Page 37 of The Last Kiss

For a moment they said nothing, simply gazed at each other in the spring sunshine. Yesterday, their kiss had been born of the moment, of grief and longing and years of pent up feeling. It had been rash and instinctive. But this would be deliberate, and Harry felt all his old uncertainties crowding in until Ash broke the spell.

“Harry,” he said, pressing his palm to Harry’s face.

He mirrored the gesture, stroking his thumb over Ash’s cheek. His face felt smooth, bones refined beneath Harry’s fingers. To touch him like this, to gaze into those deep dark eyes with such freedom… “Bloody hell,” he murmured and leaned in to kiss him, capturing his soft lips with his own. Ash sighed, fingers winding into Harry’s hair, his other hand resting lightly on Harry’s thigh. He groaned beneath that touch, his prick filling as the low pulse of desire between them beat with rising urgency. When Ash squirmed closer, Harry slipped an arm around his waist, cradling the back of his head and leaning him backward, pressing their bodies together as he lost himself in that endless heart-pounding possessive kiss.Mine, he thought fervently.Mine.

Eventually gravity had its way and they sprawled onto the blanket, Ash on his back and Harry gazing down on him. Breathing hard, face flushed, Ash watched him through eyes somehow both darker and brighter than ever. Harry touched his face with shaking fingers, heart hammering against his chest. “You’re lovely, you are,” he said, feeling himself colour. He’d never said such a thing before.

Ash smiled and, God bless him, looked shy. “Nothing to you, Harry West.” He reached up to kiss him again, slow and warm as the spring sunshine. When he pulled back, he studied Harry with an uncertain expression, as if he didn’t dare speak the words hovering on his lips.

“What is it?” Harry said, stroking a hand through his hair.

“It’s only — ” His cheeks pinked. “Have you done this before? With a-a-a man?”

That wasn’t as simple a question as it appeared. “Not quite this,” Harry said after a moment’s thought. “Not with someone I…” He swallowed the word on the tip of his tongue. “But I’ve had, er, encounters with men.” He studied Ash’s face, considering. “Have you?”

A shake of his head. “I’ve never felt — That is, I’ve not wanted to with someone I d-didn’t trust.”

Harry’s heart, already a sodden mess, melted a little more. “You can trust me, Ash.”

“With my life.” He pressed a hand to Harry’s cheek. “Show me, then. I w-want to make love with you. Show me how.”

Jesus. Harry dipped his head, pressing it against Ash’s shoulder and breathing in the woodsy scent of him. He’d always thought Ash had several layers of skin fewer than other men, and now here he was baring himself utterly. So trusting, so vulnerable. Harry wanted to hold him forever, keep him safe, and it broke his heart that he could do neither. But he had this moment, at least. And he could love Ash now, with his heart and his body, and let him feel cherished. He could give him that. Lifting his head, he kissed Ash’s forehead, the bridge of his nose, his hot eager lips. When Ash reached for him, arms coming around his neck, Harry slipped one leg between Ash’s thighs and began to rock gently against him, the sensation of his own hardening prick rubbing against Ash’s — even through several layers of clothing — making him breathless.

Ash got the hang of things quick enough, hips finding the rhythm as they ground against each other, his hands ranging over Harry’s back and down to his arse. Harry groaned in delight and slipped a hand under Ash’s backside, pulling him closer, squeezing hard.

Ash jolted beneath him. “Yes!God. I want — I can’t — ”

“Hush,” Harry soothed him, shifting to lay next to him. “I know what you want.” He ran a hand over the sizable bulge in Ash’s trousers, smiling as he looked up into Ash’s face. His eyes were heavy-lidded and dazed as he gazed back at Harry, lips parted, chest heaving. “Can I touch you, Ash?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “God, yes.”

Harry smiled and let his fingers drift over Ash’s prick once more, enjoying the way he pressed up into his touch. His own desire was so fierce he had to roll his prick against Ash’s hip to alleviate some of the tension as he carefully unbuttoned Ash’s fly. Ash watched avidly from beneath his lashes, bottom lip caught between his teeth, breaths coming short and sharp. Gooseflesh raced over Harry’s skin, his own climax already hovering in the wings. So different from every anonymous fuck he’d ever had. He wouldn’t have to work for this at all, he was practically there, and no one had even touched his prick. He swallowed, concentrating on unbuttoning Ash’s underwear, and slipped his hand inside. Harry shivered, eyes drifting shut. God, yes, he felt good, hot, hard and silken beneath his fingers.

Ash barked a breathless cry and dropped back onto the blanket, flinging an arm over his face. “Jesus,” he hissed. “Harry, God, I’m going to… I’m…God.”

“Let me,” he said, curling his fingers around Ash’s prick and giving it a slow, experimental stroke. “Let me do this for you.” Leaning down, he kissed Ash’s jaw, nuzzling into his warm neck, stroking him and grinding against his hip.

“Christ.” Ash gasped in answer, rocking into Harry’s touch, and then his hand joined Harry’s, guiding his pace and pressure, their fingers entwining around his prick.

“That’s it,” Harry breathed, watching avidly. He loved the way their fingers laced together, wanted to feel them on his own prick. “God, Ash, you’re bloody beautiful. You’re lovely. You’re — ”

With a wordless cry, Ash climaxed, his release pulsing through their joined fingers, his whole body juddering as he jerked up into their hands. Harry had never seen anything more erotic, his own urgent desire scorching under his skin in response. Fumbling open his fly, he took himself in hand with a groan of relief, fingers still slick with Ash’s spend. The thought of that, the sight of Ash gasping and wrecked next to him, sent him over the edge after three swift tugs and he came with his face buried into Ash’s neck and Ash’s trembling hand stroking his hair.

For a long time after, Harry lay with his head on Ash’s shoulder and one arm flung about his waist, holding him close. He didn’t want to ever let go. Above them, tiny birds flitted through the trees and the sun moved slowly across the sky, casting lengthening shadows on the water of the pond. Was Ash sleeping? If so, Harry was hesitant to rouse him, knowing how his nights were disturbed. But the afternoon was wearing on and they’d be missed if they stayed out too long.

Just as Harry was about to give him a little shake, like he’d done many a morning, Ash spoke. “I’ve a favour to ask,” he said in a voice quiet and alert, which made Harry suspect he’d been thinking not drowsing all this time.

He tightened his arm around Ash’s waist. “I imagine I’ll agree.”

Ash huffed a laugh and shifted, propping himself up on his elbow. His hair was dishevelled, lips pink and skin flushed — it made Harry’s heart dance to know that he’d done that, to remember that wild moment of ecstasy he’d given him. He palmed his cheek, smiling as Ash leaned into him like a cat. “Go on then, what is it?”

Lashes lowered, lips compressed, he said, “I’m to go to London on Tuesday. Father’s arranged it — a meeting at the bank, about my p-position.”

A low pulse of alarm beat in Harry’s chest, like the pounding of distant guns. If Ash returned to his city job, and Harry was left down here at Highcliffe House…?

“I wondered — ” Ash looked up. “It would be a comfort to have you on the train, Harry. And… And Olive said I can get my new prosthetic fitted on Wednesday, so if we spend the night, I could kill two birds with one stone.”

“Spend the night?” That thought derailed all others.

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