“Yes, how about that we? I couldn’t believe it when you said you were bringing him.” He watches as Endof prances over to his bed by the fireplace, his tail wagging. “You know I’d have looked after him.”

“He’s mine,” I say, flinging my suit jacket over the plush sofa and loosening my tie. “I always look after what’s mine.”

There’s a long silence that he breaks abruptly. “Do you mind that I’m here?”

I once again take in his appearance—the messy hair and the thin, angular face with violet shadows under his pretty eyes. “No,” I say curtly. “Come here.”

The moment hovers between dissolving into lightness or becoming heavy, but then he shudders and walks into my arms. I band them tight around him and kiss him fiercely. His mouth opens under mine immediately, and he gives a shaky sigh that makes my dick stiffen.

“I missed this,” he says, pulling back slightly.

“I missed you,” I say, pushing his hair back and looking into those sunlit green eyes. They’re red-rimmed today, with streaks of red marbling the whites. I frown. “Have you been working late? Your eyes are very red.”

He pulls back. “Yes,” he says quickly. “I needed to paint.”

“And have you finished?”

“I’m totally done.” His tone is gloomy rather than satisfied, and I wonder if he’s like this when he finishes a painting. Artists can be incredibly melancholy. I’d learned this after years of living in the same house as my mother and whoever she had staying with us.

I hate that he’s sad, and to avoid having a conversation in which I’ll inevitably make a fool of myself, I kiss him again, pulling him tight and grinding into him. His cock is hard against mine, and he gives a breathy moan.

“I’ve thought far too much about this,” he says, pulling back to take a breath.

“You need me,” I say arrogantly.

He doesn’t mock me. Instead, he raises his arms around my neck and lifts his mouth to mine. It’s an invitation I don’t hesitate to take.

Sex is oddly intimate this time. He lies on his side while I hold his leg up and fuck into him from behind. I always pay attention to my sexual partners’ needs, but ultimately I engage in the act because I’m seeking my own release. I’m all about making the right moves so we can both come, but then I quickly want to forget about my partner and get on with my life.