Page 55 of Never Too Late

“Yeah,” he panted. “Come for me. Paint me with your cum. I want to see it.”

I couldn’t have said who came first, the two orgasms close enough together to be almost simultaneous. All I knew was that when it hit, it was nothing short of spectacular, and that I spent at least a few minutes slumped against Cillian’s chest with his arms wrapped around me before finding enough energy to deal with the condom and clean-up.

“This,” I said when both of our heart rates had returned to normal and we lay under the covers with my head pillowed on Cillian’s biceps and his fingers tracing patterns on my scalp, “was what I really wanted. Not multiple orgasms. Not teasing until I beg. Not a sex act that lasted as long as a marathon. Just this.”

Cillian’s fingers stilled before resuming the motion. “At the risk of sounding stupid, I don’t understand.”

“You always jumped straight out of bed after sex. At the office, it was understandable. At my place, though, you always had to leave to be somewhere else. And at your place…” The memories stung for a moment before I reminded myself that the past could only hurt if I let it. “At your place, there was always something that commanded your attention. Usually the dreaded phone call. So I took the hint and left.”

“You could have stayed.”

“Could I?” I turned my head to better see Cillian’s face. “And do what? Lie alone in your huge bed wondering what you were doing that was more important than spending time with me once you’d come?”

Cillian shook his head slightly. “We must have spent some time together after. I’m not a Duracell bunny. I do need rest.”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, I laughed at the image he’d conjured up. “We didn’t. And I’m not saying that to be cruel. I’m saying it because it was one of the biggestthings missing from our relationship. Great sex is… well, great. But intimacy matters more. To me, anyway.” The silence that followed my little speech was deafening, Cillian’s expression pensive. I had an inkling he was running through all our past sexual escapades to find an occasion when I was wrong. Well, good luck with that, because I wasn’t.

Finally, Cillian let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have been like that. It must have made you feel like crap.”

“It did,” I admitted. I plucked his hand off the sheet and played with his fingers. “Crap enough that I ran away to Paris.”

He pulled me in tighter, his arms wrapping around me. “You know how they have the Golden Raspberry awards for films? Like the opposite of the Oscars.”

“Yeah?” I said with a frown, not sure where this was going.

“I should have won whatever the equivalent is for boyfriends.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“It’s in the past,” I said. “And I’m not bringing it up to twist a knife in your ribs. I’m bringing it up to make it clear what’s important. You know, communication and all that jazz. What I failed so miserably at before.”

“I’ve got it,” Cillian said, his voice tinged with regret. “Loud and clear.” There was a pause for a few seconds before he spoke again. “Only, in what is really unfortunate timing, I do need to take a leak. I’m allowed to leave the bed for that, right?”

My response was to almost shove him out of it, Cillian laughing as he regained his balance. “As long as you come back,” I shouted after his naked backside.

“You can time me.”

“I am. Fifteen seconds and counting.” I was smiling, though. The smile was still on my face when Cillian returned. As Cillian padded back across the room and got back into bed, Quasimodoslipped through the open crack of the door, portraying feline displeasure at being shut out.

My smile grew wider as we resumed our earlier embrace. Yeah, this was what it was all about. Orgasms were great. But this closeness, Cillian wanting to spend time with me even when his cock was no longer hard, was better. And I intended to soak up every single second of it.

Chapter Twenty

Returning to work provided a contrasting blend of emotions. Sadness and disconnect because the lack of Laurent at his desk every time I glanced that way, even though I knew he was going to be okay, served as a stinging reminder of the events of the past couple of days. And a light feeling in my chest I just couldn’t shake when I recalled that I’d be returning home to a flat with Cillian in.

How long would he be there for? Well, that was anyone’s guess, and in true dig-your-head-in-the-sand-ostrich-style that would have had Laurent rolling his eyes, I hadn’t asked—and Cillian hadn’t volunteered the information.

Tomorrow, though, was Saturday, so I was confident any return to London wouldn’t happen until after the weekend, which gave me three evenings to wallow in the newfound intimacy between us. And the sex wouldn’t be too bad either. Neither of us had pushed for Cillian to keep his word about wringing multiple orgasms from me. As far as I was concerned,quality won over quantity any day, and I had no complaints on that score.

Work done for the day and buffeted by the phone call I’d made mid-afternoon to the hospital where they’d informed me Laurent was awake, I took the stairs up to my flat two at a time. The faint buzz of music coming from behind the door allayed any nagging doubts I might have had about getting home to find Cillian elsewhere. Adeline Girard wouldn’t be happy, though. If I could hear the music from the top of the stairwell, that meant she’d be able to hear it, too.

I had a sneaking suspicion she sat in silence sometimes to listen out for something to complain about. I’d once dropped a pan, and for a woman in her sixties, she’d removed remarkably fast to knock on my door and demand to know what was going on, in what had felt like less than a minute since the pan had hit the ground.

There was a slight tremble to my fingers as I unlocked the door. Nerves or excitement? Probably a bit of both. I forgot to be either as the door swung open and I took in what had become of my living room since I’d left for work a mere nine hours ago.

It was full of things. The most noticeable of which was a giant cat tree in the corner boasting so many levels that it stopped just shy of the ceiling. There were three cat beds of varying sizes and design, a giant cat wheel the likes of which I’d only ever seen in You Tube videos, a scratching post, a tunnel, a radiator bed because apparently three beds weren’t enough, a robot litter tray, and various other toys scattered around on the carpet.

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