Page 22 of Asking For a Friend

A couple of strokes over my prostate and I’m firing my cum into his mouth and down his throat. I shudder as he massages inside my hole until I’m bucking into him. I’m determined to give him as good an ending and get to work. One finger turns into two, and I fuck him. With a loud cry, he comes, flooding my mouth with his release.

I collapse to the side. We both pant, desperate to get some air back into our lungs. The giggles hit me, and I chuckle loudly. Lando joins in and spins around so his head is down the bed with mine. Our eyes lock as we continue to laugh.

“Jesus, fucking Christ. I think I blew my brains out.” Lando sniggers as he strokes his hand over my chest.

We’re both covered in a sheen of sweat. My hair is stuck to my head, and his doesn’t look much better. “Do you fancy a shower?”

“With you?” he asks.

“I hope so. But you can go first if you’d like.” I sit up, then climb off the bed and head for the bathroom. He’s a big enough boy to make up his mind.

As I catch my reflection in the mirror, I burst out laughing. My eyes are the size of saucers, my lips are bruised and swollen, and my hair is a mess. The door opens, and Lando steps in. He does the exact same thing as me and groans when he sees himself.

“Crap! Just look at me. No, ignore that. Don’t look. Christ, I’m a mess. You’re never going to want to see me again.”

Is he crazy? He’s gorgeous in a thoroughly fucked kind of way. “God, no. You look hot, totally blissed out.” I pull him to me. “I love that I made you look like this.”

His eyes sparkle as he stares at me in the mirror. “I like the look of you too.” I turn around and switch on the shower. “Are you joining me?”

The cheeky sod steps in first.

After lots more kisses and mutual hand jobs, we crawl back into bed. This time we make it under the covers. Lando turns to face me. He looks tired but happy.

I wrap my arm around him, and he curls up against me. “Goodnight, Lando.”

Footsteps approach my table, pulling me out of my concentration. Hesketh looks as gorgeous and put together as always. Our relationship has gone from strength to strength, and after over six weeks together, I’m happier than I’ve ever been.

I’ve been staying at his place more than he at mine, but tonight he’s coming home with me. I’ve been hesitant about having him in my house, although I don’t know why I’m nervous. There’s nothing wrong with it. Hell, not many people my age can afford to live alone, let alone in a home they own. It may not be as good as Hesketh’s, which is so neat and tidy with coordinating colours and sleek furniture, but I love it. Over the years, I’ve collected a mismatch of furniture. I adore every single item, but since we started to go out, I’ve made some improvements. I’ve got rid of the old brown corduroy sofa I got from Scottie’s mum. She gave it to me when she bought a new one, which was two years ago. In its place is a cool charcoal-grey sectional sofa. Flanaghan is having a field day covering it in his ginger fur and refuses to lie on the blanket I put on it for him—the little shit. I’m also the proud owner of matching crockery and six wine glasses. Go me, being a grown-up.

“God, you’re hot,” I blurt out, my face instantly growing warm, but I’m rewarded with his dimples and a sparkle in his eyes.

“I’m glad you think so. I think you’re hot too. You don’t look ready to leave, though. Have you had a good day?”

He’s the total opposite of the way he lets me boss him in bed. No one would ever guess how much he lets go, with his expensive tailored suit and perfectly coiffured hair.

As usual, my table looks like a bomb site, but I know what each piece of paper and Post-it means. My plan was to have it all packed away and ready to leave before he came, but I lost track of time. “I have. I’m getting close to the end.”

He pulls out a chair. “Shall I get a coffee, or are you ready to leave?”

“We can go.”

I ask him about his day as I gather everything and stuff it into my bag but pause when he mentions seeing Ellis and Sophie. He’s told me a lot about his best friend and his wife and children. I’m not sure I’m ready to meet them yet. They seem to live a glamorous life, and I’m scruffy and wear tattered skinny jeans and old pop T-shirts I find in thrift shops. Like today. The baggy ‘Relax’ T-shirt from Frankie Goes to Hollywood was a bargain. I only paid a quid for it. They’ll probably hate me on sight.

“What do you think?”

I blink at him. Shit, what did I miss? “Sorry, I zoned out. What did you say?”

“I asked if you’re up for a drink with them tomorrow?”

“Oh, um. Maybe. Have you agreed already?”

“Of course not. I wanted to ask you first. It’s okay if you don’t.”

This is one of the things I like about him. He’s so laid back. All my previous boyfriends would have gone ahead and organised everything without asking me. And then get a shitty on if I didn’t want to do any of it, and the passive-aggressive behaviour would come out. Wearing me down until I acquiesced.

I stand up and lean over to give him a quick kiss. This is also new to me. My ex-boyfriends never allowed any PDAs, as if I was a dirty little secret. Of course their attitude would change if we were in a gay pub or club. Then they would be all over me, making sure no one approached me. They considered me a twink to be looked at, not touched. At least not by others. Hesketh is happy to kiss me where anyone can see it and to hold my hand as we stroll down the street.

We say goodbye to Simon and the other baristas and walk out the door. “Let me take that.” Hesketh takes my laptop bag, then my hand.

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