Page 33 of Charlie Sunshine (Close Proximity #2)

“And maybe at another time we’d have crashed and burned. Everything happens in its own time, Charlie.”

He bends and kisses me, scrambling my thoughts and stealing my breath. When he pulls back, he smiles at me. It’s extremely fucking potent at this distance. “Thank you,” he says and sits up. “So, what are we seeing?” he asks excitedly.

I shake my head at him. “Some Shakespeare shit. Tickets are in the bedside drawer. You can see for yourself.”

“ Yes ,” he says and knee walks across the bed, leaning forwards to scrabble through the drawer.

I watch as the sheet slips away, leaving him nude, and reach down and fist my cock which is hardening nicely.

We’ve got time for a shag , I think lazily before I notice that his whole body has stiffened.

I don’t have any time for any other thoughts before he whirls around, and I see what he’s holding.

“Oh shit,” I say.

“Care to tell me why there’s a pair of lace knickers in here that look very much like a pair I lost after the weekend in Brighton?”

“Oh… yes. Well… shit!”

He arches one dark eyebrow. “Well, that’s a very erudite explanation, Misha.”

I scramble to sit and hold my hands out defensively. “I can explain.”

“Yes, I believe that’s what I’m waiting for.”

I draw in a deep breath. Why the fuck didn’t I remember those knickers were in there?

“Harry threw them at me in Brighton in the hotel corridor. Then I punched him in the face and we shouted at each other a lot. Another resident complained about the noise, and so Harry and I talked and then he left me with them.”

A stunned silence falls. His hand tightens around the cherry-red lace until his knuckles turn white.

I bite my lip. “Erm–”

“Am I to believe that my boyfriend at the time showed you these knickers just before you informed him that he was my ex-boyfriend? And then you kept the knickers in your bedside table and never said a bloody word to me in all this time?”

His cheeks are red and his eyes stormy, and I decide immediately to go on the defensive.

“And when were we supposed to have that conversation? When you were having the turns or while you were with your mum? ”

“How about in the last couple of weeks that we’ve been together?” he shouts. Charlie rarely shouts.

“Are you angry with me?” I say tentatively. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I never knew how to bring it up.”

“What? That I’m a freak?”

“You’re not a fucking freak ,” I say, anger seizing me.

“Who the fuck told you that?” My vision darkens.

“It was that wanker Harry, wasn’t it?” I hurl myself off the bed.

“Oh my God , he made you ashamed when it’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

All the times I’ve wanked over them, and you think I’d call you names?

” I grab my jeans. “I’m going to fucking kill him.

I’m going to take those knickers and push them down his bloody throat and–”

“Misha.” Charlie’s voice intrudes on my rant.

He’s kneeling naked on the side of the bed, the knickers clenched in his hand. His cheeks match the cherry-red of the lace and his eyes are low-lidded. His cock is hard, but I tear my gaze away before I get distracted.

“You thought it was sexy? You wanked over them?” he says huskily.

I stand absolutely still. “It depends,” I say cautiously. “On whether that’s sexy or perverted.”

“Both,” he offers.

“Oh well, then, I definitely wanked over them.” I nod a couple of times. “ All the time. Every night.”

“Come here,” he says hoarsely.

I trip over my jeans trying to get to him.

“Shut up,” I say direly, and he forces his smile away.

I climb on the bed next to him and draw him to me.

I’m cautious at first but when he hugs me back, I grab him fiercely.

I kiss the side of his head and then his lips, feeling the soft fullness and nipping it gently.

He moans, and I slide my hands down to cup his backside.

“It’s so sexy,” I whisper. “Makes me hard to think of you in them.”

“Really?” He pulls back. “Some men don’t like it.”

“I’m not some bloke,” I say harshly. “I’m your bloke.”

“I know,” he whispers. “And you really like it?” he asks again.

I grab his hand and pull it down to my erection. “I like it,” I say hoarsely. “Just thinking of you in those knickers did that to me.” He fists my cock, sliding his hand up and down, and I arch into his hand. “Yes, like that,” I mutter.

He looks down at the movement of his hand. “Harry said it was weird,” he says in a small voice that breaks my heart.

I reach down and remove his hand, lifting it to kiss his fingers. “Don’t talk about your ex when you’re holding my dick,” I say, and he smiles a little. I let his hand go and cup his face. “Charlie, that was his problem and certainly not yours. You are the sexiest man I’ve ever known.”

He looks up, doubt in his face.

“You are, Charlie. I know because I’ve been with a few men.

” When he gives me his skeptical expression, I huff.

“Okay, a lot of men. But I’ve never had sex the way we have it.

” I search for words. “It’s so hot and intense and real.

It’s the realest thing I’ve ever felt. And every second of it I feel connected to you on a deep level and that’s the first time I’ve ever had that.

And if you want to wear lace knickers, I think it’s the hottest fucking thing ever. Because it’s you , Charlie.”

“Really?” he says almost shyly. “I don’t wear them all the time. Just sometimes I like to feel… pretty.”

“Sunshine, you’re the prettiest man I know, and just the thought of your gorgeous body with those panties cupping your cock and snuggling your balls …” I swallow hard and shudder. “Fuck, I could come just from the thought.”

“You’re really turned on,” he says wonderingly, a smile dawning on his face.

It’s sly and wicked and fucking amazing on those handsome features, and I love that I’m the only person who sees it.

Just like I love that I see him grumpy and irritable occasionally.

It’s a privilege to see beneath the shiny exterior he shows to the rest of the world.

“How about I wear some tonight?” he whispers in my ear, making me shudder and arch against him. “I can wear them and all night you’ll be the only person to know what’s under my clothes.”

“I’ve created a monster,” I say wonderingly.

He takes me down onto the bed and then straddles me, his dick hard and rubbing against my own. “Your monster,” he says, his gaze lowered to watch our dicks slide together .

“Only mine?” I say suddenly, an awful thought occurring to me. I twist my hand gently in his hair and raise his face. “Nobody else for you. I want you to be mine.”

The flush deepens on his cheeks. “Only yours and you’re only mine,” he vows and then he bends to kiss me.

Promises made in the no-man’s-land between arguing and sex. I like the us we’re creating , I have time to think, and then it’s a haze of fucking.

A few hours later, and I’d kiss a complete stranger’s feet for the chance to be back in bed. I don’t think Shakespeare is for me any more now than when I was at school. He uses four thousand words to say something that probably only needed four.

Admittedly, the Globe is beautiful. Founded by the actor Sam Wanamaker, it’s a reconstruction of the Elizabethan playhouse where Shakespeare’s plays were performed.

Even I can sense that its atmosphere is special.

A huge stage with a wooden floor draws the eye, and in front of it, open to the elements, is the standing area for the audience.

Those poor sods not only run the risk of getting rained on, but the actors seem to use them as props, maneuvering around them before their entrances or standing amongst them.

Charlie seemed to think it would be wonderful to watch from there, but I vetoed it.

Shakespeare is bad enough at a distance, let alone having it bawled down your ear while your legs go to sleep.

We’re sitting at the front in the covered tiers of seating. It’s a chilly night, but the way we’re crowded into the seats means we’re sharing body warmth, so it’s not a huge problem. I shift position on the wooden bench and then shift again.

Charlie’s practically hanging over the railing looking at the crowd below. It’s intermission and noisy. He shoots me a glance. “You alright there? You look like you’ve got ants in your pants.”

“Where does that saying even come from? Who exactly was walking around in history with ants in their boxers?”

He settles back on the bench and whispers in my ear, “Well, think how you’d feel if you’d had your arse rammed just before we came out?”

“ Rammed ? Oh, Charlie, I do love it so when you use your big librarian words. Talk to me about the Dewey Decimal System next. You know how that gets me going.”

He laughs. “You’re not worthy of my library speak. It brings all the boys to my yard.” I chuckle quietly and he shakes his head. “I don’t know why you’re so uncomfortable anyway. We’ve got cushions.”

“Which I can’t believe we had to rent. Who gives you a seat and then makes you pay for the upholstery?”

“Stop complaining. You bankers are all the same. Money, money, money.”

I smile at him. “You enjoying yourself?”

His face brightens. “So much. Thank you, Misha.”

“You’re welcome.”

He turns back to the stage as the actors return, and I settle back on my rented cushion.

I still don’t understand one fucking bit of what’s going on.

During the first few scenes, I’d thought about work to make the evening pass quicker, but the atmosphere of the place has worked its magic on me.

That, and the pleasure of watching Charlie’s face—his expression is lit up, completely absorbed with the performance .

I would sit on hard benches for an eternity for that alone.