His eyes fly open. “So…we’re already past boyfriends then?”
“I said I love you, and now I’vehummedto you in bed. You’re mine. Madly, completely mine. Boyfriend just doesn’t cut it.”
He pants, twisting his hips, trying to get more out of my thumb.
I start to pull away. “Unless you don’t feel the same…”
His glare says it all, but my heart rate speeds up when he uses his words.
“You know I feel the same,pendejo. Now stop teasing me and put me out of my misery.”
A large pearl of precum slips from his slit, dripping down the length of him as his cock bobs. God, I love it when he gets needy for me.
“Please, Dr. Barlowe,” he begs. “Please.”
“Fine, Ignacio. But only because you were such a good boy yesterday.”
“Ah fuck,” he says, his eyes rolling back before I even touch him.
This time, I do not tease as I feed his length into my mouth. I take him to the hilt, swallowing around him before pulling back to suck his swollen head. Switching from my thumb to my two middle fingers, already glazed in my cum, I press inside, crooking them at the height of suction, reveling in his strangled cries.
He pulses strongly against my palm, spilling the very last of his seed on my tongue.
“Fuck, Bram. I love you so much,” he says on a whimper. “I could love you forever.”
“Me too, baby. Me too,” I whisper back. A promise. A vow.
I keep my fingers inside him until his muscles remember how to move. After wiping him down, we again take turns in the ridiculously tiny shower, then fall back into bed, clinging to one another.
Even though the days ahead of us are more dangerous than the ones behind us, sleep comes quickly because we belong to one another.
EPILOGUE
NACHO
“What’s she doing here?” Ant asks, glaring at the photographer for the local free paper.
Glaring is something he’s been doing a lot lately. Not to mention staying out late and coming in early the morning after. After what, I don’t want to know. Still, he’s just started talking to me again after finding out that Erik has a roster of fuck buddies and that I used to be on it, so I go easy on him.
“Ant, the Community Cleanup is a big deal.”
“It’s the same thing as the Christmas Cleanup, only hotter,” he grumps. “The high is ninety-seven degrees today.”
“I know.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. He’s been testing my patience lately, which Hedy says is to be expected. “We’re doing a good thing. You know that, right?”
“But does there need to be a goddamn social media post or whatever every time somebody picks up a shovel to help someone else out?”
“Fair point. But this isn’t going up on her Instagram.”
Ant nails me with alook.
“Fine. It’s notjustgoing up on her Instagram. It’s going in the paper. It’s going on their website. It’s a way to show the people in our community how they can help. It’s about generating publicity for something that isn’t a mass shooting or a roadside bomb. Forgive us for trying to be a little bit positive out here.”
“I know, I know,” Ant grumps, tying up an overfull trash bag like it insulted him.
He tosses it into the back of the truck, on top of the growing pile of trash bags of junk we’ve taken out of Mr. Sinclair’s house. He was practically a shut-in for a very long time. Bram suspects undiagnosed depression and has gotten him to agree to come by the therapy center.
Today’s actually pretty fucking monumental because it’s the first time he’s let anyone in his house since his wife died. I turn to tell Ant this very thing, but he’s yawning and rubbing the side of his head.
