I know he wants to stay with me. But he’ll never make the first move. I know that, too.
Sitting up on the couch, I wrap a hand around the back of his neck and pull him closer, so I can feel the faint rush of his breath against my face. Turning his head, I kiss his left cheek, then the right. When I turn his head forwards again, I reach out with my tongue to lick his slightly parted lips. He whimpers at the contact.
The slight sound gives me the courage to ask the question I’ve wanted an answer to from the moment we met. “Can I have you?”
After a brief and agonising hesitation, he nods.
FOURTEEN
______
TRISTAN
When Sam comes on to me there is no way I can summon the strength to turn him down. I’ve spent too many nights imagining this moment, picturing it in my mind while bringing my body to orgasm. To have him here in front of me, wanting me the way I want him, is almost overwhelming in its pleasure.
Sam leads me out of the living room, then turns to walk backwards down the hallway, pulling me by the hand as he goes. There’s a smile on his face, a lightness in his open gaze I don’t normally equate with the lead-up to sex.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
I jerk my head in a nod.
“I’ve been hoping for this from the day we met.”
A corresponding smile breaks out over my face. “You, too?”
“Oh, yeah.” We enter the bedroom and he crosses to the bedside table to turn on a lamp. The low-watt bulb throws light and shadows in equal measure, revealing a room much like the rest of the house: simply furnished but full of creature comforts. Soft blankets, a plush rug, an armchair in one corner. I turn away after a single glance. Comfort has no place for me, and my gaze shies away from the shadows.
All I want to see is Sam. All I want to feel is the pull between us. It’s been there from the start, like the magnetism of opposites. The restrained desperation of my melancholy drawn to the intense aliveness of his anxiety.
It’s visible in him, even now. Betrayed by the licking of his lips, the quiver in his limbs. But there’s no hesitation in his fingers as they go to work on the buttons of my shirt. “I’ve spent weeks dreaming up all sorts of ways to let you have your way with me.” He pushes the material backwards and I shrug out of it while he pulls his own shirt over his head.
“Kind of seems like it’s the other way around,” I murmur, drinking in the sight of him, all smooth skin and wiry muscles. He’s on the thin side, like me, but he’s stronger. He cares for himself and his body in ways I can’t bear to bother.
“It’s a funny thing,” he says with no small amount of wonder. “I’m not usually so bold.” Even as the words leave his mouth, he steps forwards until our bare chests touch. “But I’ve realised something.” He places soft kisses along the side of my neck and heat sparks in my blood as his erection brushes against mine. “If I’m going to get what I want from you, I have to be strong enough to ask for it.”
“What do you want from me?” I ask, barely able to follow the thread of the conversation.
Pulling back, he meets my gaze, hesitating for an instant. Then, one arm wraps around my neck, while the other hand is pressed flat upon the centre of my chest, fingers splayed. “I want in.” Rough and demanding, his forceful whisper steals the air from my lungs. “I want to find all the dark places inside you that hurt, and I want to make them feel good for a while.”
My muscles lock up as reticence slams into me. I grab his hand to tear it from my chest, but then I don’t. My other hand lifts to capture his throat, but instead of shoving him away, I drag him closer. We stare at each other in silent battle. Bodies rigid and waiting.
My brain goes over his words, processing them, one by one. He didn’t say he wants to fix me or heal me, only make me feel good for a while. Somehow, a magnitude of difference lies in the phrasing. Because I can’t be fixed and I shouldn’t be allowed to heal. But the idea of feeling good for a while, before reverting to my necessary form, is something I can wrap my head around. Maybe I can have that much. Maybe it can be okay.
Releasing my grip, I take his head between my palms and rest my forehead against his. “Make me feel good, Sam,” I plead, my voice a rasping mess of need. “For a little while.”
A blinding smile breaks out on his face. “Gladly.”
I kiss him then. Deeply, desperately. It’s the first time I’ve truly initiated our kiss and I resolve not to hold back anymore. If he’s going to make me feel good, I’ll make damned sure I return the favour.
His hands rake over my back before sliding down to my arse. Tilting his pelvis, he rubs the hardness of his cock against mine, the friction frustrated by the layers of clothing still separating us. A strangled moan falls from my lips and I bury my face in the curve of his neck. “Fuck.”
His low chuckle sends shivers through me. “We’ll get to that.”
“Faster,” I growl before thrusting my tongue into his mouth to capture his groan of surprise. Goddamn, the things his voice does to me.
Sam’s feet move and I follow his lead as he guides me towards the bed. When the back of my thighs touch the mattress, he wrenches his mouth from mine. “Lie down.”
I comply, and the excitement evident on his face sparks pleasure deep inside me. He lifts a knee onto the mattress and reaches out to undo my belt buckle. Pausing, he waggles his eyebrows at me. “This part is a favourite of mine.” He pulls hard on my belt, yanking the long strip of leather free from my waist in one smooth glide. Then he folds the belt in half and pulls it taut with a loud snap.
