Page 39 of Second Song

There’s no one in this garden but us. He still shields me, making sure we’re out of sight, tucked into a walled corner with a private view of a blazing sunset. It glows with enough flaming orange for a whole flock, not only a single phoenix, and something in me takes off right along with them as soon as he drops to his knees.

Liam presses his face to the front of my shorts, mouthing the outline of where I harden, and I’d fall over, only I can’t. Not while he holds me upright.

I’m braced by a tanned and corded forearm and yet I’m also teetering over…

I don’t know what. It isn’t over rocks or water. I’m in a garden where something nearby in the greenery thrashes. A blackbird emerges. It launches itself upward, its wings as inky as Liam’s hair between my fingers. I lose sight of it the moment he stops mouthing and gets my fly open and gets to sucking. His tongue finds somewhere that almost makes me buckle, but he’s still got me, still holds me, and I don’t know how to deal with being this supported.

Even the evening breeze is intense. So is his hand sliding up under my shirt, mapping the shape of me like I did to him a week ago now. I can’t untangle why each moment with him feels like a first. His mouth is an example. I know there’s already a kiss-and-tell story that can’t ever be published, thanks to my stepfather, detailing that I’ve done this to more than one other person.

This—Liam—is more real and raw than a written account I’ve never managed to read all the way through. Bad enough that I had to stand in a headmaster’s study and watch him do it.

Liam’s more concrete, right down to the sounds he lets out. I don’t know why they make my toes curl or my hips thrust. I can’t control either reaction. I can’t help clutching his hair tighter either, and his next deep, long rumble has me jerking forward hard enough that his eyes are damp when he pulls off and gives an order.

“Relax.”

I don’t know how to. Not around him. Especially not when he doesn’t suck me again right away. I buckle again instead while he’s still painted in gold, tracing the length of me as if he’s found treasure, using his fingertips first, then his tongue tip, to follow a vein to where my shaft meets my crown. His tongue flicks there, and I don’t have words for that feeling or for the sense of security his fingers wrapping my length give. He’s got me, and I don’t know how to describe this throb in my chest that spreads like a flood, like a fire, like lightning.

He’s got me in the palm of his hand, my precome beading, and I wish…

I wish…

I wish to fuck tonight was the first time I ever did this.

He rumbles again as if in agreement, then he sucks me faster, his head bobbing, and I’m gone, lost, and I should know better, shouldn’t I? Should know never to do this without a locked door, like Charles suggested, only I’m also certain of this—Liam wouldn’t harm me.

His eyes have closed, but I know they’re honest, even if damp again when they reopen. They still shine after he pulls off and gets his shorts unfastened. His cock is as flushed as his face. I only see it for a second before he’s back to blowing me, his shoulder shifting with his own strokes, and I stop thinking.

Stop wishing.

Stop regretting.

I rebuild instead, right here in the last rays of golden sunshine. Or I’m rebuilt by his mouth, his tongue, the now slick hold of his hand, a process which could go on forever for all I care, but I’m not a lucky person, am I? Here’s evidence of that—a bell tolls, its chime still resonating as Liam breaks off.

“Did… Did you hear that too, or is it just my?—”

He doesn’t have to say tinnitus. I hear a second chime, loud and clear, coming from the garden exit.

“No, I heard it.”

Those chimes are a signal that it’s time to take this to another location. Back to his van. To my rooms in the stables. Fuck it, I’ll find the cash for another hotel stay if that means I’ll get to return this favour.

Or maybe it’s a reminder to do what Charles had suggested and get an early night to do right by his children.

Liam must see all of that flicker. “Time’s up?”

It almost is. I know that. I don’t mean for this soul-deep sigh to gust out. “Yeah.” He smiles then, and I’m well and truly fucked, even though he’s still on his knees and I’m standing, because he makes a promise.

“I’m hitting the road tonight for another job. Shouldn’t take longer than a week. Then I’ll be back to start the library demolition. I’ll see you then.” He follows it with a quieter question. “Won’t I?”

The blackbird that we startled chooses this moment to sing, notes soaring high above us, and here’s something unexpected.

I want to join it.

Join it?

I want to sing my fucking heart out. Instead, I pull him upright. His cock is hot in my hand. Thick. Everything I’d want to take my time to map like he just did with mine, only the bell chimes again, giving one more warning for both of us to hurry, but I can’t.

I can’t.

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