Page 26 of Silver Lining (London Love #6)

I wasn’t sure who started kissing who first, but that was where we suddenly found ourselves, dancing gently across the floor while I tugged at his shirt, desperate to get my hands on his bare chest. To comb my fingers through all that soft hair. Touch those dark nipples.

I had no idea why I found them attractive, but I did. I found the curves of his chest fascinating. The strong lines down his arms.

Strong. He might have been an older guy, but he was strong. Built. Handsome as anything. I agreed with Jean.

Silver fox.

More than that, I loved how gentle he was with me, and again, Jean had it right. He treated me like I was…precious. Every little kiss down my neck, my shoulders. His hands on my hips, softly holding me in place against the kitchen worktop…

I wanted. Needed. And I was once again thinking about Jean, which made me burst out giggling.

“Jean will be coming down for a glass of water any minute now.”

“Will she now?” he teased, another kiss on my jaw.

“So we should probably…”

“Take this downstairs,” he finished my sentence, nudging me towards the door. “Bring your phone.”

“Okay.”

I grabbed it, turning off the lights as I went, checked the front door. Normal things, even though this was not normal. It felt it, though. It felt right. Very much so .

“Are you still taking me down the pub?” I queried, suddenly remembering his earlier promise.

“Yes,” he mumbled, walking backwards down the stairs, my hand in his, his belt hanging open.

I wondered what he was about to do to me.

“I’m going to look after you, Dylan Scotland,” he whispered. Kisses. Deep ones on my mouth.

I liked it. I liked that he wanted me, because I could feel that. And where in the past these things had sometimes frightened me, I felt…calm. So incredibly calm.

“I’m not…very good at this,” I admitted.

“You managed to produce three children. You know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not going to get you pregnant.”

“Well, I sure hope not. Think it would kill me. I never did the newborn stage, but I did foster two grandchildren with more issues than you and me combined. I think I’ve paid my dues.”

“Would you do it again?” I asked, helping him out of his trousers and underpants. Ah, that cock of his, standing proud .

I stroked down his shaft as he took a hitched breath.

“Yes,” he said. “Anything.”

Perhaps he was answering a different question. Maybe I was too. But I fell to my knees, leaving him standing in the middle of the room, naked apart from the socks.

“You’re still wearing socks,” I murmured, pushing my nose against his skin. Smelling him. Deep scents that were so unfamiliar yet not.

Him. He smelled of him. Even down here.

“It’s a thing then. Socks.”

We were making no sense, but I didn’t think it mattered. My bravery, new and unfamiliar, was back, as I let the tip of my tongue taste the root of his cock. Soft skin.

Nothing frightening there. It was just skin, warm and gentle against my lips as I kissed up his shaft.

“Yes,” he said.

I agreed.

More skin. Deeper kisses. Licks up and down, like I knew how this was supposed to be. I’d had it done to me in the past, and I knew how good it could be. How naughty…turned on…it used to make me feel .

Strangely enough, being here on my knees on the hard floor as he fisted my hair, guiding my mouth to where he wanted me, deep down below that cock, over his balls…

I breathed him in, because God, I was hard. Doing this was making me aroused.

I wondered why, but perhaps it was just what it was.

His hands around the back of my head as I slowly allowed the tip of his cock inside my mouth.

Soft. That wrinkly slit wobbling against my tongue as I tasted it.

Prodded gently inside. Other tastes and scents. I didn’t mind. Absolutely didn’t mind.

I didn’t go deep, just swirled my tongue around him, the sounds coming from his mouth egging me on. Small, gentle movements as I bobbed up and down. Moved. Explored different angles. Let him dip into my cheek, then out again. And the other one as my tongue played along.

Hard, deep breaths. His grip on my head growing firmer. Tugging at my hair with every movement. Begging.

He didn’t need words. I understood.

My hands were firmly on his thighs, and I enjoyed that, the feel of his leg muscles under my fingertips, my erection straining against my boxers .

I wanted out of these clothes. Needed his skin against mine.

Also…

“Dyl,” he started. A gentleman’s warning, I supposed.

I’d been right, as he tensed up, a roar coming out of his mouth from somewhere deep down in his stomach.

I caught the first shot in the roof of my mouth, went back for more, the surprise making me smile.

I was doing this, and he was probably right. I knew what I was doing.

Maybe I always had. Maybe this wasn’t as big of a challenge as I’d made it in my head.

I pulled off, only to catch another warm squirt on my cheek.

I guided it into my mouth with my finger, as per some kind of instinct.

On my knees on the floor, my bones screaming in discomfort. I barely noticed, with my hand down my trousers, trying to find my dick, give myself what I needed—this time with the taste of salty warmth still on my tongue .

I looked up at him as I swallowed, and he was right there, meeting my gaze with his mouth hanging slack.

He didn’t say a word. Just bent down, grabbed me under my arms, and lifted me up on my feet.

Knees. Screaming.

He was strong, and I was grateful for that as he put me down on the bed, going straight for my belt. My hand was still stuck down there, until he released me and tugged my boxers down.

Then he went straight in, zero hesitation, my dick suddenly engulfed in wet warmth as my mouth sang out a cacophony of syllables.

Hands tugging at his hair. Both of them.

My erection? I couldn’t even think straight.

Dick. In. Mouth.

Spunk? In mine.

Fuck.

Not particularly straight at all.

I giggled, then roared, spluttered out nonsense, my hands following his movements .

Sucking me bone dry. Skin. Everywhere.

My hips did that thing again, where my body seemed to spasm. Everything was dark and white and unfathomable as my orgasm tore through me.

That wasn’t new. I’d come. Many times. With Veronica. The girl in college. That other girl at the party.

Mouths. Vaginas. Sex.

And now this man, whose head was resting heavily against my groin.

I couldn’t feel my knees.

I could feel everything else, though. All of it. Every molecule in the universe suddenly at a standstill.

“Stewart,” I whispered.

“Yes,” he whispered back, still lying there.

Grey hair against my darker frizz. His fingertip tracing the line of hair towards my navel, the damp heat of his palm warm against my stomach.

“Did…we just…?”

“God, I hope we did. It wasn’t a dream then?”

“A dream?” I laughed as he slowly got to his feet .

I hadn’t realised he’d been half on the floor. What were we like?

“I’m not sure my knees are up for blow jobs.”

He climbed onto the bed, laid himself down next to me. My trousers were still around my ankles, and I was still wearing my socks.

“We need to figure out this clothes thing,” he said. “It’s very complicated.”

“Agree.” I giggled again, like a child, my arms snaking around him, getting him comfortable against my chest, his hands still roaming my skin.

I liked it. I liked it so much.

“I love you, Dylan. You don’t have to say it back. I just want you to know how special you are. Every day, a little bit more.”

“I know,” I said, hugging him a little tighter. “And for the record?”

“Yes?”

I kissed him. Held him. Moved until we were chest to chest, tangled up in some kind of impossible twist.

One. Him and me .

“We’ve got this,” I said, with sudden conviction. “We’ve got this, and it will be really good. Whatever the future holds, we’ve got this.”

“Absolutely.”

“And I love you too.”

“Good.”

I didn’t need to say more because he smiled, and my heart was beating, calm and steady, my breath still a little hitched.

I needed to get fitter. Maybe start running again.

“Do you play tennis?” I asked.

“After sex?”

He made me happy. What a weird feeling that was.

“Blow jobs are good.”

“Yup.”

“You’re good.”

“Never had one before.”

I had to lean back, look him in the eye.

“You have now. And I think you’re right. We’re good at this.”

“I think…” He rubbed his nose. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun. You and me.”

“Agreed.”

“What did you say about tennis?”

“I have no idea. No idea why I asked. Drawn a blank there.”

We sounded like we were signing a deal, agreeing on full legal representation for a future site. Madness.

“I think you’re really attractive. And perfect. And you make me feel good.”

“And I think…” He raised himself up on his elbow. “That I have missed out on a lot of things that I should have…perhaps explored in my youth.”

“Explore we can do.” I was starting to sound like Gun Larsen, using weird phrases. Next thing I’d be smoking cigars.

He laughed at that, pulling the duvet over us.

“We should go brush our teeth and all that.”

“Switch the bathroom light off. ”

“Yes, but I can’t be bothered.”

He made me laugh.

But he was right. I reached over, turning the bedside light off as he held me tighter.

Tomorrow. A new day tomorrow.

Everything else could wait.