Page 37 of Saving Mr. Bell

The bedroom door opened, my head jerking up as a sleepy Rudolf walked in. He only wore sweatpants, his pause for an elaborate stretch threatening to transform an already dangerously low-slung waistband into a glimpse of cock as every muscle stood out in stark definition.

He prowled my way, knowing exactly what he was doing and what effect it would have on me. He’d been brought up on image, had had it drummed into him from an early age, and was used to his body language and gestures being picked apart by the media. Yeah, this was a man in full control of his body.

He straddled me, plucking the mug of coffee from my hands and pushing me back against the sofa. The word “morning” was close enough to my lips that I felt it as well as heard it. And then he kissed me. Not a shy exploratory kiss, but a demanding, possessive one that picked up exactly where we’d left off the previous night. I was putty in his hands as I kissed him back, Rudolf making the decision for me. Living in the moment it was then, and I’d just have to hope I came out of it with my heart no more than bruised.

I traced his spine while we kissed, ran my fingertips over warm velvety skin, before toying with his waistband in a threat to slide my hands beneath the fabric and cup the perfect globes of his arse.

“Did you sleep well?” I asked when the kiss finally ended. Such a provincial question with his weight resting on my rapidly hardening cock.

Rudolf brushed back a lock of hair as it fell over his eye. Given his hair existed in a permanent state of overlong messiness that looked like he’d just gotten out of bed even when he hadn’t, it fell right back. He ignored it this time as he smiled. “I did. Like a baby. How about you?”

“Yeah. Good.”

“Any regrets?”

“No.”

“Liar! Your lips say one thing and your eyes say another.” Rudolf squeezed his hand between my body and his, tracing the outline of my fabric covered cock. I had no defense as his fingers slid beneath the fabric in search of bare skin. With my hands stillresting on his lower back, there was no question of not following his lead and giving in to my earlier urge to cup his arse cheeks. He kissed me again as he wrapped his fist around my cock and stroked me to full hardness.

The next few minutes were a blur of heat, friction, and gasps, that ended with a condom on my cock—Rudolf doing the honors again. I gripped onto him for dear life, my gaze fixed on his face, as he impaled himself on me, gravity playing its part as he sank slowly down. The smile of success when he managed it was everything.

I kissed him until he lifted up, balance too difficult with our lips fused together. Denied the pleasure of kissing him, I explored his chest, running my fingers over hard abdominal ridges and toying with his nipples until desire had me gripping his hips instead, encouraging him to lift higher and slam down harder, my orgasm approaching like a freight train.

He came first with his hand wrapped around his cock, hot cum splattering my chest to leave me feeling marked, something I had zero issues with. Digging my fingers into his skin, I surged up, driving myself deep until I cried out, my muscle stiffness completely forgotten. “You’re going to kill me,” I gasped out when I came back to earth, Rudolf’s head resting on my shoulder.

He lifted his head to reveal a smile a mile wide. “Can you imagine? The papers would have a field day with that. Pianist and documentary maker fuck each other to death in remote location. Was it a suicide pact? Was it a sex game gone wrong? Who knows? But we’ll waste thousands of column inches between now and eternity speculating about it and coming up with every permutation. By the time they’ve finished, you probably will be someone who likes their lovers to wear a pig mask and God only knows what hatchet job they’ll do on me. Probably something involving drugs.”

Concentrating on what he was saying was difficult when he was also easing off me and getting rid of the condom. By the time he’d finished his rant, if that’s what it was, he’d pulled his sweatpants back up, tossed me a towel so I could wipe the cum off my chest, and was already over by the coffeemaker to pour himself one. He sipped it while he rooted through the cupboards in search of breakfast.

I lifted my hips and pulled my sweatpants back up, still somewhat shaken by typhoon Rudolf being so eager to instigate morning sex, and the energetic way he went about it. I’d been fooling myself to think I had any say in what happened until the weather released us from its grip.

“What’s the plan for today?”

I looked up to find Rudolf staring at me expectantly as he cracked eggs in a bowl and added milk. “Omelet,” he said, “with cheese and bacon. Is that okay for you? Assuming you haven’t had breakfast already?”

I shook my head. “I’ve had nothing except coffee.”

“Oh, you’rethatsort of guy.”

I heaved myself to my feet and went to stand on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, narrowing my eyes at him. “What sort of guy?”

Rudolf smirked. “The kind who prioritizes caffeine above everything else.”

“You’rehaving a go atmeabout vices.”

He paused from whisking the eggs to offer me a wink. “I haven’t had a drink in three days. Do you notice any withdrawal symptoms?” I shook my head. “Can you tell Jade that?”

“If our paths ever cross, I will. I’ll take great satisfaction in telling her how wrong she was about you.” I picked a crumb off the countertop and crushed it between my fingers. “What about when you leave here?” Even saying the words was painful. It would happen, though, and probably sooner rather than later,unless we had another blizzard. “Do you think you’ll slip back into old habits?”

Rudolf shrugged. “If I want to.”

“And do you?”

He lifted his gaze to mine and stared at me for a few seconds. “Being here doesn’t feel quite real. It’s like we exist in a separate bubble. Does that make sense?” I nodded because it made perfect sense. “So… I don’t know how I’ll feel when I leave. Much as your intentions were pure, you can’t just wave a magic wand and fix the things that aren’t right in my life. It doesn’t work like that.” Rudolf upended the eggs into the pan and set about grating cheese. “And I don’t want to make you promises I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep.”

“I don’t want you doing that either. I’d rather you were honest and didn’t tell me what I want to hear.”

He flashed me a grateful smile. “Good. We agree then.” He paused. “So… plans?”

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