Ihate that if Pi had been Megan, or any other woman for that matter, I could have spent the taxi ride to my place snogging his face off. Maybe if he were just some random dude, it’d be okay too. But because he’s my teammate and we can’t afford forthe local press to find out about us, I settle for covering my arm with my jacket as my hand slides up his shirt and thumbs the dimples on his lower back.
We’re in a London-style cab with the extra fold down chairs behind the driver, and every thirty seconds or so I have to cross and uncross my legs in the other direction. I’m so ready for this evening’s activities to unfold that all of my blood has diverted to one particular area, and I’m finding it increasingly difficult to focus on Pi’s decoy blow-by-blow analysis of today’s match. Even Pi himself is struggling to maintain his cool. His breaths keep stuttering, and I’ve heard more “ums” and “fucks” in the past ten minutes than I have any word relating to rugby.
“Your housemate?” Pi says when we arrive at my house. He cranes his neck to look up the stairs.
“Sven’s in Munich for some work th—” I don’t get to finish my sentence before his lips are on me.
I only put my jacket on as I was leaving the taxi, but he’s already pushing it over my shoulders and letting it fall to the ground.
“We’re just gonna do this the once, yeah? Get it out of our systems?” he asks, for the eightieth time in twenty minutes. He needs to absolve himself of the guilt he’s feeling, and honestly, I’m willing to tell him whatever he wants to hear right now.
“Of course, princess. Upstairs?”
“Can I . . . clean up first?” he asks.
Pi’s in my bathroom for almost half an hour. I don’t know what he’s doing, and I’m certain he’s taking longer than he needs to, but he hums what I think isThe Next Generationopening tune to himself. He’s happy.
I use the downtime to change my sheets, because it’s been a month, probably, and if I’m shoving his face into the mattress, the least I can do is freshen them up for him.
A moment later, he steps into my bedroom wearing only his pants and socks. He places the rest of his clothing in a neat pile on top of my drawers. I waste no time stripping down to match his state of undress, and go one further by taking my boxers off and kicking them aside.
I walk over to him, cradle his nape, and kiss him tenderly, gently, achingly. The merest brush of lips on lips. I break the caress, my fingers still entwined in the back of his hair.
Jesus fuck, he’s beautiful.
“I’m gonna fucking ruin you, princess. Absolutely destroy you. Are you ready?”
“So fucking ready.” He pulls off the last of his clothing and sits on the edge of the mattress, his tanned feet scrunching and flexing on the shag of my rug. He rakes a palm down his abdomen and strokes his cock slowly.
I watch him for a while, and wonder if one day he’d let me film him fucking his own hand, then I shake the thought from my head. There’s no one day. No sometime in the future. There’s only now. I motion for him to get on his knees. He does, and our naked bodies press together as we kiss again. What begins as a patient and gentle embrace quickly evolves into something a little more frantic, feral, desperate, final.
This will be the only time we fuck. He has a girlfriend now. I have to keep reminding myself of that. And I have to keep pausing and reminding myself to stay present. Tell my brain to soak up every minute detail of him, like our hot breaths mingling, the moisture sandwiched between our bellies and his fingers gripping my flesh as though I might float away on a current. He has a fucking girlfriend now. And I fucking set him up with her.
This is the first and last time this will happen.
We break the kiss, breathless, and I roll on a condom. Pi watches me. He never stops stroking himself. It’s like he’s onautopilot and it’s wildly hot. I apply lube to myself the same way I would have done with any other lover.
“We might want more than that,” he informs me. “I’ve tried it at home and I needed loads more than I thought I would.”
I squeeze out more. So much that my hand is dripping onto my fresh sheets. So much that Pi starts giggling.
“Right, princess, turn around,” I order him. “I need to fill that perfect little hole of yours.”
He turns and immediately drops to his elbows, sticking his ass in the air.
“Damn.” I bite my fist. “That’s a beautiful sight right there. Holy Crickets St Thomas.”
He laughs. “What the fuck?”
“It’s a village near Chard.”
“My dude.” Pi looks over his shoulder at me, arching his back and popping his backside out even more. I miss all his next words. I’m pretty sure he says something like, “Why are you always talking about Chard when we’re naked?” but he could’ve been requesting instructions to poach eggs for all I was paying attention.
“Fucking hell, look at you.” I swipe the excess lube onto his hole and push as much of it in with my thumb as I can. “I’m gonna . . . like . . . stretch you?”
“Okay,” he says, breathless.
“No, I’m asking. Should I stretch you? You know more than I do at this point.”
