Nathan wondered if Polly might be calling about the shop, but when he pulled his phone out, a series of voice messages from Jenny, the photographer, filled his inbox.
“Hello, Nathan. It’s Jenny Nwadike. I’m sorry to disturb you over the weekend, but I need to give you a heads-up. I sent a pre-copy of the calendar to my journalist contact onFreshPost. He was supposed to be writing an article for Arlene to review and maybe publish in a month, but evidently, they’ve had a slow week on the news front. Anyway, there’s now a feature online about the calendar featuring one of your pictures. Apparently, they were blown away by your shots, which have drawn a lot of media interest. Arlene told me she’s been inundated by calls from people wanting to attend the formal launch. I didn’t get involved in any of that, but I did want to let you know the leaked photograph was not her fault. I hope this doesn’t cause you too much trouble. Call me if you need to talk.”
Nathan stopped walking, scrolling through his unread email messages to see if he had received anything from Arlene. He found no message or email from her, but Jenny had forwarded a link to the article. Jaymes, who had carried on walking while listening to a message, switched off his phone and walked back to Nathan.
“Problem?”
“Look at this,” he said, showing Jaymes the link. “They published an online article about the calendar with a naked photo of me. I need to call Arlene.”
“Okay,” said Jaymes, shrugging. “And the problem is—?”
“The problem is I’ve been blindsided.”
“Didn’t you give consent to use the photos?”
“Yes, but…” Nathan faltered.
“Nate. Eventually, these calendars will go on sale. That was the point of the exercise. And then the whole world will be able to purchase them and see you in the buff.”
