“I bet we can figure it out.”
He looks worried. “I don’t know if I can … finish.”
“We don’t have to finish everything we start.”
He takes a deep breath, relieved. Then he draws himself up and settles on his heels between my legs. He massages my thighs and hips. He’s hesitant, exploring. I relax and let him take his time. I let myself enjoy his touch. My cock hardens again, but Idon’t rush him. He’s slower to respond. It’s too new for him, too unfamiliar. But he gets more comfortable. He finds his way.
It makes me smile. It makes me so fucking happy. He’s a little hesitant meeting my eyes, but then he smiles too. It’s just a tug of his lips, but it’s everything.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
“So are you.”
A shadow passes through his eyes, and I think I can guess why. I’m sure he’s always been beautiful, and it’s been used to hurt him.
But the shadow fades. He lets himself hear it from me instead of from his memory. He slicks his cock with lube. He lifts me, opens me. He enters me, taking his place inside me. I breathe in relief, but I wait for him.
He’s frowning slightly, but I don’t say anything. I let him decide what he thinks, how he feels. I try to hold the space that he’s trusting me with.
I know he might pull out of me, that this might be as far as he gets, but then his eyes come to my face. He sees me. He relaxes. He starts to fuck me. No—he starts to make love to me.
God, he’s beautiful as he does it. The nightlight softly limns the contours of his body.It lets me watch his rhythm, doubling the pleasure of feeling it. I’ve never gotten to watch him before. I love it. I love every second.
I bite my lip because it feels too good. My cock is stiff and leaking. My balls are drawn up.
He says, “I want to see you touch yourself.”
“I’ll come.” It surprises me that it’s true. Usually, I need it rough. Usually, I need to leave myself. But I like being here with him.
“I want you to come,” he says.
I curl my hand around my cock. I moan as I start to stroke. I watch him watch me. His eyes are on my cock at first, but thenthey lift to my face. He gives me more, pushes my arousal to its limit. He’s breathing harder now, just letting his body work as he watches me. It’s too much.
I cry out as my cock kicks in my hand. I clench on him, crying out harder as he buries himself deeper. He curls toward me as he comes inside me, straining through his orgasm as I strain through mine.
“Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck.”
I see the edge of panic in his eyes. I see him start to draw back from me. I don’t know what he needs, but I offer my hand—and he takes it. He leans down, letting his cock pull free of me. He pulls me into his arms, and I wrap mine around him. I hold tight as he rolls us onto our sides.
We don’t say anything. We just let the shudders fade and let ourselves relax, not worrying about the mess, not worrying about all the things we still need to talk about.
That’s for later.
Now is for this.
THIRTY-ONE
Andre
Noah, in his worn-out jeans and flannel, is waiting on the bench in the rose garden. I don’t know why Elias suggested we meet at this park where I first chased him. It feels a little strange being here again, but also kind of … good. Like what we did that night isn’t something we need to hide from ourselves.
Elias tries to fall back as we walk over. I turn toward him to see what’s wrong.
Elias stuffs his hands in his pockets and says, “I don’t mind if you want to talk to him alone.”
I hadn’t considered that, but now … yeah. I think I do want to talk to Noah alone.
“I’ll go for a walk,” Elias says and starts to wander off.
