Page 38 of Elite Connections: an LGBTQ Romance Charity Anthology

“How is married life treating you?”Otis puts two plates on the table and sits.

I grab a bacon and egg butty off my plate and sink my teeth into it. I moan, fluttering my lashes.

Otis laughs. “Haven’t had one of those in a while, have you?”

I shake my head as I finish my mouthful.

“You’ll have to come over more often. How long has it been since you ran off to Vegas to get hitched? A month?”

“About that. I didn’t run.”

“Oh, no, you flew. In a ruddy private jet. How could I forget?”

I roll my eyes.

“Why the lack of bacon and egg butties?”

“Harper doesn’t cook. At all. He has a chef on retainer. He prepares meals in advance, and all we have to do is heat them.”

“Oh, the hardship.”

I scowl. “I’m not used to it, and the food is fancy. There’s nothing normal like this.” I gesture at the half-eaten butty. “I haven’t even had spag bol since I got married.”

Otis cackles. “Being married is hard work, then?”

“No.” I take another bite, swallow it, and chase it down with water. “It’s been more fun than I thought it would be.” I smile as I stare into the middle distance.

“Uh-huh. Here’s a wild suggestion. Why don’t you offer to cook for your husband?”

“I have, but he says I don’t need to.”

“There’s a massive difference between need and want. You need to be more assertive, Bailey. Don’t ask him if you can cook. Tell him you’re cooking for him. Then make him a bacon and egg butty and watch him melt like butter in the palm of your hand.”

“That wouldn’t happen.”

“You could teach him how to cook.”

“I doubt he’d want me to.”

“Don’t give him a choice.”

I laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is. Tell me about him.”

Harper is a topic I’m happy to talk about.

“He’s amazing. Kind and generous. He’s out of touch with reality, but that’s part of his charm. He’s been great about me continuing to volunteer. He even donated money to the charities I work with.”

“I bet it was pocket change to him.”

“Hm, maybe.”

“What have you been up to?”

“Aside from volunteering?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve had dinner with his parents three times.”

Otis makes a face like he’s been burnt. “Ouch, Bailey. That must have been torture.”

“No. They’re a bit overbearing, especially Harper’s mum, but they mean well.”

“Been to any fancy parties? Film premiers? That sort of thing?”

“We went to a penthouse suite together. An acquaintance of his organised it.”

“You had to act like a couple all evening?”

“Yes. It wasn’t hard.”

Otis narrows his eyes. “You like him.”

I straighten. “He’s a nice guy. It would be hell living with him if we didn’t get along.”

“It’s more than that. You want to sleep with him.” He gasps. “You have slept with him.”

“No. I haven’t. And I’m not going to.”

“Why the fuck not?”

I glare at him. “What do you mean?”

“Why aren’t you going to sleep with him?

“Because this is a work contract. I don’t sleep with my clients.”

He snorts. “This is different.”

“How?”

“You’re married, Bailey. Besides, a year is a long time to go without sex.”

I shake my head.

“If you’re going to get a sore wrist, it might as well be from jacking him off instead of yourself. Does he like you?”

I collect our empty plates and take them to the sink.

“Washing up to avoid answering my question. Helpful and mature.” Otis leans against the counter next to the sink, arms folded. “Does he like you?”

“I think so.”

It’s not necessarily one thing that shows he’s as interested in me as I am in him. He asks me how my night at the shelter has gone and is attentive when I tell him. He wants to practise kissing before going out in public. He holds my hand, touches my thigh or knee, and cups my cheek when we kiss in public. He looks me up and down when I join him and his personal trainer to do yoga. I check him out too. His yoga pants are tight-fitting.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Otis asks. “Go home and jump your husband’s bones.”

“I can’t. It would be unprofessional.”

We had an agreement that our marriage wouldn’t come with benefits.

Otis grasps my left hand and waves it in front of my eyes. “See these rings? You’re married to him, Bailey. The normal rules don’t apply.”

“Yes, they do.”

“Only if you insist on it. If you’re attracted to him, and he’s attracted to you, who do you hurt by fucking? You’re consenting adults. And. You’re. Married.” He releases my hand.

“Otis—” I can’t find the words.

“I’m waiting to hear your counterargument.”

I don’t have one beyond the one I’ve already given. It would be unprofessional to sleep with Harper.

“You want to sleep with him,” Otis whispers.

I do.

“Do you think he’s a top or a bottom?”

“I’m not having that conversation with you.”

“Aw, you’re no fun. He could be versatile. Vers guys are the most fun.”

“Will you shut up?”

Otis waggles his eyebrows. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? Trying to figure out what position your millionaire would most like to be in.”

“You’re crass.”

“And proud of it.”

I sit on the sofa. “This conversation is over.”

Otis joins me. “Tell him you want to sleep with him.”

I put my hand in front of his face. “We’re not talking about this anymore.”

Otis laughs and scoops up the TV remote. “How long can you stay?”

“As long as I want. He’s my husband, not my keeper.”

“Aw, so you don’t have a curfew?”

I scowl. “No.”

“Wanna play a game?”

“Sure.”

“Racing or fighting?”

“Fighting. I’m more likely to win by button mashing than skill.”

Otis cackles. “A fighting game it is.”

* * *

I let myself in the front door on the off chance Harper is around. Silly, maybe, but I want to catch up with him and make sure he’s had a good day while I’ve been hanging out with Otis. I’m not going to ‘jump his bones’ as Otis suggested. It wouldn’t be right.

“Hello, husband.”

I smile. After a month of Harper calling me that at least once a day, I’m used to it. It’s cute, especially when he says it with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever puppy.

“Hi. Good day?”

“Yes. I have a surprise for you.”

I raise my eyebrows. “A surprise?”

Harper grins. “Close your eyes.”

“Um, okay.”

I close my eyes. His shoes clickclack on the marble flooring as he comes closer. His chest brushes against my back as he covers my eyes with his hands, his soft breath warming my cheek.

“This way.”

He nudges me forward, manoeuvring me through the house slowly.

“Don’t open your eyes.”

He removes one hand. I could peek, but I don’t. The patio door opens with a whoosh. A cold breeze caresses my face. We’re going into the garden. My heartbeat increases. What kind of surprise could be waiting for me in the garden? Knowing Harper, it’s probably something extravagant and crazy.

He puts his hand over my eyes again. “Walk forwards.”

I obey. After a few steps, the texture under my shoes changes from unyielding to springy. We’re on the lawn. The grass rustles. The wind is cold.

Harper stops us. “Wait there. No peeking.” He removes his hands. The warmth of his body moves away from me. A click, the crunch of grass, and then he’s by my side again. “You can open your eyes now, husband.”

My pulse races as I blink my eyes open.

“Surprise!”

We’re in front of a garden room which wasn’t there this morning. It has open patio doors and two huge windows. Lights are on inside, revealing a fully equipped art studio.

“Do you like it? I hope you love it.” Harper grabs my hand and pulls me inside. “I didn’t know what medium you like to work with, so I got everything I could think of. Sketching pencils, watercolours, oil paints, pastels, acrylic, and charcoal. Who knew there were so many different types of paper? I got you canvases too. The bulbs are daylight ones, so you can work in here when it’s dark. There’s heating for winter, lots of ventilation, and a ceiling fan for summer, so it will be usable all year round. I would have had it installed sooner, but I needed to wait until I knew you were going to be out of the house all day. Funnily enough, no one wanted to install an art studio in the middle of the night.” He spins around with a huge grin. “Do you love it?”

My chest hurts. My heart is quivering. My chin is trembling. Tears prickle the backs of my eyes, and a ball of emotion is lodged in my throat. I can’t breathe, let alone talk.

“Why?” I manage.

“To make you happy.”

Why the fuck does he think he’s not husband material?

“It’s amazing, thank you, but I don’t—I haven’t?—”

“Created any artwork since your parents kicked you out.”

“I never said that.”

“I figured it out. Unless I put two and two together to make three.”

“You’re almost right. I was doing art GCSE, so I didn’t stop right away. But after my exams, once I was on the streets…I didn’t have the materials or the will to create anything beautiful when everything was so dark.”

“And after you’d got back on your feet, why didn’t you pick up painting or photography then?”

I shrug. “I—don’t know. I doodled from time to time, but it never amounted to anything.” I clench my fists and turn my back on him. “I’m sorry, Harper. This is amazing and thoughtful, but it’s wasted on me.”

He steps in front of me, puts his fingers under my chin, and gently tilts my face up. He moves his hand to my hip. “It’s not a waste. Maybe you’re not ready to use it today. Maybe you won’t be tomorrow either. But it’ll be here when you are ready.” He kisses my forehead. “I didn’t mean to make you sad. I’m sorry. I tend to get crazy ideas and act on them without thinking. You might not have noticed that about me.”

I laugh. “I had. It’s one of the things I like about you.”

“Really? It drives Clive and my family crazy.”

I sniff and cup his cheek. “Don’t ever stop being you, Harper.”

An overwhelming desire to kiss him washes over me. I should resist, but I don’t. I close my eyes and press my lips to his, pouring my gratitude and sadness into the kiss. He wraps his arms around me, tugging me closer. Our mouths open, and our tongues dance.

I pull away from the kiss and his arms, stumbling backwards. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have?—”

He grasps my hand and pulls me against him. “Don’t be sorry. I’ve been wanting to kiss you properly for a long time.”

He kisses me in earnest. I respond with equal fervour, reacting to the movement of his lips and the flick of his tongue. He walks me backwards until my back hits the wall. He presses against me and deepens the kiss. I wrap my arms around him. We grind against one another, our cocks hardening despite our restrictive clothing. We break apart long enough to inhale and stare into each other’s eyes, but then our lips collide once more.

I need him.

I want him.

I slip my hand between us and undo his trousers. My brain stutters. I break the kiss and pull my hand away.

“It’s okay.” He kisses my jaw. “I want this too. But we can stop if you want. I’m not going to do anything you’re not one hundred per cent comfortable with.”

“When we first met, we agreed there would be no sex.”

“We did. I suggested it so you’d know I wasn’t expecting sex. I suggested it so you wouldn’t feel obliged to sleep with me. But we’re consenting adults, so if we want to fool around, why shouldn’t we?”

Otis said the same thing. I’ve never had sex with a client, but it’s different with Harper. Everything is different with him. Is there any reason we shouldn’t when we want each other?

“You’re suggesting we change our agreement?” I ask.

It was only ever a verbal agreement. A statement made the night we met. The prenuptial I signed specified we couldn’t have sex with other people while we were married. It said nothing about having or not having sex with each other.

“If you want to.”

“I want. Oh, God, Harper, I want you.”

“I want you too, Bay.”

Wait. What? “Bay?”

“It popped into my head as a sweet pet name for you.”

It’s all sweet. The nickname, the art studio. Harper is the sweetest man alive and doesn’t even realise it.

“Would you rather I stuck with snookums?”

A laugh bubbles out of me. “Please don’t ever call me snookums again. Especially not in public.”

“You like it.”

“I don’t.” I smile. “But I do like Bay.”

“So I can keep calling you it?”

“Yes.”

Our mouths collide in a heart-stopping kiss. He grinds against me, and I reciprocate, gasping at the hardness of his cock. Is he aching for me as much as I am for him?

He undoes my jeans and pushes them and my underwear over my hips so my cock and arse are free. I suck in a breath and then do the same to his clothes. We press together once more, kissing as we stroke each other off lazily at first, but as our kiss intensifies, we work our hands faster, using each other’s pre-cum for lubrication. Our breathing is hot and heavy. Our chests heave. Urgent whimpers and moans fall from our lips, swallowed up by each other’s mouths. I come far too quickly. Harper follows seconds later. We gasp and groan, our cocks pulsing and jerking as cum splatters onto our hands and clothes. We stare at each other, breathing hard.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“No regrets?”

I shake my head. “You?”

“None. You’re fucking gorgeous, Bay. I loved making you come undone.”

I lick my lips. “Same.” I want more. I want to get on my knees and suck him off until he comes again. I want him to do the same to me. I want to fuck him and have him fuck me.

“I should have put plumbing out here, but that would have taken more than one day. There’s no sink, so I can’t clean us up. Sorry.”

“We can clean up in the house. Give me a moment. My legs are wobbling.”

He grins. “Mine too.”