Chapter 41
Saturday night wrapped itself around them like silk.
Back in Blake’s apartment, the city glittered outside the windows, and soft jazz played from a hidden speaker. Jamie padded barefoot into the living room, wineglass in hand, swaying gently to the music.
Blake watched him from across the room, then stood, crossed the space, and extended a hand.
“Dance with me.”
Jamie smiled. “Here?”
“Right here.”
No fanfare. No crowd. Just two men, a warm room, and music like honey.
They moved slow. Jamie’s head tucked into Blake’s shoulder. Blake’s hand resting low on Jamie’s back, guiding him in lazy circles.
They danced like no one was watching – because no one was.
They kissed like they’d done it a hundred times and still couldn’t get enough.
The laughter, the sighs, the want – they melted together, piece by piece.
In the bedroom, things got warmer.
They took their time.
Fingers on skin. Mouths tasting, learning.
Jamie pulled Blake closer, whispered his name. Blake kissed down his chest, slow and reverent.
When Blake pressed inside him, it wasn’t just about need – it was connection.
A rhythm that was theirs. A pace they set together.
They moved in sync.
Sweaty. Breathless.
Moaning each other’s names like confessions.
Jamie scratched his nails down Blake’s back. Blake whispered things in his ear that made him gasp and hold tighter.
When they came, it was with whispered curses and kissed mouths, clinging to each other through the aftershocks.
They collapsed together, tangled and sated, fingers twined on the pillow.
Jamie whispered, “You’re dangerous.”
Blake chuckled. “You’re everything.”
They woke late, sun sliding through the curtains, Blake already kissing Jamie’s shoulder before he even opened his eyes.
“Smells like heaven,” Jamie mumbled.
“Good. I made pancakes.”
Jamie blinked. “You cook?”
“I bake too.”
Jamie rolled onto his back, wide-eyed. “If you keep this up, I’m going to marry you.”
Blake leaned down, kissed his nose. “Good to know I have a chance.”
Sunday was a dream.
Breakfast in bed with stacked pancakes, whipped cream, fresh berries, and coffee in mismatched mugs. Jamie stole all the strawberries. Blake pretended to be offended.
They explored quiet London streets, hands linked, stopping for photos, sharing stories from their teenage years, making up fake backstories for strangers they passed.
They made out in the back corner of a bookstore.
They kissed on a bench overlooking the river.
They laughed over street food and wandered through hidden gardens.
It was a perfect day.
That evening, Blake drove Jamie to the airport.
The ride was quiet – comfortable, the silence full of meaning and music low on the radio.
At the terminal, Blake walked Jamie to the doors.
Jamie turned to face him, suitcase in hand.
“I don’t want to go.”
Blake smiled softly. “I know.”
They kissed.
Not rushed. Not goodbye.
Just soon.
Blake rested his forehead against Jamie’s. “See you in a few days.”
Jamie nodded. “You better.”
Blake let go, slowly.
Jamie walked through the doors, heart full, suitcase light, already counting down.