“Both of us,” he says, now breathless. “Take both of us.”
A wave of desire and want courses through me. I nod wordlessly, slip one hand up to cup his cheek, and tug him in for a needykiss as I stretch my fingers around both of us and stroke slowly up our lengths.
He shudders and breaks the kiss almost immediately, dropping his head to my shoulder and steadying himself with a hand on the wall. “Why—why haven’t we done this before?” he asks. “Fuck. God, it’s... God, yeah, just like that.”
“Mm-hmm” is all I can manage, overcome by the tingling and buzzing and the intense, unrivaled coiling of pleasure deep in my groin. I bury my face in his hair, which is now slightly damp from the shower, and I continue stroking us. Both of us. Together. Slowly at first. Then a little faster, my fist tightening at the top, my thumb moving to brush over the head of his cock.
He moans and rocks his hips in time with each stroke, and then, just when I think I’m about to come undone, his body goes rigid and he clings to me, his wet hands gripping my hips. He muffles a cry into my chest, and his cock pulses, spilling his release over my fist.
It’s enough to push me that last bit. I screw my eyes shut, slip my free hand around his back to hold him closer, and follow him over the wonderful, wonderful edge, coming hard. I keep stroking both of us until the very last throb of my orgasm. Then I release us, slide my hand around his waist, and pull him flush against me. We’re both breathing heavy, panting, and he lets out the neediest little whine as he leans against me for support.
“Jesus,” he huffs, still clinging to me.
I nod and nuzzle my face into his hair. “Whyhaven’t we done that before?” I ask, repeating his question.
He just shrugs. “Dunno. And now Iamreally tired. God, my legs feel like fucking Jell-O.”
I laugh lightly and rub his back. “Mmm, I’ve got you.” I press a kiss against the top of his head. He hums with contentment, and then he takes another deep breath and relaxes into me. I smile. “Here, let’s get you cleaned up and into bed, hm?”
“Mm-hmm, yeah,” he agrees, lazily nodding against my chest.
I absolutely love it.
One more kiss, this time to his forehead, and then I back him up a step so he’s under the water and let my hands slick up and down his body, rinsing away the evidence of our lovemaking. He’s quiet as I continue, helping him wash his body and shampoo his hair, and the whole time, there’s this soft smile on his lips.
Like he’s really content.
Like he’s really, finally happy.
Chapter Forty-One
Nico
Saturdaymorning,myalarmgoes off at six thirty. Alex is snoring away next to me, one arm flung over my stomach and his face buried in his pillow. It’s fucking adorable. I know we don’t actually need to get up yet, so I just lie there for a few minutes, watching him sleep.
He’s peaceful, lying there next to me, and I let myself reach out gently and run my fingers through his hair, brushing back the short strands. A deep sense of gratitude builds up in my chest, almost like an ache, right in the center. And with it, there’s something else—a contentment that I’ve only really started feeling in the last few weeks.
It’s him.
He’s the reason.
Myreason.
My reason for not letting all the shit with my mom and Patrick drown me.
My reason for being here, now, in California, about to get ready for a job interview.
My reason for having hope. For feeling loved.
He’s the reason I suddenly know I’m going to get this job—because he’s given me a confidence I’ve never,everhad before.
I can do this. For myself. And for him. So we can have our life together.
With a soft smile, I lean in and kiss the top of his head, and then I pull myself away and carefully scoot out from under his arm. Quietly, to avoid waking him, I cross the room, pick up my backpack, and then go sit on the sectional in the corner, pulling my knees up under me.
I brought my sketchbook, but only because I finally showed it to Alex a couple of weeks ago, on the day Patrick was arraigned and pleaded guilty to two counts of third-degree assault. My mom was at the courtroom that day. She came in just before Patrick’s arraignment, took a seat in the far back corner, opposite where I was sitting with Alex and his mom, and left immediately when the proceedings were finished. She never spoke to me, never reached out to me, never offered up an apology or explanation or even asked me if I was okay. Afterward, back at Alex’s house, we lay together in bed, and I cried into his chest while he held me. And then, when I had no more tears left to cry, I asked Alex to grab my backpack for me. I pulled out my sketchbook, curled back up in his arms, and drew for a while in silence, Alex watching.
I drew a rose bush. I didn’t have to explain to him why. He knew.
