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The word we slipped out without conscious thought. He didn’t comment on it.

I can do Saturday. But now I need to sleep. I have work in the morning.

It was then I realised I knew nothing about him outside the club. Where do you work?

Walthamstow library.

A library. That fit. It spoke of quiet, order, structure. It was so tempting to ask more questions, to keep him there in the thread, but he’d said he needed sleep, and I didn’t want to be the reason he ignored that.

Goodnight.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Night, Max. Dream of….

I stared at the unfinished sentence. Of what? Control? Chaos?

Him?

The typing bubble appeared again, disappeared, reappeared….

…me not talking for once. Or good posture. Whichever floats your boat.

I laughed. I typed back: I suspect I’d miss the noise.

The reply came almost instantly. You absolutely would.

I stared at that longer than necessary before setting the phone down.

I was already looking forward to the sound of him.

The texts hadn’t been earthshaking, just a thread of conversation stretching between us. I picked up my phone one last time and reread the exchange.

I already knew what I’d be dreaming of.

And it wasn’t good posture.

Chapter Ten

Max

I opened my eyes and peered at the clock next to the bed.

6:12 a.m.

Who needs an alarm? I seemed to have a built-in one. I grabbed my phone, functioning on autopilot, and opened my messages.

Nothing new overnight.

I told myself that was good. Boundaries were still in place. I set the phone down and gazed at the ceiling.

Quinn was there, eyes wide, skin flushed, lips parted, caught in that moment before he’d told me he was close to losing it. I recalled the line of his throat as I’d slid my dick into his mouth, the tight heat, my own urge to fuck that beautiful face.

The way his body had clenched around the dildo.

The warmth of him next to me on the couch, his face tucked into my chest.

I exhaled, then picked up the phone again. I opened the thread and stared at it.