His eyes were burning blue and I bent down to bite the curve of his shoulder as a reward, just because it looked so bitable. His eyes slammed shut and he arched his whole body against me with agroan.
“Julian!” The shock in my voice was almost laughable, but seriously,who the fuck knewthat sex could feel likethis?
Julian laughed up at me and I realized I’d spoken this thoughtaloud.
“We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet,” he said. “Welcome to the joys offrottage.”
He pulled me against him harder, setting up arhythm.
“Motherfucker.” I planted a foot on the floor and rutted against him. Both of us groaned. “I think frottage Julian might be my favorite Julian of all,” Ibreathed.
Julian laughed again, threading his hands through my hair, and then leaned up to kiss me, which required a bit of finagling thanks to our height difference and the limitations of the sofa, but that was okay too. Every gasp, and groan, and awkward, desperate fumble ratcheted up the intensity andconnection.
Twin ripples of joy and satisfaction ran through my bloodstream. For the first time in maybe forever, I felt totally in tune with my partner. His pleasure was my pleasure. His every exhale and sigh were mine, and mine were his. It was the simplest, most profound thing I’d ever experienced. I didn’t want it to end, but also had never needed to come so badly. I could feel my balls drawing up and precum—his and mine—leaving damp trails on ourbellies.
“I’m close,” he said, his hand coming down to grasp at my lowerback.
“Oh, thank God. Metoo.”
But even as I said it, I was coming, lighting shooting down my spine as my legs stiffened and I shot all over him. He followed right afterme.
I slumped sideways toward the cushions so I wouldn’t crush him, he shifted toward the edge slightly to accommodate me. I dragged the thin blanket from the back of the couch over us, and we lay like that for a long time after, pressed up against each other in all our messy, sweaty glory, without saying athing.
The light from the fire made rippling shadows up and down the bare length of him, and the room was utterly silent, but for the sound of breathing—ours and the dog’s—and the crack of a log in thegrate.
There were a lot of things I could have said then, maybe even things I should have said, like how perfect that had been, how amazing he was, but he already knew the former and wouldn’t believe the latter. I wanted to tell him how much I cared for him and wanted him to be happy, how badly I wanted not to hurt him, but the first felt too much like a promise and the second too much like I was jinxingmyself.
I’d once made a living conveying emotion with words, but I was starting to realize that the most important emotions didn’t require any words atall.
So, instead, I pressed a kiss to the top of his head and felt him relax even further against me, taking this moment of peace and silence for the gift itwas.
