Page 84 of Second Song

He’s got me.

I’ve got him too, and here’s more of that strength—he sits up and brings me with him to the headboard so his back is against pillows. We kiss then, and that’s even better. He thrusts up each time I sink down, and I’m greedy all over again, clutching his shoulders first, then his chest, my fingers spasming. He’s just as grabby, his hold on one of my hips turning tight, his other hand roaming my chest roughly.

Sweat runs into my eyes, which sting for the second time today as I ride him for what feels like forever, Liam showing me how our first time would have been if he’d known he was my one and only. And this does feel like a do-over, with his tongue in my mouth and my climax just out of reach but building with each slow grind and each hard thrust.

I’ve never needed to come more. I try to get a hand between us, but Liam reads me all over again, and I’m all for consent like I last saw printed on a common-room poster, but his guttural, “Ready?” is no preparation for all the fuel he has left in his tank igniting. For what he’s held back until now.

I shout and my cock spurts. Liam touches that spatter on his belly.

“Yeah?”

Each line of his face I’d thought was taut already? Each rocky, acute angle? He shows me more and keeps going until I shout again, almost crushed by his arms tightening as he comes too, but that’s okay. I don’t let him go either once we’re under the sheets together.

I can’t, not for ages, as the sun dips lower and Liam’s pattern-tracing on my belly slows, then stops. The whole world could for all the attention I pay it. I’m busy composing a new song written for two, a duet I can already hear soar without a moorland tor to amplify it.

Eventually I do stir.

Liam doesn’t. He’s out for the count, sleeping like a baby, so I leave him.

I can’t find my glasses, but I do find the shower, and take one. Take the stairs too, without breaking my neck, and find the kitchen, where tea brews while I squint at a fridge-side photo montage. Matt is easy to find, even if his hair is short instead of shaggy in these images from dusty places I can only guess at. I want to see a lot more of the laughing version of Liam I also spot in photo after photo. I also seek out redheads.

There’s only one shot of two gingers together.

I study that until I hear movement, so I carry two mugs of tea back up that creaking staircase.

Liam’s still out for the count. The noise is from outside. I open the window to a hazy view of a pink and orange sunset and to a blur I guess must be a van full of returned Royal Engineers who spot me bare-chested.

That’s enough ammo for Matt to shout, “Sexy, you dirty dog. You brought your lost lamb home?”

I’m not about to tip out headfirst. Liam’s strong arm bands me, his sure hand sliding my glasses back where they belong, and so much comes into focus.

Matt’s wetsuit hangs at his waist like the first time I saw him. His hair is still surf-wet. Water flicks as he tips his head back and howls, and I can’t keep a laugh in, but neither can the smiling sunburnt redhead with him.

And Liam?

Man, if I do ever perform a second song in public, I hope it’s as happy as him.

EPILOGUE

Bridge Crossing Day

Late August in Cornwall

LIAM

I thought I was a restless sleeper, with tinnitus as my usual reason. For the past week, Rowan’s been more restless than me and is the reason I wake early on the day the bridge officially opens.

He doesn’t wake me because he’s noisy—if I can deal with nonstop fucking whistles daily, I can easily cope with sharing the bed in the back of my van with a musician. Rowan’s only restless right now because he’s itching to get up and at ’em. Apparently, that means I need to be kissed into consciousness to join him, and that’s no hardship. Not when the rest of the day will be busy.

For now, here where I’m not sure if a background roar comes from the ocean or from blast-damaged aural wiring, his mouth skimming my shoulders is a welcome distraction. He can do this any time, and I won’t stop him, but I guess he’s right in making the most of this early morning given today’s crammed agenda.

I blink my eyes open to a glimpse of pink- and gold-streaked dawn sky and to my watch telling me that we haven’t got long before this busy day needs to get started. I’m not complaining if he wants to get off and get gone in a hurry. “You aiming to set another speed record, Row?” This grumbling rasp is normal for me, but so is me getting to tease him every morning these days, instead of waking up alone and lonely.

“Hmm?” His lips brush lower, his voice equally rough as he kisses his way southward to land a kiss where a phoenix would rise if I had a tattoo to match his. His stubble is nothing compared to mine. It still tickles as he asks, “What did you say?”

“I said?—”

Fuck it. It doesn’t matter.

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