“I can't lose you again,” I whispered instead, the confession scraping raw from somewhere deep and desperate. “Not when I just found you.”
Something shifted in his expression then, anger softening into something that looked dangerously like understanding. He reached up, fingers brushing against my jaw with devastating gentleness.
“Then don't push me away,” he said quietly. “Don't make this about protecting me from choices that are mine to make. Because that's not love, Evan. That's fear wearing a noble mask.”
He was right. This wasn't about his safety—it was about my terror of losing him again, dressed up in pretty arguments about human fragility and pack dynamics.
“I'm scared,” I admitted, the words barely above a whisper.
“Good,” he said, and there was fierce satisfaction in his voice. “That means you know what you're fighting for.”
Before I could respond, before I could find words for the way his honesty was rewriting everything I thought I knewabout courage, he kissed me. Soft and desperate and tasting like promises I wasn't sure I knew how to keep.
I kissed him back because I couldn't not, because his mouth was home and sanctuary and the only place I'd ever found peace. But underneath the sweetness was the bitter knowledge that this might be borrowed time, that tomorrow might take him away in ways that had nothing to do with distance or choice.
“Stay with me tonight,” I said against his lips, the request carrying more weight than it should have. “Just tonight. Let me have this before everything gets complicated.”
“Everything's already complicated,” he pointed out, but his hands were already working at the buttons of my shirt, fingers steady and sure and absolutely devastating in their intent. “But yeah. I'll stay.”
He tugged me toward the bedroom, not rough but with a purpose, and I followed. The world outside the apartment narrowed to his touch on my wrist, his hand on the small of my back as we passed the kitchen table, my boots abandoned in the entryway, the half-drunk beers forgotten on the counter.
In the quiet darkness of my bedroom, everything felt magnified. Nate let go of my hand only to cup my jaw, tipping my face up to his, searching for something he must have found because he leaned in and kissed me again. Not gentle—this time there was nothing soft about it. He kissed me like he was starving, like he wanted to take something from my mouth and keep it for himself, like he was desperate for the taste of me.
I let him. I let myself be held, kissed, touched in a way that didn’t demand anything but surrender. He pushed me backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed, then climbed into my lap, hands braced on my shoulders, straddling me with the same authority he’d shown in every argument, every time he’d stood up to me, every moment he’d refused to be fragile.
He broke the kiss only to press his forehead to mine, breath coming in short, shaky bursts. “I’m scared too,” he admitted, so quietly I might have missed it if we hadn’t been pressed together, heart to heart, skin to skin. “I’m terrified. But I want you more than I’m afraid of losing you.”
My hands found his hips, holding him in place, not letting him run even if he wanted to. “You’re not going to lose me. Not tonight.”
“Then let me have you,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Let me take care of you for once.”
It was easier to fight than to accept care. Easier to be the strong one, to hold the line, to pretend I was built for this kind of pain. But I was so fucking tired. I wanted—needed—to let go, to be wanted, to be claimed.
I nodded, and he moved in for another kiss, slower this time, tasting me, learning me all over again. His hands were everywhere—my hair, my jaw, my throat, gentle but certain, as if memorizing every reaction, every tremor.
He sat up, hands sliding down my chest, making short work of my buttons, undoing them one by one. He watched my face the entire time, as if looking for cracks, searching for all the places I might break. I couldn’t look away from him, even when my breath hitched, even when I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. He pushed my shirt from my shoulders and let it fall, then pressed his lips to the line of my collarbone, open-mouthed, warm and wet and desperate.
My hands found his waist, fingers slipping under the hem of his t-shirt. He stilled me with a look. “No. Let me.” There was something fierce in his voice—soft but unyielding. So I let him.
He peeled his own shirt off with a little tremor, tossing it to the floor, and I let my hands drift up his bare back, needing to touch, to anchor myself in the reality of him. We were bothtrembling. I pressed my face into his neck, breathing him in, holding him tighter than I meant to.
He worked at my belt next, his hands less steady now, not from hesitation but from too much want. He undid it, slid it free, popped the button, pulled the zipper down in a motion so careful it made me ache. He didn’t push my jeans down right away. Instead, he ran his hands up the insides of my thighs, tracing the shape of me through my briefs, making me shiver.
“Nate,” I breathed, not sure if it was a plea or a warning.
He shushed me with another kiss, then shifted back, knees bracketing my hips. He leaned down and mouthed at my chest, scraping his teeth over my nipple, sucking until it ached, making me groan and dig my fingers into his hips. My cock throbbed, trapped in my underwear, aching for more, but he took his time, worshipping every inch of skin he uncovered.
He leaned up, eyes glassy with want. “Let me see you.”
I lifted my hips and let him tug my jeans down, slow and torturous, leaving me in nothing but my briefs. He didn’t touch me right away, just stared, eyes hungry, lips parted, breathing hard. He knelt between my knees and slid his hands up my thighs, not to tease, but to hold—fingers digging in just enough to remind me I was real, I was here, I was his.
Nate stood, stripped off his own jeans, then climbed onto the bed beside me, his skin fever-hot, chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. For a moment, all we did was stare at each other, memorizing every detail, cataloguing everything that might be gone by morning.
He rolled me onto my back, settled over me, and kissed me again, deep and wet and endless. Our legs tangled, our bodies pressed together, cocks straining against thin cotton, every movement making us both gasp, both desperate for more but refusing to rush.
He rocked against me, slow and steady, grinding our hips together, the friction enough to make me moan, to make my eyes flutter shut. His hands framed my face, his mouth moved down my neck, biting, licking, leaving marks I’d wear with pride.
Nate didn’t let up, just kept grinding against me, slow and relentless, hips rolling to a rhythm that had nothing to do with patience. Our cocks strained against cotton, leaking, throbbing, soaking through until the wet heat smeared between us with every drag of his body over mine. Each friction-laced pass set my nerves alight, every gasp and half-choked moan tangled with desperation and relief.
