The sheltering tree, p.14
The Sheltering Tree, page 14
Smirking, Alastair took a bite from the small chocolate heart. His low murmur of enjoyment raised an interested flutter in Jay's stomach.
"Mm. Yes, very nice. You should have the second one immediately."
Jesus, I love the way you put things.
"Come share the rest in bed," Jay said. He tipped his head, pressing his cheek to Alastair's. "Lay me out a trail."
"A trail to where, precisely?"
"From your throat to your cock, love. I'll find my own way from there."
Alastair's breath seemed to catch. "Jay," he said softly.
Jay put the box aside on the bedside table, then turned around in Alastair's arms.
"Still in the mood for slow and idle?" he said. He cupped Alastair's jaw, looking into his eyes. "I wonder how long I can make you wait to come. Bet you it's at least a couple of hours."
Alastair's throat muscles shifted beneath his fingertips. He glanced down at Jay's mouth, his pupils swollen.
"Jay," he said again, lost for words.
Jay pulled him forwards into a kiss.
Not long after midnight, guest services delivered fresh raspberries, whipped cream and a bottle of single malt whiskey to the Orkney Suite. A note returned with the tray, requesting the next morning's breakfast in bed—a late breakfast if possible, with coffee for two.
Chapter 9
The knock came not long before ten. Alastair blinked, resurfacing from the email half-typed on his screen. Without a sound he put his laptop aside, removed his reading glasses, and slipped out of bed, tying the sash of his dressing robe. The room was still in darkness as he moved towards the door, everything quiet.
Opening it, he discovered the young lady who'd delivered messages for him last night, bearing their breakfast on a large silver tray. Her shiny black hair was tied back into a ponytail this morning, her smile as bright as sunshine on the morning dew. The Cliveden staff were prompt and very pleasant as a rule, outfitted in neat navy waistcoats with name badges, but this young woman seemed to go above and beyond. Katie Kelshaw, her badge said. Guest Services.
"Good morning, sir," she chirped, holding out the tray. "I have your breakfast for you."
"Ah, yes... thank you," Alastair took the tray from her, wondering if the guest services team had recently been awarded a pay rise. It would explain the remarkable cheerfulness. "I don't suppose I could trouble you for fresh coffee in an hour, could I?"
"Of course," she said, and bobbed. "Enjoy your breakfast."
And off she went.
As Alastair carried the tray towards the bed, its sleeping occupant stirred beneath the sheets.
"Al?"
Something in Alastair's chest responded with a thump. No one had ever taken to shortening his name before. As a child, his mother had been fiercely displeased by any attempt to modify the name she'd picked out for him. She considered pet names in general to be over-familiar and unseemly—then, disapproval had been her standard reaction to most things.
She really would have despised Jay. Denounced him. Wept, wailed, and grieved to anyone who would listen that her son could have so little regard for the effort poured into his upbringing, throwing in his lot with some tattooed Mancunian oik who called him Al.
Setting the tray at the end of the bed, Alastair smoothed the sheets flat around it. He leant down, kissing the bare back of his tattooed Mancunian oik.
"Breakfast," he murmured. Jay's eyelids fluttered, his gaze foggy as he rubbed his sleepy face against the pillow. "Though it possibly counts as more of a brunch now."
Stretching, Jay inclined his head over his shoulder. "Why're you up?" he asked. "S'early."
"Answering some minor emails," Alastair said, fighting a smile. "It's rare for me to sleep late."
"Mhrm." Jay squinted up from the pillow at him, one sleepy green eye just visible. He was almost mouth-watering this morning. His gaze was bright and fond, his dark hair tousled into tufts. The sheets had contrived to drape across his lower back with the sort of masculine grace rarely seen outside classical sculpture. Alastair had the curious need to stroke that perfect shape, contemplate its curve and its texture not only with his eyes but with his hands. "Come lie down," Jay murmured, looking hopeful.
Alastair returned himself obediently to bed, careful not to upset the tray. Jay smiled, shuffled closer, then reached for the sash of Alastair's dressing gown.
"Don't need this," he rumbled, and pressed his wicked mouth to Alastair's. As they kissed, he untied the fabric sash, easing it carefully apart with his hands. Alastair made no move to stop him. He wanted skin; he wanted closeness. He'd wanted them all morning, and it seemed they were the first things Jay wanted too.
Easing the robe back from Alastair's shoulders, Jay gave a hum of contentment, as if Alastair's body quite rightly belonged against his. Some higher order in the universe had now been restored. They nestled together, naked, sending waves of warmth and relief through Alastair's body. He let himself shiver; Jay hugged him tighter, a sleepy and almost possessive squeeze which Alastair liked far too much.
"Can you reach the tray?" Jay asked, kissing Alastair's shoulder.
Alastair shifted to pull it up the bed, close enough for them to reach. Jay selected a cinnamon pastry from the plate. He tore it carefully into pieces, taking his time, then gathered Alastair close against his chest.
As he fed it to Alastair by hand, he watched Alastair's face, stroking rather fondly beneath his lips—as if he just enjoyed the sight of Alastair eating.
Alastair took piece after piece from his fingers, half-aware of a riot now taking place inside his heart.
Is this normal in this kind of...?
He'd never known this kind of intimacy. Last night he'd fallen asleep in his afterglow, boneless with pleasure and cradled in Jay's arms, their skin still damp from their exertions. He'd woken up this morning still cuddled, glowing with the warmth of nearly ten hours' sleep.
Even lying in silence together felt like a shelter. Jay didn't say a word as he fed Alastair, simply watched him, admiring him, taking pleasure in his pleasure. Alastair had never shared something like this in his life.
He gazed up at Jay without speaking, lost.
If our affair came to light, he thought, watching Jay reach for another pastry, it would be assumed that I own you in some way. That you amuse me like a pet. Not like this. That you comfort me, settle me. That you feed me things, just for the experience of watching me taste them. That when I kiss you, I feel as if absolutely all of my needs are taken care of, and nothing will worry me again.
Not, of course, that I need you.
Not that this is an affair.
They shared the whole of breakfast in comfortable quiet, leaning together to drink their coffee. Finished, Jay moved the tray gently to the floor. He eased himself back into Alastair's arms, nudged him over onto his back, and nuzzled into his throat as he shifted to lie on top.
"How long until your schmoozy lunch?" he murmured, parting Alastair's thighs with his hands.
Alastair's pulse hit the ceiling.
"An hour," he said. "A little less." He grasped Jay's shoulders, colour flooding his face already. Oh, God. Please. "I'll need to shower and get dressed, but..."
Jay's fingertips skimmed down between his thighs, slipping behind his sack. Alastair unleashed all his breath in a gasp, his lungs empty in an instant. He wrapped his thighs around Jay's waist, gripping onto his shoulders.
As Jay's fingers began to rub a lazy circle, Alastair's mouth fell open.
"Oh, God—" He felt like touch paper, suddenly struck with a match. Something in him ignited, burning all at once with the need to fuck, to be held open on his back and used in ways his horse-faced mother hadn't even known were possible. Jay wanted him; it was all he needed. "Please—please, I want—"
Jay shivered, shifting his weight to pin Alastair to the bed. "Mm?" He rasped his mouth up the side of Alastair's neck, then grazed over to his ear, his breath hot and his stubble tickling, the contact rough and gentle all at once.
Alastair panted with longing for more of it, prying his fingers into Jay's shoulders.
"Right now?" Jay's fingers pressed as if to push inside him, teasing.
Alastair arched, throwing his head back into the pillow. His voice tore its way from his throat. "Oh, fuck—right now—"
Jay reached out towards the bedside for a familiar tube, then popped open the cap with his thumb. "Get me ready for you, gorgeous."
Shaking, Alastair held out both hands. Jay dispensed the clear gel into his palms, too much of it, dripping down through Alastair's fingers onto his stomach, wet and messy. Alastair had never liked messy before. He liked it now. He liked the feel of Jay's thick cock between his palms, hardening as he rubbed and squeezed. He liked the grunt of satisfaction as Jay thrust between his fingers, the restless flashing of those perfect green eyes. He let Alastair slick him until the colour had risen in his face and their breath had grown ragged, the thought of more too much to resist.
Jay shifted, placed his hands under Alastair's thighs and pushed them apart and back. He pinned Alastair open with a hand beneath each knee, crowding him up against the pillows. Alastair swore and clenched his fists in the sheets, panting, panic and animal excitement pounding through his blood as the head of Jay's cock nuzzled into place, blunt and thick.
"Yeah?" Jay breathed against his lips, curled over Alastair. He kissed him with firm, hot strokes of his tongue, raking it between Alastair's lips, no space to do anything but gasp an answer into that devilish mouth: yes. Yes. God, yes. The heave of Jay breaching him wrenched a cry from Alastair's throat. He grappled for Jay's biceps and dug in his nails, hard enough to leave half-moon marks. As Jay pushed inside him, slow and firm and unfaltering, he panted and begged; all he could do was grip Jay harder. The stretch stole his breath, sharp, searing, and deliciously good. Fuck me, he heard himself pleading. Make me ache. Make me feel it.
Jay's first deep thrust sent lightning up his spine.
Alastair filled his lungs, held on tight, and let Jay wreck him.
He kept one hand scrunched deep within Jay's hair, dragging the other over the muscles in his back. The pace picked up. Alastair clawed into Jay's back for more, panting through his teeth and now unleashing an amount of noise which nearby rooms could surely hear. Jay drove into his prostate on every thrust, groaning hot words of praise and encouragement against his neck.
Let them hear, Alastair thought as he panted, wild. Hear me need this. What you do to me.
Climax came from nowhere. One moment, he was calling Jay's name and begging for harder; the next, he was writhing in silence with the sudden cascade of relief, arching up from the bed and dragging Jay inside him with his thighs. Alastair sobbed, realising in a rush that Jay's thrusts were suddenly short and slick and urgent, Jay moaning at volume into his neck, heat flooding his insides. They'd come together, finished this with as much of a feverish eruption as they'd started. Shuddering, they sank into a heap.
When Alastair's thoughts managed to reform, he found himself cradled in Jay's arms in the bath.
Damp, gentle fingers stroked through his hair.
"—this afternoon, maybe?" Jay said, placing a kiss against his temple. "If you feel like it."
Alastair shivered, weak. "S-sorry?"
"After your lunch," Jay murmured. "Might be nice. Masseuse was telling me there are different trails through the woods. Says they're gorgeous this time of year... might be fun, you know? Get some fresh air."
He smiled against Alastair's forehead, tightening his hug.
"Stop me savaging you for five minutes," he added.
"A walk?" The prospect felt like a window opening in Alastair's soul. He didn't know why he wanted it so much, but he did. "Yes... yes, I... I'd like that. The woods are beautiful."
"You walked in them before?"
"A few times." Never with company, Alastair thought. Never with someone at his side. "I'm in ordinary footwear. We might have to..."
"That's alright." Jay reached for a washcloth on the side, dipping it beneath the surface of the steaming hot water. "We can take an easier route. Just stroll."
As the cloth brushed down Alastair's back, his every worry in the world seemed to melt. He groaned a little, shuddering, and pressed his face against Jay's neck.
Jay kissed the side of his head.
"Are you sore?" he said, his voice soft. "Did I get a bit too rough?"
"No," Alastair said, shivering again. "No rougher than I wanted."
Jay took this in, passing the cloth very slowly between his shoulder blades. "You know you can tell me if I get too much?"
Please, Alastair thought. Please be too much.
"You're not," he said, closing his eyes. Jay touched a kiss to his temple. "I'm very happy, Jay. With how things are."
Jay's mouth curved. "Good," he said, reaching for the soap. "I'm happy, too."
As Jay washed him, cleaning the sweat from his body, it occurred to Alastair he felt more emotionally affected in this moment than if they'd made love slowly for hours. Rough sex with Jay left him feeling soft and tactile. He wanted to be held. He wanted to talk, to walk, to disappear together into the woods.
I rarely trust like this, he realised. I'm rarely so... conscious of my skin. So aware of what I feel. So raw.
The rest of the world never seemed to know how to take him. He spent his life among people who hovered, addressed him with their eyes low and laughed before he'd actually finished his jokes. They never shared a cigarette with him. They never called him Al.
It took a very special man to fuck him like he needed it.
"Can I help you get dressed?" Jay said, slowly pouring water through his hair.
Alastair shuddered, his eyes still closed.
"Yes," he said. "I'd like that."
Halfway through the buttons of Alastair's waistcoat, there came another knock upon their door. Alastair pulled his gaze with reluctance from Jay's smile, turning his head towards the sound.
"Come in," he called.
It opened. Their young lady appeared, bearing a coffee tray.
Alastair had entirely forgotten.
"Ah," he said. "Yes, thank you..." She bobbed and brought the tray towards the fireplace. "I might just have time for a cup," Alastair said, looking back into Jay's eyes. "Will you finish the rest?"
Jay nodded, slipping the final button shut. "Sure, sunshine. I'll find a use for it."
"Order some lunch, won't you?" Alastair murmured. "Don't go hungry."
Jay leant in, placing a kiss on Alastair's cheek. "I won't. South Terrace at two, did you say?"
"Mm. We should be released by then."
The young lady was pouring their coffee for them, her eyes averted. Alastair was almost sure he could see her smiling.
"What is it you're having for lunch?" Jay asked. "Pheasant sandwiches, is it?"
Alastair smiled helplessly. "Pheasant being the staple diet of the upper classes?"
"So I've heard." Jay retrieved Alastair's jacket from the back of a nearby chair, holding it open for him. "I bet you're not allowed to put crisps in a pheasant sandwich," he said, his eyes bright. He smoothed the fabric over Alastair's shoulders. "Probably doesn't fly at the country club."
Alastair lowered his voice, attempting to mask his delight. "Beast."
Grinning, Jay fixed his lapels. "Yep," he said, and kissed Alastair's nose.
The young lady from guest services was laying out their biscuits with great care, ensuring they were all equidistant from each other and pleasingly arranged.
"Do you know what you'd like for lunch?" Alastair asked Jay, prompting.
The young lady, deciding the biscuits were now fine, stood up and awaited instruction.
"Do you guys do sandwiches?" Jay asked her.
"We do, sir," she said. "Pheasant and otherwise."
Jay's grin lit his eyes. "How about ham and cheese?"
She nodded. "Of course. With crisps?"
"Salt and vinegar, thanks. Don't worry about installing them. I'll do that."
"Very good, sir. I won't be long." She headed for the door, prompt and efficient. As it swung shut behind her, Alastair caught the distinct first two steps of a skip, and then she vanished.
Jay's arms slid around his waist. "Tip that girl when we leave, will you? I like her."
"I'm very happy, Jay. With how things are."
Jay flicked the ash from his cigarette, scattering it into the breeze. He was leaning with his forearms on the balustrade of the South Terrace, admiring the view in the white and chilly sunshine. It was beautiful here—the kind of place where you could forget you had work the next day. It was a place where the soul might get comfortable.
And comfortable, it was getting.
He'd thought of little else but Alastair since they parted at the door of the suite. Two hours had since gone by, thought by thought and memory by memory—sleeping, curled up close all night; Alastair whimpering his name during sex; resting together in the bath, cradling Alastair's head against his shoulder, stroking his hair with wet fingers.
It was hard to move his mind onto anything else. With every night they spent together, he only wanted Alastair more.
Sir Alastair, Jay thought, dragging on his cigarette. Commissioner of the Met. Mercedes S-Class, three piece suits.
Sometimes whimpers and pleads for rough.
The explosive sex wasn't actually the surprising part, even if the memories alone were enough to heat Jay's blood. He'd suspected a full weekend with Alastair might get a little playful.
The real surprise was everything else.
This was their third day together in a row—and it felt just as comfortable and easy as the first. London was long gone. Jay hadn't thought about what awaited him back in the city all day. He and Alastair were alone here in luxury at the edge of the world, no distractions, no worries, and when Alastair was briefly absent, all Jay wanted to think about was him. There was no sense of relief at having a few hours to himself. He didn't want to find some space for a while. The thought of his cramped and cluttered flat didn't bring him any joy. Tonight, trying to get to sleep, he already knew he'd be thinking about Alastair and missing the perfect hours they'd shared, the sleepy peace of their suite, the way Alastair sought his gaze, listened to him fondly as he spoke.
