Page 36 of After Felix (Close Proximity #3)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

FELIX

It’s late when we wind our way back to the hotel, and I don’t mind admitting that I’m knackered.

We seem to have walked the length and breadth of Venice today, and I’ve fallen in love with the city.

It’s indescribably beautiful, with its old buildings that seem to be in danger of tumbling into the water at any moment.

The whole place has an air of timelessness.

Every time we’d rounded a corner, I’d been sure we’d come across some masked aristocrats on their way to a hedonistic ball.

Max has been a good guide, which isn’t surprising, because if you turned him upside down and shook him, stories would come tumbling out. He knows Venice like the back of his well-travelled and badly behaved hand, so I’m sure I’ve seen a side of the city that tourists rarely do.

Every few minutes, he’d drag me down some picturesque alley or back street, finding unique experiences beyond the well-trod tourist spots, with the air of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

He’d waited patiently as I goggled at each place—like the opulent Doge’s Palace or the beautiful Saint Mark’s Basilica—regaling me with facts and insisting on taking hundreds of pictures .

He treated me to peach Bellinis in the famous Harry’s Bar, a dark little place that had apparently been frequented by everyone from Ernest Hemingway to Charlie Chaplin.

The Bellinis were lovely, with the sweetness of fresh peaches cutting through the tart prosecco, and we drank them as he regaled me with some extremely scurrilous tales of an Italian politician he’d seen in here with his two mistresses.

Then he whisked me to a little restaurant in a quiet square where only locals went, and we ate bigoli in salsa—a thick spaghetti in an anchovy sauce.

As the day draws to a close, a melancholy descends.

Our time together has a limit. Tomorrow is the conference, and then we’ll be back in England, and then when the two months are up, I’ll have to go back to the agency.

He’ll return to his conquests, and I’ll have to pack away the maelstrom of feelings he’s raised in me again and get on with my life.

Being with him here has been a pleasure-pain all its own.

In this city, I’ve been given a view of what it would have been like if we’d worked as a couple, and it’s wonderful and everything I secretly wanted.

I’ve imagined how it would be to spend my days hearing his warm, rough voice and listening to his laughter that seems to fill a whole room.

The problem that tortures me is that our circumstances haven’t changed.

Not really. Max turns me into a fool who dreams of being with him like this for eternity—traveling and laughing or just sitting in his cosy fairy-tale cottage.

But this isn’t a fairy tale—Max hasn’t suddenly gained the ability to fall head over heels in love with me.

The shadow of Ivo still looms between us, and Ivo-shaped shadows do not belong in the happy-ever-afters I’ve dreamed about.

I frown as I think back on the times he’s mentioned Ivo on this trip.

And my thoughts surprise me. Because Max has actually brought him up in passing a few times.

I realise suddenly that this is something that has changed about Max.

Back when we’d been together, he never spoke of Ivo.

No matter how hard I steered a conversation in Ivo’s direction, Max would veer away from the subject like a startled horse.

“Felix?”

I look up to find Max watching me .

“You alright?” he asks. “You were far away.”

“Oh, yes.” I clear my throat of hoarseness. “Just wondering whether you intend to walk to the mainland tonight.”

“So snippy,” he says affectionately. “Come on. We can shortcut down here.”

“You don’t sound very sure,” I call as I follow him down a narrow alleyway.

He looks back and grins. “That’s because I’m not. Last time I took this route, I was pissed out of my tree.”

“When weren’t you pissed out of your tree?” I mutter, avoiding the hanging tendrils of a plant. “You’d have given Lindsay Lohan a run for her money.”

He laughs. “I’m always amazed I didn’t take a header into the water.”

“That’s because you’re like a cat. Only with ninety lives.”

And I thank God for every one of them , I think with a passionate fervour that brings a flush to my cheeks.

He shrugs. “Considering some of the scrapes I’ve been in, someone must have been looking after me.”

“Whoever it was is probably in rehab now, Max. You should send a fruit basket.”

I’m grateful for his laughter because it covers up the turmoil of my feelings.

It’s so easy to imagine Max taking a faulty step or three and tumbling into the water or in front of a car.

He’d been reckless for years. I might never have met this big, warm man, never heard his laugh, never had all his attention beam on me like a lighthouse, illuminating parts of me that nobody else ever bothered to see.

We come out onto a path, the canal stretching ahead of us.

The water slops gently, and the houses crowd over us, big and narrow with their tall windows.

Voices and music come from one house, bright windows sending lozenges of colour over us and illuminating Max’s expression as he gazes into my eyes.

I look up at his handsome face, watch the breeze tousling his wavy hair, and suddenly it’s all too much.

“Max,” I whisper.

I slam into him, pushing him against the dark building beside us and pressing my lips against his.

For a second, we both still in surprise, and then he groans loudly and opens his mouth to my tongue.

Everything instantly dies away—all my thoughts and worries—replaced by a surge of the delicious heat we’ve always generated together.

A sudden feeling of sweet relief makes tears prick my eyes.

Nobody has ever felt so right against me, as though I’m made for just him.

I sag against him and he gives another deep groan and grabs me closer, kissing me furiously, his good hand roving all over me as if he’s familiarising himself with some terrain he used to know well.

I don’t know how long we kiss for, but when he pulls back, our panting breaths are loud and humid between us, puffing white in the cold air. I shiver, feeling the loss of his heat immediately, and he hugs me to him.

“Felix?” he says hoarsely. There’s a question in his voice and all the answers I can’t ask for yet.

I nod, pressing my head against his shoulder. “Yes,” I say, my voice suddenly clear as I push everything away that’s been clouding my head for two and a half long years. “Yes, Max. Please.”

“You don’t ever have to say please.” He clasps my face and smacks a kiss onto my mouth. I think he meant the kiss as a brief punctuation of his words. But “brief” has never happened with us. He kisses me again. And again. Coming back for more until we’re panting and I push him away.

“Not here,” I whisper.

“Come on.”

I take his hand and let him draw me after him.

The journey back to the hotel seems almost like a dream.

One minute, we’re walking closely together with his arm around me and his scent in my nostrils.

The next, he’s opening the door to our room, pushing me through and slamming me against the wall, then kissing me as I start to strip off our clothes.

We fall onto the bed, still kissing. I’m down to my T-shirt and briefs and one sock, and he’s just in his boxers.

He rolls on top of me, and I wind my legs around his waist, thrusting up at him so our cocks grind together behind their layers of cotton.

I send my hands greedily all over him, trying to relearn a country that I once knew so well, aware that he’s doing the same to me, his cast rough on my skin.

And still, he kisses me, eating at my mouth with a fervour that he never showed before.

His body feels exactly the same, and I moan my pleasure into his mouth, the sound becoming a sharp intake of breath as he pulls back and pulls my cock from my briefs.

He holds it in his long fingers and then bends to lick a stripe up it and rub it gently over his face.

The stubble is a bright prickle of pleasure-pain.

“Oh shit,” I mutter.

He roots his nose at the base, inhaling deeply. “I’ve missed this smell,” he says, looking up at me with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Hardly the pulling technique of the century to call your partner smelly,” I say snootily.

He smiles and I can’t look away, because it’s so completely and utterly tender and looks so right on his handsome face.

“I missed you too,” he says, and the simple honesty in his voice floors me. “Every single day.”

I open my mouth to try and steer us back into the snarky sex we used to have, but lose my train of thought completely as he takes me back into his mouth and starts to suck. My eyes roll to the back of my skull, and I groan loudly.

When I come back to myself, we’re both naked, and he’s lying between my spread legs, his head bobbing as he sucks me with his finger rubbing at a spot inside me that makes my mouth tingle.

I feel the tell-tale tightening in my balls and grab a fistful of his hair. “Max,” I say hoarsely. “Please now.”

He lets my cock go and stares up at me. His lips are full and red and shiny, and his breaths are coming quickly.

“Yes,” he says and leaves the bed briefly to paw through his bag.

He comes back with a condom and the lube, and I roll onto my stomach.

“No,” he says quickly.

I gaze at him over my shoulder. “No, what?”

“I want to see you properly while we fuck. I want to lie on you and be deep inside.”

“Why? ”

The flush on his cheeks is adorable. “No reason.”

“Well, it’s rather missionary, isn’t it?” I say disapprovingly. “Can’t I just send you a picture?”