He leans down, one hand gripping my shoulder, the other braced on my hip to hold me steady. He bites at my opposite shoulder, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “You look so fucking good like this,” he pants. “Bent over for me. You’re perfect, May. So fucking perfect.”
I can’t form words. All I can do is push back into him, desperate for more, for everything.
He obliges, picking up the pace, slamming into me hard enough to rattle the entire sofa. My cock drags across the upholstery, leaking pre-come, the friction sending sparks up my spine.
“Touch yourself,” he grits out. “I want to see you come for me.”
I wrap a hand around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. I’m already so close it’s embarrassing. He wraps an arm around my chest, hauling me upright until my back is flush to his, his cock still buried inside me. He drives up into me, using his height and strength to move me exactly how he wants.
He murmurs in my ear, all filth and praise. “That’s it, Mase. Take it. You’re so good for me. Can you feel how hard you make me? How much I want you?”
It undoes me. My orgasm hits, blinding and sharp. I cry out, spilling over my hand and the couch. My body clenches around him, milking his cock, and he loses it, pounding into me with frantic, desperate thrusts. He comes with a shout, hips jerking, face buried in my neck. I feel the heat of it, the way his whole body shudders against mine.
For a while, we stay like that, tangled and shaking, sweat cooling on our skin.
Finally, Miles pulls out, hands gentle as he helps me collapse onto the cushions. He disposes of the condom, then returns with a damp washcloth, cleaning me up with infinite care. “You okay?” he asks, kissing the back of my neck.
I let out a breathless laugh, still boneless, still buzzing everywhere. “I’m fucking fantastic,” I manage, my voice rough. “Pretty sure you just realigned my spine.”
He grins. God, he looks smug. I want to smack him. Or kiss him for a week straight. Preferably both.
Miles lifts me into his strong arms again and carries us the few steps to the bed. He sets me down gently, and we pull back the covers before crawling in. He tucks me close, arms wrapped around me, his lips never far from my skin. His hand finds my jaw, thumb stroking along my cheekbone. I lean into the touch, greedy for every scrap of affection he offers.
“That was…” I trail off, searching for a word that doesn’t exist. I settle for, “Jesus, Dalton.”
He laughs, low and pleased, his voice all gravel and honey as he nuzzles my neck. “You really are perfect, you know that?”
I roll my eyes, but my heart is a pile of glitter on the carpet. “If you keep talking like that, I won’t leave tonight.”
He kisses the corner of my mouth, impossibly soft. “Who says I want you to?”
I’ve never felt safer, or more wanted, than I do in this moment, cocooned in the arms of the man who broke my heart and then, somehow, figured out how to put it back together stronger than before.
I close my eyes, letting it all soak in. The warmth of his body, the hush of the snow outside, the way the house still smells like roast chicken and cinnamon and something that feels almost embarrassingly like hope.
Maybe that’s what this is. Not a fairytale ending. Not perfect. But real. Earned. Ours.
I curl tighter into his embrace, already dizzy at the thought of every morning and every messy, beautiful night to come.
“Hey, Dalton?” I murmur, tracing lazy circles on his forearm.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t ever let go.”
He squeezes me like he means it, his voice thick. “Never.”
And for the first time in forever, I actually believe it.
Chapter Ten
Miles
Two days later, the soft echo of May’s voice is still stuck in my head. Sometimes it’s a memory, curled up and warm, the two of us tangled in the sheets while the world fades away outside the frosted window. Other times, it’s present tense, right now, May yelling from the bar with unrepentant glee as I try to fix the sticky lock on the dressing room door while half a dozen drag queens heckle me from the main floor.
For the record, they’re not wrong. I did bruise my ego and my ass trying to get into the prop closet without proper tools. If you ever want to see your masculinity shredded in sixty seconds or less, attempt basic carpentry under the watchful eye of a drag ensemble.
Mostly, though, it’s just…us. Two days since our first real date, and we’ve barely left each other’s sides, or fronts, and backs. Coffee in the morning. Lunches at one of the places around town. May stealing my fries and pretending he didn’t, even when he gets caught. Last night, we ended up sprawled on his couch, eating cold lasagna, watching a truly unhinged 90s action movie, and trying, badly, to keep our hands off each other until the credits rolled. We don’t make it past the first car chase.
