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Charlie turning up is usually the best part of my day, but today? Not so much. I’m pretty sure he’s going to call this whole calendar thing off—no, I’m certain of it.
The sex we had for door four was… intense. Charlie felt it, he must have, because I know I definitely did. It took us a while to come down after, and then he stayed for a cup of tea and biscuits. It was bliss. We lounged on the sofa, drinking our tea, chatting, laughing.
I loved it. I wanted him to stay the night so badly.
And then, at half nine, he asked if he could have a shower.
I was over the fucking moon. It felt so domestic, so normal—and then he dropped the bomb.
He was getting ready to go out clubbing with friends.
Yes, it was a Friday night, and yes, he can go out with whoever he wants—but did I really have to sit there watching him twirl his curls into perfect little ringlets so other men could admire them?
I was curt when he left, and then I spent the whole night tossing and turning, feeling guilty for being a childish arse before he walked out the door… and half-worrying he’d find someone else to spend his night with.
And to top off this absolute nightmare, I woke up to a text from him saying:
“We need to talk xxx”
Need I even say more? Anyone with half a brain cell knows what that means.
It’s Sunday—because Charlie had a hangover on Saturday, obviously. We’ve texted to confirm he’s coming over, but he’s yet to acknowledge what we “need to talk about,” despite me asking.
Probably more times than anyone with an ounce of dignity should, if I’m honest.
I’ve hardly slept, barely eaten, and I haven’t shaved either.
Yes, I am torn up with anxiety—but I’m not exactly known for my chilled nature, which, unfortunately for me, only seems to be amplified when it involves curly-haired heartbreakers.
‘Hi,’ I say, terser than I mean to as I open the door.
He looks the same as always—beautiful, bundled up in his cute-as-fuck coat, all adorable and angelic.
It’s infuriating.
‘Hey,’ he says with a smile. I internally eye-roll, because I’m childish, but my mum didn’t raise me to be a total arse—so I just smile back, tight-lipped.
He eyes me up and down, then his nose scrunches slightly as he walks past me and hangs his coat on the rack, his brows furrowing right after.
‘You okay?’ he asks. He looks concerned, which is ironic when he’s the one who’s come here with a motive.
‘Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?’
I hear the sharp edge of my tone immediately, and my stomach flips with guilt. Fuck.
‘Um… no reason.’
He looks like he can’t really piece things together, and I don’t blame him. We’re standing at the bottom of the stairs now and I hate this. There’s tension in the air and neither of us knows what to say.
‘Actually… you look a little off?’ he says, worry tugging at his face.
Maybe I wouldn’t look so off if he’d just spit out that he wants this to end, so I know where I stand.
‘I’m fine,’ I snap back.
Then I can’t help myself—the question just tears out of me, too loud in my head to keep swallowing.
‘Why did you text me?’
‘Oh,’ he says, and he sets his bag down on the floor by the stairs, exactly where he always does.
It melts my heart a little bit… but I’m still pissed off.
‘What did you want to talk about?’ I’m trying really fucking hard to keep my tone casual, but the crack in my voice gives me away.
‘Nothing. I didn’t… I shouldn’t have sent it.’
He’s playing with the cuff of his sleeve, tugging it down with the opposite hand. He’s smiling—like he’s trying really hard to pretend there’s nothing wrong. That I have absolutely nothing to be worried about.
‘I don’t believe you, Charlie.’ It sounds like I’m begging when I say his name. I take a deep breath, steady my voice, and try again—softer this time. ‘I’d like to know if something’s wrong.’
He closes his eyes for a moment—just a flicker—like whatever he wants to say would be too raw, too revealing.
‘There isn’t. I just—’ He shakes his head, pulling back into himself, voice softening.
‘Please… not tonight, Nick. Can we just go upstairs and open the door?’
I meant it when I said I’d do anything Charlie asks of me.
So I just nod. Knowing the issue isn’t resolved, but secretly relieved that at least we get one more night together.
We both let out a shaky breath and head upstairs.
Charlie usually plonks himself on the foot of my bed like he owns the place, and I’ve got to admit, his hesitation hits me so fucking hard.
Why am I so full-on?
Why did I have to act like a child?
So what if he sent a text? He’s an adult—if he wants to talk about it, he can.
I sit where I usually do, trying to act casual and unaffected, even though you could cut the tension with a knife.
‘Come sit,’ I say, tapping the end of the bed where he’d normally be by now. He walks over tentatively and perches on the edge.
I reach for the calendar. I’ve got this nervous energy pulsing through me and I need something to do with my hands.
I’m feeling so conflicted right now. I hate that Charlie looks subdued, which is down to me being a snappy prick… but there’s also this ball of frustration still curling in my gut.
My knee is bouncing; I’m practically vibrating on the bed, avoiding eye contact while Charlie watches me intently.
I take a sneaky glance at him and—he looks so soft and cuddly, I just want to abandon the calendar, undress him, and pull him close so we’re skin to skin.
My unsteady hands somehow manage to open the door, and I’m surprised to see something other than a note and a stack of cards inside.
After the initial shock of finding pleather wrist restraints in the door, things went from intensely awkward to both of us stifling a giggle.
The irony.
The sharp, prickly atmosphere disintegrated instantly, and now I’m lying naked on the bed with Charlie straddling me.
My cock is hard, and any unresolved tension in my body has gathered into one tight, aching ball of need right in my groin.
After some hesitancy, Charlie has taken the lead, and I want to hand myself over completely—to show him how much I trust him to take care of me.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ he asks, leaning over me. His voice is quiet, like he’s afraid to even ask.
‘Yeah. If you do.’ I nod, slow but with intention.
We’re both teetering on the edge of something, and now that my brain isn’t so tangled up in the logistics of everything happening between us, I think Charlie’s right. We do need to talk.
But not right now.
Not today, even.
The fact that he’s here, willing to do this with me… it’s given me some sick and twisted bout of reassurance.
He slowly takes my wrists and rubs his thumbs over them, his eyes locked on mine. The air between us is balmy with sexual tension, the undercurrent humming with all the unspoken things we’re refusing to say.
He gently moves my wrists above my head. ‘Is this okay?’ he asks.
His touch is so soft, his voice barely above a whisper. Him taking charge like this is so fucking hot.
‘Yeah,’ I rasp.
‘How about this?’ he asks as he gently places the straps around my wrists. They’re flimsy—one sharp pull and I’m sure they’d break—and he loops them in a figure-eight around my wrists and the slats of the headboard.
‘More than okay.’ I swallow hard.
They tighten with just enough resistance. There’s no metal on them, nothing harsh. They’re soft and suggestive, more illusion than any real restraint.
‘Remember your colours if you want a break or to stop, okay?’
His hand cups my face when he says it—because it’s important, I know—but I feel my cock twitch in anticipation. He’s really taking charge and taking care of me, and my head is starting to swim.
‘Yes, Charlie.’ I manage. The formality of his name rolls off my tongue in surrender.
‘Good boy,’ he says—more assertive this time. More him.
I could melt into the mattress from the praise alone.
He takes one last look at me beneath him, a gentle smile tugging at his lips, his eyes glinting softly under the fairy lights—and I’m more than happy to lean back and let him do whatever he wants to me.
He checks my wrists again, because of course he does, then leans in tentatively and places a kiss on my lips. It’s chaste and not nearly enough, but my eyelashes flutter anyway and my belly warms.
He sits back and drags a fingertip across my lips, following a slow path down my jaw and over my chest. It’s slow, reverent, and I’m already losing my mind. He smirks when I instinctively pull against the cuffs holding me in place.
I already want to touch him and it’s been all of two minutes.
He leans in closer again and starts kissing gently along my jaw, so light it tickles, and I try to ground myself—thinking about the weight of him on top of me.
I don’t know how long it’s been, but my body is aching with need. Charlie has kissed and touched every inch of me—slowly, deliberately, like he’s trying to kill me in the softest way possible.
By the time he finally pulls back, I’m panting, wrists flexing uselessly against the cuffs. My skin feels too hot, too tight, too alive. Every nerve ending is tuned to him.
‘I like having you like this,’ he says as he shuffles down and settles between my legs. The gentle brush against my cock has me trying to buck up against him, an embarrassing noise escaping me.
‘I like when you whine like that too,’ he says, I can hear the smugness in his voice.
I’m wrecked and my eyes are closed tight.
‘You still good?’
I just nod—I’m barely hanging on right now.
‘I like that you trust me,’ he says softly as his hand starts to massage my thighs, inching closer and closer to where I need him most.
Then he’s brushing over my bum cheeks, and my cock is still completely neglected. I have no idea what he’s going to do next.
‘Bend and open your legs for me,’ he says, still soft, still steady—and I do it without question.
He plants my feet on the mattress and lets my legs fall either side.
I feel so exposed, so far out of my comfort zone. My arms are starting to ache, and when I feel the air against my most intimate areas, every instinct in me screams to close my legs and bring my arms down to cover myself.
But I don’t.
Because I want to be good.
‘I like it when you listen to me, Nick.’
His voice keeps me anchored to the moment. I keep taking deep breaths, trying and failing not to guess what’s coming next.
He kisses up and down my thighs, slow and teasing, followed by a gentle rub with one hand. I drag in a breath when a finger presses against my hole.
Fuck.
‘Is this okay?’
I can’t open my eyes. My whole face scrunches up.
‘Ye–ah.’ I squeak it out, the tiny word breaking in the middle, and in that moment it feels like something inside me cracks open. I feel bare—like Charlie can see right through me.
He touches me so softly, with so much care and attention.
Just small, barely-there circles and—oh my god.
My tangled, frayed nerves are taking a beating. How the fuck could I ever doubt there’s something between us?
I’m gone, floating in a sea of my own thoughts and feelings. I feel raw, like I’ve been scrubbed clean of any shield I usually hide behind. But in turn, it’s left me with a clarity I’m so fucking grateful for.
‘Oh—fuck.’
I feel a lubed-up finger slip gently inside me. Then his hand is on my cock and—
I’m bucking up off the bed—it's all too much. Too much care, too much attention, too much him.
‘I can’t, Charlie—’ I’m almost shouting. It’s all confusing, overwhelming, dragging me under.
He stills immediately.
Everything stops except the slow, gentle tease of his hand on my cock.
‘You’re doing so well, Nick,’ he soothes, his voice low and grounding, as his finger slowly—carefully—begins to move in and out of me again.
‘I’m going to carry on. You know what word to use if you need me to stop.’ There’s a firmness in his tone, but it’s laced with sincerity.
I just whine, my tongue pressed against my teeth. I feel so many things at once that my brain can’t land on what any of it actually is. Everything is heightened by the restraints—the way they bite into my wrists each time I pull against them.
‘I’ve been waiting to take care of you like this,’ he says, almost to himself.
Oh.
He’s working my cock so slowly I couldn’t get off even if I tried, so I have to endure the torturous ache of it.
His finger is still pressing gently in and out, my body jolting at every subtle drag.
My glutes have never had such a workout—relentlessly tensing, trying desperately to dull the sensations consuming me.
‘Open your eyes, please.’
I do—and fuck. Charlie looks perfect above me. I’m hot all over and so is he, flushed and sweaty. He looks so happy, so content, so soft for me.
All for me.
‘You’re so pretty,’ I breathe.
He blushes at that, eyes crinkling at the corners, and for a second we just…take each other in. I lull my head back as he picks up his pace and—fuck—I’m right on the edge.
‘You’re shaking. It’s okay to let go, Nick.’
I don’t know why I needed to hear that, but I did. My body eases, everything unwinding, and I let the sensations wash over me.
‘Please, Charlie,’ I need more. I need him. I need him inside me. I need to know that he’s not going to leave me.
‘Please what, Nick.’
He pushes his finger in deeper; I feel the stretch and groan.
‘I w-want you to—’ even in my hormone-driven state, it’s still so fucking hard to say. ‘Please… fuck me.’
‘No,’ he says—and I want to cry in frustration and—
‘You have no idea how much I want that too—but not tonight.’ His voice is tight and breathless, raw enough I believe every word.
His hand tightens—just a little—around my cock. His finger curls inside me, deliberate but careful.
The promise of another night with Charlie, the thought of him wanting me too, overtakes me and—
‘There you go…god, you’re gorgeous when you fall apart,’ he whispers.
My whole body jerks. I’m pulling against the restraints and Charlie’s pace quickens—
I’m seeing stars, thinking of Charlie—who, in this moment, is consuming every part of my mind, body, and soul.
And as I’m coming over Charlie’s hand, all I know is that I need to steal his signature move and launch myself against his lips the second I’m able to.
‘So, what did the calendar actually say?’
We’re curled up in bed together, and any lick of negative emotion from earlier has very much vacated the building.
I’ve become quite fond of the calendar's cryptic messages.
‘Sometimes the sweetest tension is the kind you can’t escape,’ he says, followed by a little giggle.
He leans in and kisses my nose. My stomach flutters, because of course it does.
‘Wow… that is very on the nose.’ I bite my lip and join him in his laughter.
‘It also said…’ he trails off, his voice quietening, and I just look at him—hoping I’m not embodying the heart-eyes emoji, but wanting him to know he can continue.
‘That I should stay here for a while after we, um…use the—’
He nods toward the restraints like he hasn’t just finger-fucked me into oblivion while I was tied up with them.
‘Oh.’
That flicker of insecurity returns, but this time I dampen it down. There was too much emotion threaded through every kiss, every touch, every sound for me to doubt it. Even a little.
‘You don’t have to stay, you know? If you don’t want to?’
Charlie brings my hands to his lips and kisses one wrist, then the other. I do not have enough cooperative brain cells to even process that little gesture right now.
‘No, I want to,’ he says. Then, again, more confidently, ‘I want to stay here. With you. But just for a while though. It is a school night, after all.’
He settles against me, warm and sleepy, and for the first time all night, everything feels easy—like whatever we are, we’re finally both leaning into it.