Page 113 of Hot Ghost Summer

He relinquishes his commanding hold long enough for me to comply.

Arching his eyebrow over the gold rim of his glasses, he asks, “No underwear?”

I take myself in hand, stroking languidly to ease the building pressure. “You told me t’ remember a coat, you said nothing about underwear.”

His smirk almost undoes me.

Stepping to the side, he lifts the wire mesh basket of tanned tea leaves from the teapot. Then fastidiously sets two slices of lemon, both cups and saucers, and the pot on a tray. Without sparing me a glance, he turns his focus to his cuffs and unfastens them as he walks away.

“Bring the tea through to the bedroom, Theo,” he calls over his shoulder.

He’s got his first cuff unbuttoned before I’ve scraped my jaw off the floor. The sculpted muscles of his back flex and ripple as he strides past the sofa.

I stare at the tray of tea. I don’t have to do what he says.

My eyes flick back to Hollis as he disappears down a short but darkened hallway to what I presume is the bedroom. But I want my Sunday morning cup of tea, and he said this was the best to be had in London.

Carefully, I balance the tray and pull my ankles free from my tracksuit bottoms. Concentrating on not spilling any on the nice carpet—and on ignoring the insistent ache from my eager dick—I follow after him. Hollis and a cup of tea in bed sounds bloody perfect.

Moving slower than he did, by the time I make it through to the spacious master bedroom, Hollis has already stripped. He’s propped up in bed wearing only a pair of snug black boxer briefs, long legs crossed at the ankles.

“Set it down over there,” he says, vaguely waving toward a small glass table in front of yet another large window. Thin net curtains hide the view from this one.

When I’m done, I turn to face him and hesitate. Does he want me to pour it? Will he fuck me before we drink the tea, or does he plan on tea first?

“Look at you,” he says, voice dripping with sex appeal. “Lip poking out and everything. Come here before you drown in your own tragedy.”

He holds an arm out wide in invitation, and I crawl onto the foot of the bed. Hollis’s fingertips find my hair first, where they snag a firm grip, and my lips find his knees. I push his legs wide to make space between them, and lick a long stripe up the inside of his thigh as I climb up him. His skin is cool under my warm tongue.

He rolls his hips in my face, hands cradling the back of my head. I drag my teeth over his sensitised skin. Even through the wet material of his pants it’s too much, and he gasps out loud. “That mouth of yours, Baby.”

“This mouth?” I tease, dragging the waistband of his boxer briefs down with one hand as my other wraps around him.

Hard yet soft, I slide my hand down then back up his length, before burying his crown in my mouth. His hand is still on my head, but he allows me control. I swallow him deeper, and he rolls his hips again, notching himself further toward the back of my throat. Gagging on him, I pull up a little, and Hollis sheds his underwear.

Latching back on, I bury my face in the crease of his groin, inhaling his cool and refreshing musk. It’s like an aphrodisiac, and I suck frantic, open-mouthed kisses around the base of his cock before burying him back in the tight heat of my mouth.

Hollis uses me for a moment, pumping in and out as he finds his own pleasure in me and takes back control. Sitting forward, he cradles my head in both hands, kisses my temple, then slides out from beneath me and steers me face down onto the mattress.

Nudging my legs, he settles between them from behind and flattens himself along my back to kiss and nuzzle and bite the skin between my shoulder blades. It’s dominant and primal. His hand clamps down on the back of my neck, and he anchors his spit-slick length along my crack.

Grinding, biting, and panting, he uses his body to force me down and sucks my ear into his mouth. My eyes roll back in their sockets and my fingers curl into the pillow.

It’s not just his skin on mine. I can feel the echo of him in every cell in my body. My heart beats low and heavy in my chest, anchoring me deeper into the gravity of his bed—our bed—but my veins thrum with the dizzying heights of desire, and the two compete as if to tear me apart. My skin flushes, and Hollis’s cooling touch is all that holds me together.

He braces both of his hands on my lower back to lift himself up, and I haul in large breaths that fan the flames burning within. But when those same hands grip my arse cheeks, when he exposes my hole, when he spits on me… fuuuck.

Hollis doesn’t wait for an invitation. He hauls me up by the pelvis and feasts.

The deliberate and broad strokes of his tongue claim me as his, and I arch into him as he consumes me. He brings his hand down in a stinging slap, but rather than a warning to behave, it only spurs me on. Since the moment I met him, I’ve fantasised about this, and now I’m here, being thoroughly taken apart by him.

His sudden, rough groan as he drives two fingers inside me threatens the last of my sanity. Delirium sets in like a fever, my mind spinning off its axis as I unravel. He spits again, and it hits like a flash fire.

I try to push up. Hollis pins me back down.

Clenching my jaw, I drive up again, but he adds a third finger and steals my breath. Then another stinging slap.

“Behave, Baby.” His voice is hoarse.