Once I reached my room, I immediately turned around and pressed the button on the knob, locking it. A quick glance to my left told me my roommate wasn't present. Just as well.

In my hurry to get to my suitcase under the bed, I sank to my knees a little earlier than I was supposed to and had to demonstrate a little slip and slide manouevre to reach there. I grabbed it, unzipped the bulging ends and rummaged around till I found the edge of the paper board sticking at an untoward angle. I crawled into my bed after finding a stray pencil on my study table and flipped to the first page on the brand new sketchbook.

I couldn't remember the last time I had cracked open a sketchbook, or the last thing I had drawn. It never occurred to me to reignite a dwindling passion for the arts after my career in cricket was done and dusted. Too much had happened and my art was the last thing on my mind. I wasn't even the one who bought this pad. It was my father who handed it to me when I was packing. He had thrust it into my arms and said, It will be useful. I stuffed it into the bottom of my suitcase almost a year ago and left it to yellow and rot.

My pencil hovered over the page. I was rusty and out of practice. I didn't know if I could pull anything to life again. My pencil moved in the air, cutting strokes as I replayed the evening in my head. In my mind's lens, he was still fresh. Colours hit his broad jaw, his back created shadows across the floor with lips curled in concentration and thighs straining against the edge of the stool. I tried to hold on to my memory, but the more I clung on to those series of mere glimpses, the more I got lost.

I tried sticking to the image I had of him in the cafe, but I couldn't hold on to just that. I kept going back to that night when he played with my clavicles and I had a hold of his thigh.

When I had asked him to take me away, he didn't act straight away. He had sent me his dazzling smile and kissed the spot behind my ear. His fingers continued to press into my deltoids, moving to my trapezius and rhomboids. He massaged the back of my neck, releasing the tension in my muscles. I relaxed against his hold and leaned further into him, tucking myself by his side where I could feel the intensity of his warmth.

I pushed the sketchpad away and settled down on top of the sheets. I palmed my crotch, whimpers escaping me as I lived that night again.

Gone was the piano and explosive singing from my ears. All I could hear, all I wanted to hear, were his breaths, the rhythm of his inhales and exhales and the steady beat of his heart that rose the more I got closer to him. I had followed his Adam's apple when he swallowed and eyed the delicious dip in the hollow of his throat where I wanted to stick my tongue in.

God, I was swimming in so much and want and desire, I didn't know how I was even alive. This sensory overload should've caused some sort of palpitation and given me a stroke right there in his arms. But I held it in and focused on his hand, sinking further behind my shirt.

After what felt like forever, the duo wrapped up their performance with an exaggerated bow. The ten table filled crowd cheered and clapped and he removed his hand from inside my shirt, rendering me at mercy to the sudden chill. His hot breath was near my ear soon enough to compensate. "That's our cue."

My hand, on instinct, found his, and he led me out from our secluded corner and further towards the makeshift stage. I turned around to see the cabaret woman and pianist interacting with the crowd, our jackets left in a pile on the cushioned bench, and the empty stem glasses on our table. During my momentary distraction, he had pulled me through a door and into a room.

I didn't know it was possible for my heart to thunder more than it already was, but one glance at the dark room, and my heart was pounding for an entirely different reason.

"Relax," he said. His fingers curled around mine, his thumb stroking circles at the centre of my palm. "I didn't work you down bit by bit, just for you to work yourself up again." His eyes shimmered when I met them. "And I didn't even do anything yet."

I looked around again, this time actually seeing where we were. A dresser was pushed up against the wall, an oval mirror hung above it with fairy lights as the only source of lighting bordering the curved edges, stuck to it with thick, masking tape. Bit and pieces of makeup, jewellery and a solitary black fascinator struggling at the corner were spread all over the top. The room was small, if you could even call it that. It was more like a closet. Just enough for two people to fit in.

"A dressing room?" I said.

He let out a nervous chuckle. "Not my smartest move. I know. If I had my way, we would be in my car and en route to my place, but—" A shrug. "—I have a feeling the longer I take, the more time I'm giving you to over-analyse everything. I can see it. All over your face. You think this is a bad idea. Maybe it is, but I don't want you to think about it." He moved in closer, his chest to mine, his hips to mine, the tips of his shoes to mine. "I want you to think about how badly you want this."

I watched his pupils dilate, till the blackness overtook his blues and all it left was lust.

Something in me snapped.

I grabbed his biceps and pushed. More and more till he hit a wall and sometime during our mini-scuffle, our lips had met. A clang of metal and I heard something like a rack topple over.

"Shit," he murmured against my lips.

I grabbed his hips, and with trembling hands, I slid under his sweater and followed the line of his belt to the small of his back. My fingertips crept upwards as I traced each of his vertebrae and felt the smooth skin raise in goosebumps with my touch. I spilled into him, his body flush against mine and my lips on his, devouring him as my knee slid between his legs. His hardness was right there, digging into my thigh.

He pulled back, his exhales heavy and wanton. I found his fingers on my chest, digging into the fabric, and soon enough, those claws were undoing the buttons of my shirt. "You have no clue, do you?" he breathed, his fingers shivering as they worked. "God, this shirt is perfect on you. It was the first thing I saw. How it clung to your body." He pushed it off my shoulders and it fell to the floor. "Do the world a favour. Buy, like, a thousand more of these."

I laughed and then gasped when his lips sucked on my collarbone. I tugged on the hair at his nape, my mouth open in a lewd moan.

Fuck. What if someone heard? If they saw!

A moment later, and we were moving. He had his hands around me and this time I was the one pinned to the wall. His gaze flicked to meet mine. "They've just started the second act. Listen." I strained my ears to catch what went on beyond my thumping heart. "We're safe," he said and kissed my chest, biting slightly into the swell of my pec.

All I could do was throw my head back. "First thing I saw was your smile," I said, and came back down to Earth to see him staring right back at me. "You have a really good smile. Kind. I couldn't look away."

And there was that smile again, spreading across his features, hiding his blues. His hands pressed into my waist, pulling me close. He kissed me softly; we traded butterfly kisses in the darkness, tiny, delicate, and oh-so-sweet. His fingers fought with my belt buckle while his lips kissed any space they could find—lips, cheeks, chin, nose, forehead, eyes, both pulse points—and then when he won the battle, he went lower.

He nibbled on my collarbone, his stubble grazed across my nipple before he sucked on it and my back arched right off the wall. His tongue flicked across the hard nub while his hands reached for my zipper.

"Jesus!" I almost lurched when I felt the heat on my cock. He was on his knees, and his lips closed around me. Wet, hot suction liquified my bones, turning all my muscles to jelly.

He hummed, and it was almost as if I could feel him smirking.

"Shit—" I would not last long. Not with him working me like that, and his hands roaming the expanse of my chest. It was like he shot right into my brain and pulled out all my desires. Every single one of them and put them into action for me. This perfect man on his knees... for me. It was too much. Too too much. "I can't—I'm—"

If possible, he went even harder, his head bobbing and taking me in deeper, his eyes were on mine, and I was sure he could see the panic in them.

I couldn't hold back any longer. I spasmed and shook and cursed and exploded, coming completely undone in his perfect mouth. On his tongue and lips and throat. I watched him as he swallowed and lingered on the wetness on his pink lips when he showed me his breathtaking smile again.

I bit down on my scream and released into my fist, my head falling sideways limply on my pillow.

Jesus. I stared at my release in my hands, and a flood of shame crept up from behind me.

He had milked me dry that night, sucking, stroking, swallowing, drawing out my orgasm till I panted and whimpered and had to push him away to collect myself. I still remembered his grin when he asked Good? as if anything in my life from that point on could ever beat that. Beat his perfection.

When he stood up, I reached for his zipper, but he caught my wrist and brought them up to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. No need, he had said. And then he asked for my phone. I handed it to him and he smiled, saying it was dead. He said his was too. No worries. I wrote my number on his palm, my fingers trembling with each digit I traced. My palms were too sweaty to even hold a pen, much less hold an inky number on them. He kissed me on the cheek and said he wished this night would go on forever. I wanted to say let it go on then. But we had lives to get back to. I had class in just a few hours and he probably did too.

For those few seconds, though, with my forehead resting against his, it didn't matter what was waiting for us. I had probably met the man of my dreams, and I wanted to hold on to him a while longer. The world could wait.

My alarm shrieked from somewhere beside me, and my daydream evaporated along with the minuscule desire I had felt once more.