“No James. I don’t want to do anything on New Year’s Eve.”
“Really?” James enquired innocently. “Not even ring in 2017 with a bang?”
On that word, Q felt his knees buckle beneath the thrusting weight of his agent. His own climax crested him to brief vestiges of oblivion, his own version of fireworks popping like bright specks behind his eyelids and firing his nerves, enticing a dancing path of goosebumps popping up in unexpected spots across his bare form.
Q collapsed face down on the bed. “I imagine I’ll have plenty of bangs to look forward to next year.”