“It was refreshing, I’ll give you that. And beautiful.” Blake smiles, holding my bag in one hand, the guitar in another, as I find my sun cream and slather some on, having stuffed my light jacket away. Now, I’m bare-armed in a lavender T-shirt and gray trousers.
“Where are we headed, anyway?” I glance up at him, pausing in my efforts, arms streaked white.
“Maybe my hotel? It’s not far. I mean, if you want.” Blake uncharacteristically reddens into an appealing shade like some delectable summer fruit. “If you still want to hang out with me, after everything.”
I roll my eyes, going back to rubbing the lotion into my skin. “Seriously? After such a public display, I think we’re good for atleastfive more minutes.”
He laughs. “I’ll take it.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Pullman.” It’s not far from my old UCL stomping grounds.
“I went to uni near there,” I tell him. “I could tour you around later, if you want.”
“Sounds great.” He looks pleased as we resume walking.
“The BL was my refuge.” I nod at the library as we go past. “Well, any library, really.”
“Not surprised,” he teases me.
“Let me guess—you were always out on a sports field or something.”
Blake laughs. “Only sometimes. I did my share of library time too, don’t worry. Even by choice.”
“Shocked.”
“Don’t typecast me,” Blake says affectionately.
We make our way past couples holding hands, families with prams. A cluster of tourists pull suitcases behind them.
Blake steals a kiss, then tugs my hand. “C’mon. We’re here.”
“What?” I blink at Blake, confused. Belatedly, He’s leading me into a posh hotel. I’ve walked past it a million times, but I never paid it any attention, because it was well outside my budget and daily routine. The air-con hits like a wall right away, sending a welcome shiver up my spine. “You’re stayinghere?”
Obviously, I know where and what the Pullman is. But I never knew anyone who would be flush enough with cash to actually stay in the chic hotel. Other than Eli, of course. Even on contract, he definitely earns more than me as an indie bookseller. But he lives not too far away and has no need for London hotels.
“Yup. We get special rates. Don’t look at me like that.” Blake laughs. “It’s just a basic room. No fancy suite for me. But it’s big enough that we can gather in a meeting room if we need to, rehearse, and it’s right by the tube and station too, ’course.”
Stunned, I let myself be led by the hand through the broad lobby, past dark chic mid-century style retro furniture and dramatic lighting, including a huge dazzling globe light over it all. He takes me to a bank of lifts up to the suites, crossing plush carpets where dirt wouldn’t dare land.
In the lift, Blake slides his arms around me. I lean into the warmth of his body as he holds me close and kisses me in such a thoroughly devastating way it’s all I can do to keep upright. He’s holding me in mid-swoon like I’m some sort of Victorian heroine in one of the novels I sell, and he’s enthusiastically ravishing me.
“Yeah—” I beg.
His kisses are greedy as he claims my mouth. And I claim him right back as I wrap my arms around him, pressing my hardening cock against his thigh in a promise. My hand slides down between the buttons of his fly to press into his stiff cock, which is rigid and full of its own promises too.
“Gonna fuck you right here if you’re not careful—” Blake manages.
“Dare you.”
“Oh—”
Our kisses and seeking hands are abruptly paused when the lift stops to let a well-groomed couple on, possibly escaped from some kind aspirational lifestyle blog, who stand in front of us.
We both try our best to look normal. I tremble with the strain of not laughing, my overwhelming desire for him. A sidelong glance rewards me with the sight of Blake, flushed. Our fingertips brush. I take his hand in mine, searing hot, and place it on my arse.
He shivers.
