Skin slapped skin and moans tangled in the air. Rhys rose up on his knees, Jevon’s legs clutched to his chest, and a clean slate appeared between them—like this was the beginning and not the end. White noise fizzed in Rhys’s brain and his body short-circuited.
Jevon jack-knifed from the bed in a perfect arch, sweat glistening on his skin. Rhys’s name fell from his lips and a guttural shout ripped from his chest. “I’m gonna explode, I swear. Fuck!”
Rhys upped the pace of his thrusts to punishing, and something snapped. Jevon gripped his cock, jacking himself in time with Rhys’s dick sliding home, and everything began to unravel.
“Rhys, I’m—”
Rhys cut him off with a fierce kiss, only ripping his lips away when his own orgasm knocked him off balance. Heat flooded every part of him, and his release pulsed out of him, filling Jevon with wet heat.
But every shockwave of pleasure paled in comparison to the innocent beauty of watching Jevon come. Of witnessing him come apart at the seams. Head thrown back, Jevon let out a gravelly cry, and his dick erupted, painting them both with hot come. The tendons in his neck strained, and his body convulsed, and for long moments it seemed like neither one of them would ever stop coming.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Rhys covered Jevon in kisses, then he fell slack, panting as Jevon clung to him, his heart hammering against Rhys’s chest, his body trembling.
There is nothing else.
Only this.
Only him.
Rhys fought for breath and eventually found enough to draw back and brush Jevon’s dreads off his face. “Okay?”
Jevon met his gaze and smiled, the agonising twist of orgasm fading from his face. “Yeah.”
“Sure? I didn’t go too—”
It was Jevon’s turn to kill an unnecessary conversation with a kiss. He threaded his hand around the back of Rhys’s neck and tugged him down, slicking his soft tongue into Rhys’s mouth until they both needed more air.
All at once, fatigue hit Rhys like a train. Thirty-six hours with no sleep caught up with him, and it was all he could do to stay upright.
Attuned to him as ever, Jevon sat up, almost managing to conceal a wince. “Lie down,” he said. “I’m going to clean up, then I’ll stick the kettle on.”
Rhys caught his arm. “Don’t go.”
Jevon stared at Rhys’s hand clamped around his wrist, his face caught in a conflict of emotions that left Rhys dizzy. “Okay. Fuck the kettle, but let me clean us both up, all right?”
So many unspoken pleas and declarations danced through the air; Rhys had no hope of catching them all. He lay back, his body sprawled out with exhaustion, and counted the seconds until Jevon came back to the bed with a warm wet flannel.
When they were both clean, Jevon drew back the covers and they crawled into bed. Sleep pounded the door to Rhys’s brain, demanding entrance, but Rhys fought it, clinging to consciousness as tightly as he clung to Jevon.I love you.
He didn’t say it though. Couldn’t. Even as Jevon held him close and kissed his temple, whispering words that chased him into his dreams. “Wherever I go, Rhys, this night will always be with me. Sleep easy. I’ve got you.”
Sixteen
Rhys clung to the helpfully placed handles as the chopper swung from side to side in the wind, buffeting his dinner around his stomach. Flying at night terrified him at the best of times, but rough night flights took the royal piss. Especially when he’d been nursing a hangover in the first place.
The helicopter lurched downwards. Rhys glanced at Pater, who seemed as unconcerned as ever, and tried to reassure himself that it meant something. A tough ask when the cool German pilot could smile through an apocalypse.
Rhys brought his mouthpiece closer to his lips. “How long till we land?”
“Twenty minutes, but I’m going to bring us in early at Oxford. No sense flying through this if we haven’t got a patient.”
Unscheduled stops usually got on Rhys’s nerves, but he was glad of it tonight. They landed at the private flying club in Oxford and were immediately granted access to some pretty snazzy facilities. Shame Rhys had zero enthusiasm for anything that wasn’t being dead asleep or something that would help put him there.
Pater and the flight doctor decamped to the club’s swanky cafeteria, which had stayed open for them, but Rhys declined dinner and lingered in the bathrooms, hiding out under a shower that made the one he had at home look like a school changing room.
Two showerheads pummelled Rhys’s body. He closed his eyes and braced himself on the tiled wall, trying not to remember how it had felt to have Jevon come up behind him, wrap his arms around him, and slide his cock along his body. How it had felt to imagine Jevon was fucking him for real, driving into him with long, deep strokes, one hand on his hip, the other gently at his throat.
But he failed, spectacularly, like he had every night since Jevon had left. The ache in his gut expanded into his chest. He let go of the wall and slid to the floor. At home, he’d crawl out of the bathroom and find the bottle of rum he’d taken to keeping by the bed, but he couldn’t do that here. Couldn’t numb himself enough to sleep. So he did something he hadn’t done in more than a decade.