He let out a broken moan as I began to stroke him in time with my thrusts, my grip firm and sure. Forest whimpered and bucked into my fist, seeking more friction. His movements grew erratic as he chased his release. I could feel how close he was in the way his body tensed and fluttered around me.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” I murmured against his skin. “Let go for me. I want to feel you come apart.”
His breathing became ragged, punctuated by needy little whimpers that went straight to my own aching cock. I could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his body, his muscles clenching around me as he drew closer to the edge.
“Nash!” he cried out sharply, his back arching as his orgasm crashed over him. Hot pulses of his release coated my hand and his stomach as he shook and trembled beneath me, lost to the pleasure.
The rhythmic squeezing of his body was too much for me to resist. A few more thrusts and I followed him over, burying myself deep as I filled him with my own release. White-hotecstasy flooded my veins, blanking out every thought except the perfect bliss of this moment, of our connection.
I barely had enough awareness to roll over and bring him with me so he could rest on top of me. His head rested on my chest, his breaths slowly evening out. I ran my fingers through his hair, enjoying the silky feel of it. My other hand traced idle patterns on his back as we both drifted in the afterglow.
He turned his head to press a kiss into my palm before lowering it back to my chest with a contented sigh. “I could stay like this forever.”
“Me too, sweetheart. But we should probably clean up a bit.”
He made a disgruntled noise and burrowed closer. “Don’t wanna move. You’re comfy.”
I chuckled. He was adorable like this, all sleepy and pliant in my arms. “How about I go grab a washcloth and clean us up, then we can cuddle as long as you want?”
“Mmm…okay. But hurry back.”
“I will. Promise.”
I eased out from under him, making sure he was comfortable on the pillow before I hurried into the bathroom, where I quickly cleaned myself, then rinsed a washcloth under warm water for him.
But when I came back, he’d turned onto his stomach and was fast asleep. I stopped, my chest squeezing painfully with a completely new feeling. This wasn’t a crush or infatuation. This wasn’t sexual attraction mixed with friendship. This was…love.
I was head-over-heels in love with Forest. With my husband.
Jesus, fuck, what had I done?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FOREST
Once upon a time, vacations were rejuvenating. I didn’t get them a lot. I made dick on a teaching salary, and even though I was only one man, I was drowning in student loan debt, which took up nearly half of each paycheck. But on the rare occasion I got a weekend to myself—usually to visit Creek or a couple of old college buddies who were living in the UP—I felt good when I came home.
This time, I didn’t. This time, when Nash and I got back, I was more tired. I was relying on my cane more and more and having longer and more intense muscle spasm spells. The meds for the dizziness were working and I hadn’t had any more seizures, so there was that. Now that my new insurance had kicked in, everything was covered. Which meant physical therapy and—the one thing I hated—more testing.
But life was life. The next few weeks settled into something like a new normal. I was back in my ground-floor bedroom and Nash was upstairs. The week after we got home, I found myself lying in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, reliving the moments we’d had together in that little cottage by the ocean.
I missed it with a fierceness I couldn’t really describe. Not just being with Nash. Not just with him willing to sleep besideme, hold me, fuck me, kiss me…everything I’d fantasized about since the first time I laid eyes on him, but also the intimacy that wasn’t physical.The way he’d opened up to me, and let me open up to him.
That all seemed to come to a screeching halt the moment the door closed behind us and we unpacked our suitcases.
Nash was acting strange. Different in ways I couldn’t really figure out. He was still attentive and careful with me, but not enough to get on my nerves. Yet there was a valley between us I couldn’t seem to cross.
He didn’t entirely meet my gaze at dinner, and while he would always make conversation, it wasn’t the way it had been before.
I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he regretted this whole thing. Or maybe he was embarrassed about his night terrors or his PTSD. I didn’t know how to make it okay. I didn’t even know if it was my place to try, so for now, I let it go and sat with a tiny spark of hope in my chest that it would somehow get right again.
The worst part about it all was that I was getting bored. Normally, I’d be distracted by work or some other research project I had on my plate, but having been unceremoniously let go without any real job prospects, I had no idea what to do with myself.
I wasn’t the kind of man who’d developed hobbies. I’d always been too busy with school, then grad school, then my dissertation. After that, it was lectures, lesson plans, paper grading, and office hours.
It was a harsh reality to learn I had no idea who I was outside of all that. And it was difficult to accept that even if I wanted to get into something, there was no guarantee my body would let me.
“Yoga,” my physical therapist said, seemingly out of nowhere.
