“Fff…christ,” he says between labored breaths.
“Come up here.” I pull him up and tuck him against me.
“That was amazing,” he says.
“I wish I’d had a chance to blow you too.”
He chuckles. “Gimme a minute, and you can.” He thrusts against me. Thank fuck we’re eighteen and our dicks are reliably hard half the time.
He starts to get up from the bed, but I pull him back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I have a gift for you.”
“Mik…”
He kisses me. “You said no gifts. You didn’t say nogiftgifts.”
“Okay, now repeat that in English.”
“I wrote a song for you. Can I borrow your guitar?”
I nod.
He jumps off the bed in his naked glory. I sit up, leaning my back against the headboard, and when he returns with the guitar, he sits between my legs.
“It’s probably not very good,” he says.
I kiss his neck. “It’s going to be the most beautiful song in the world.”
He turns his head a little, and I meet his eyes full of uncertainty before he strums a few chords to warm up.
Brown eyes like the earth,
Soft touch like the clouds,
Warm skin like the sun,
You are my life.
You showed me music,
You made me better,
You taught me love,
You gave me pleasure.
Without you, I’m not me,
Without you, I’m not free,
Please promise me,
You’ll love me forever.
My throat is tight as I swallow the emotion in my throat. Tears threaten to spill, and I’m glad Mik can’t see my face.
He repeats the last few verses before he ends the song.
