Page 39 of Topped

Rupert

Sure, I’d like that. Let me know when you’re on your way?

Rupert

As long as it’s before nine. Maybe ten. I have to get up tomorrow and I know you’ll keep me up late ;)

I shuffled awkwardly in my seat, wondering how much longer I’d have to stay before it would be okay for me to leave. Because I couldn’t leave Rupert waiting too long. It would be rude. And my patience wouldn’t last long either.

Maybe I really did need to learn some manners.

I was sure Rupert would be happy to teach me.

Chapter Fourteen

Rupert

“Hey, sweet—” Milo had barely gotten half the word out before I grabbed the front of his fleece and hauled him against me, crashing our mouths together, vaguely aware of him kicking the front door shut.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” I asked, hissing the words against his lips.

“Are you hard for me, sweetheart?” He pulled back slightly, a shit-eating grin on his face as he slid his hand between us to palm my crotch, drawing a needy moan from my throat. “How long? Since I told you I was leaving the pub? Or the whole time?”

“Fuck you.”

“You can if you want,” he said, pressing his hand against my aching dick and rubbing it through the thin material of my trousers. I didn’t own a lot of casual clothes—apart from pyjamas—but these light, linen, harem trousers were the exception. I’d thrown them on as soon as Milo had messaged me, because I knew they’d be easy to take off once he arrived.

“What?”

“Fuck me. I’m happy to bottom if you want to take your pent-up frustration out on my arse.” He leant close and brushed his lips over mine, the taste of beer lingering on them. “In fact, I want you to.”

“Yeah. I’ll fuck you,” I said, kissing him deeply again and sliding my tongue into his mouth. “I’ll warn you, though. It’s, er, it’s been a while since I’ve topped. I can’t promise I’ll be any good. Or that I’ll last very long.”

It was an embarrassing thing to admit, but I’d rather be honest with him now. In case he wanted to change his mind. After all, I didn’t want this to be a mediocre hook-up that left him wishing he hadn’t bothered.

“Don’t worry, I’m an out-of-practice bottom. We can figure it out together,” he said, smiling as he kissed me. “As long as we have fun, who gives a fuck how long it lasts? Besides, I thought you didn’t want a late night anyway?”

“I don’t, but I don’t want you to be unsatisfied.”

“I won’t be. I’m with you.”

He said it with such certainty, like it was unfathomable a night with me would be anything but amazing. If I’d been walking, it would’ve stopped me in my tracks, disbelief seizing my muscles as I tried to process the consequences of his words.

Maybe I was overthinking—it wouldn’t be the first time—but for him to be so sure, to speak with such confidence, was doing something to my insides I couldn’t quite express. I didn’t think anyone had ever described sex with me like that. I mean, I wasn’t terrible in bed, but the cadence of his tone suggested our last hook-up had been something akin to a life-changing experience.

And that couldn’t be true.

Could it?

“You don’t need to exaggerate,” I said quietly, glad he was too close for me to have to meet his gaze.

“I’m not, I promise. I might be a dramatic, ostentatious wanker, but I’d never joke about something like this. I’m not here to trick you or make you feel bad. I’m here so we can have fun.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “Thank you. And I’m so⁠—”

“Nope, no apologies,” he said. “Sexy times only.”

“Sexy times?”