Page 51 of On Circus Lane

He obeys me, and we’re creeping through the silent apartment within a few minutes.

He pauses by the front door. “Don’t you want to wake the others up?”

“Do you?”

He considers me with his bright eyes. “No,” he finally says, looking as though that simple word has become complicated.

I grab his hand. “Come on, then. We’re wasting snow time.”

The corridors of the apartment building are silent as we creep along and meet nobody. I tug him towards a door on the ground floor. “Out this way. It brings you onto Cockburn Street without going the long way round.”

The cold hits us as we leave the building, the wind picking up the snow and throwing it at us like a child in a tantrum. We huddle into our coats and pick our way carefully down the old stone steps.

I jump the last two steps, feeling my feet sink into the snow with a cushiony thump. “Come on, slowcoach,” I urge.

He chuckles. All I can see is his sharp blade of a nose and those pretty eyes above his scarf. They widen as we come out onto Cockburn Street. The wind howls down it, cutting into us with icy precision.

He looks around wonderingly, and I can understand his appreciation. Four and five-storey buildings topped with pretty gables or turrets line each side of the road. Snow collects on the colourful awnings of the little shops and is already a thick layer on the road. Christmas lights twinkle in the shop windows and are strung above us, and they shine red and gold in the dim light. It looks like a fairytale street.

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “It’s sobeautiful, Tom.”

I nod. “Like going back in time.”

“It’s like we’re the last two men on earth.”

The snow falls heavily past the streetlights, and there’s no one about. The street has that thick, muffled sound that comes from heavy snow, and it stretches ahead in pristine and untouched white. Bee and I look at each other, and as one, our lips curve up. We start to race up the road, slipping and sliding, making trails. We get to the top of the street and look back at our tracks. Our footsteps march side by side all the way up.

“It’s beautiful,” he says again softly. He leans against me, his head on my shoulder, the fluffy pompom on his hat tickling my nose.

I put my head back, and he watches and copies me. We hold our faces towards the sky with our tongues out to catch the flakes. They land on my face, tiny cold kisses alighting on my tongue like ice pops.

I look down just as he looks up, and everything in me stills. His gaze is bright with enjoyment, and he seems almost magical—like a snow pixie. He must feel something, too, because he gives me a slow, sensual smile and tilts his head. The silent invitation is too tempting to resist, and before I can think, I dip my head, and my lips are on him. That heat I felt at the castle roars through me again. Only now, there aren’t any tourists around. It’s just me and him in the falling snow, alone on a pretty street.

My hands tighten on his narrow hips, pulling him into me. My fingers clench his arse, and he gives a throaty purr and wriggles closer.

Within seconds, his coat is opened, and so is mine, only a few layers of clothes separating us from nakedness. We’re close enough I can feel his hard cock through our jeans. I grab his bum and kiss him like the world is ending—deep, hard kisses as he starts a grind against my thigh. His head falls back, the long line of his throat white in this strange snowlight, and I break away from his soft, pillowy lips to press kisses to it. He feels cold and soft, and he shudders as snowflakes land on his skin. I lick them away, the ice stinging my tongue, and then suck along the tendon where his neck meets his shoulder. He cries out and lifts his head, fumbling with my jeans.

I flinch as his freezing hand grabs my cock. “Shit,” I squeak. “Warn a bloke, please, Frosty the Snowman.”

He pauses, and then, to my astonishment, he starts to laugh. It’s infectious and makes me chuckle too.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

He leans into me, his head tucking under my chin as though that spot has waited all my life for him. I tighten my grip on him, feeling his laughter vibrate against my chest.

Finally, he pulls back, looking up at me. “I suppose there’s no way I can persuade you to have a quick shag?”

“Here?”

He snorts. “No. Even I draw the line at potential penile frostbite.” He eyes me, and the laughter and interest are heady in his eyes. “You’re going to say no again, aren’t you?”

I bite my lip. “Maybe. For now, anyway.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I have no idea what is going on here. I’ve never had to work so hard for a bloke before.”

I cock my head. “But you’re enjoying it, aren’t you?” I hold my breath as I wait for his answer.

He watches me for a long few seconds and then shakes his head in bemusement. “I think I am,” he whispers.

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