Page 35 of Dirty Rotten Love

MacLeod says nothing. He finishes tidying. Sets the tray aside. And then he turns and looks at me, and the cabin is very small and quiet, and the North Sea is being calm outside the porthole, and there is nowhere to look except at him.

We look at each other.

The silence grows. It is not the disappointed silence, not the evaluation silence, not any of the silences I have catalogued over the last twelve days with the careful attention of a man learning a language. This is a different silence entirely. It is warm and it is full and it is pulling at something in the center of my chest like gravity.

MacLeod’s eyes drop to my mouth.

And just like that, I close the distance between us with the same instinct that sent me to the mess hall this morning for two bowls of porridge, the same instinct that had me following him up the stairs to the helipad the other night, the same instinct that has been running the show since I knocked on this door at eleven o’clock at night with a desperate smile and a complete absence of a plan.

We are kissing.

And the North Sea is calm outside the porthole and the sun is still shining and it is a rest day, and I have absolutely nowhere better to be.

Chapter fourteen

Mac

Rory’s body is beautiful. Nearly as beautiful as the soul it houses.

He is young, obviously, but it is not just his youth that is enchanting. He is an active man, and the evidence of that is here, under his pale skin. Muscles that proclaim a hard day’s work and not performance at a gym.

The skin on his face and hands is darker than the rest of him. Tan lines from the cold Scottish weather. This is not a body that lounges lazily on a beach. This is the body of a man who wraps up against the cold and gets to work.

Rory’s body tells a story while also being a work of art.

I can barely believe that he is spread out naked on my bed. It feels as if he belongs here, as if it is exactly where he should be. It is a ridiculous thought, but nevertheless, I’m not letting it go. I’m going to keep Rory right here all day, if I can. Forever would be better, but one whole day is a blessing, and I will make it be enough.

Right now, I am exploring every inch of his pale skin with my lips, tongue and teeth. He has hardly any body hair, and the soft, blond hairs that I do find are like finding treasure. I’m tracing the patterns that his freckles make and savoring the taste of him.

Rory is sensitive to my touch. Responsive. His smooth skin dances with goosebumps. He shivers, shudders and moans. All of it is a feast, and I’m a starving man.

I’m giddy with glee, drunk with delight. I barely feel like myself. My thoughts are strange. Freed from their usual well-worn tracks and grooves. I’m seeing things differently, and it is a revelation.

This is by far a better way of spending a rest day than going over procedure manuals. I would choose Rory in my bed over anything. Nothing else is as good as this. Nothing else comes close.

I kiss my way up his neck, over his jaw. He turns towards me, and our lips meet. A groan spills out of me. A deep, rumbling noise that sounds like it comes from my lungs, but I know it in fact comes from my heart.

Kissing Rory Gallacher lights me up. It makes my heart beat and ignites my soul. All the reasons I shouldn’t be doing this seem small, withered and insignificant.

Age? Just a number. The fact I’m his boss? Job titles do not define a person. The knowledge that to Rory this is just a chapter, an awakening? I’m here for it. Being his first is a privilege I will cherish for my entire life. And as for the fact that last time I loved, my heart was shattered and never healed? Well, that can’t be helped. The past is the past, the future is here.

The kiss deepens. Intensifies. It goes on and on. My hunger grows and grows. I can feel Rory growing eager and pliant. He wants me. This dazzling ray of sunshine incarnate, wants me.

It’s not my place to question, doubt or decline. My role is to accept this unexpected blessing gladly and wholeheartedly.

Reluctantly, I break away from our kiss. Rory deserves far more worship than only a kiss.

He whimpers a protest, but allows my lips to leave. His trust in me is explicit. He allows me to lead and graces me by following.

I kiss my way back over his jaw, down his neck, across his chest. I suck a coral-pink nipple into my mouth, and Rory gasps. His back arches, lifting off the mattress and pushing himself closer to me.

My cock throbs. Delight thrums through my veins, racing and twining with the arousal that’s already flooding me. The effect throws me into full lust, and I surrender to the power of desire. I fall, and it feels like flying.

My awareness is limited to soft sounds. The glide of skin on skin. The quality of the light streaming through the porthole that turns Rory’s hair into spun gold.

The sheets rustle. He grunts, I inhale, breathing him in. We are one. Time spins meaninglessly. There is no before, no after. There is only now. Pleasure, sensation, and Rory in my arms. A dreamlike state of pure bliss.

Until a jolt through my flesh startles me to reality. I nearly came, and now I am aware of everything.