We undressed each other slowly, like we had all the time in the world. His hands traced patterns on my skin that I was starting to recognize—the route he always took, shoulder to chest to hip. My route on him was different, mapped through nights of learning what made him gasp.
"I want to try something," I heard myself say.
His hands stilled. "What?"
The words caught in my throat. I'd been thinking about this for days—since the first time he'd been inside me with his fingers, since I'd felt that flash of pleasure underneath the fear. But wanting it and asking for it were different things.
"I want—" I stopped. Started again. "I want you. Inside me."
Kai's breath caught. "Axel..."
"You don't have to."
"I want to." His voice was rough. "God, I want to. But are you sure? After everything—your past?—"
"That's why I want it." I made myself meet his eyes. "I've spent thirty-two years letting my father's voice tell me what I can and can't be. What I can and can't want. And I'm done."
"This isn't something you need to prove."
"I know." I cupped his face, felt the slight tremor in my hands. "This isn't about proving anything. It's about choosing. I'm choosing you, Kai. All of you. Every way I can have you."
His eyes were bright. Wet, almost. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay. We go slow. We stop if you need to stop. And you talk to me—the whole time, you tell me what you're feeling."
"I can do that."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
He kissed me then, soft and sweet, pulling me toward the bed. "Give me a few minutes," I said against his lips.
Understanding flickered in his eyes. "Take your time."
When I stepped back into the room, towel around my waist, Kai's breath caught. His eyes raked down my body, lingering, appreciating. I felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked—and for once, I didn't want to hide.
"Come here," he said.
He took his time. Mouth on my neck, my chest, my abs. Hands stroking down my sides, over my hips, everywhere except whereI was aching for him. By the time he reached my cock, I was trembling—not with fear, but with need.
"Relax," he murmured against my thigh. "I've got you."
I tried. Let my muscles unclench, let my breath even out. His mouth closed around me, and the pleasure was sharp enough to cut through everything else—the nerves, the memories, the ghost of my father's voice whisperingwrong, wrong, wrong.
Then his finger pressed against my entrance, slick with lube, and the voice got louder.
Faggot. Disgusting. No son of mine?—
"Hey." Kai's voice, pulling me back. "Where'd you go?"
"Nowhere good." I forced my eyes open, focused on his face. "Keep going."
"You sure?"
"Yes." I reached down, tangled my fingers in his hair. "Replace it. Please."
He understood. His finger pushed in—slow, careful—and I made myself breathe through it. The stretch was strange. Not painful, not with how gentle he was being, but foreign. My body wanted to resist. I didn't let it.
"That's it," Kai murmured. "You're doing so good. Just relax, let me in."
