"Yeah?"
"Don't stop." He wraps his fingers around my dick, strokes in time with his thrusts. "Let me take care of you," he says. "Let go. I've got you." He shifts slightly.
His next thrust hits somewhere devastating inside me. My mouth drops open, breath leaving in a broken moan.
I am so relaxed now. So open.
Letting him take me fully, without fear, without hesitation. "There," I gasp. "Gio, fuck there."
He finds it again, and again, and again. He doesn't speed up recklessly, he just learns me. Perfectly. Holds me still with one hand on my thigh and rocks into me again.
His fingers slip up to my face. He brushes the hair out of my eyes, pushes it back behind my ear. Then he leans in and kisses me.
"Why didn't we do this sooner?" he whispers.
I shiver. My hands come up to his shoulders, hold him tighter. "We've got time," I breathe. "We'll make up for every second we lost."
His mouth finds mine again.
But this time he catches my bottom lip between his teeth and tugs. "I fucking love the way you think," he whispers, and then he kisses me again, while he's still inside me. Still fucking me.
Every wet, filthy sound fills the room like proof of what we're doing. Of whathe'sdoing to me.
The pleasure builds fast. My body's too sensitive, too full.
Literally. His thumb swipes over the head of my dick, and I just break. I cum with an almost cry, loud and raw, my body shaking violently beneath him.
It's like something inside me cracks open.
Like I'm being born again.
Like I've never existed untilthismoment. He keeps fucking me through it, and then he exhales wrecked, and thrusts deep one final time, cumming inside of me, gasping my name.
We don't separate. He stays inside me. His arms wrap around me, pulling me close, kissing my temple, my shoulder, my mouth. "You okay?" he whispers.
I nod. "I've never been more okay."
He exhales hard.
Like he's been holding that answer in suspense.
Then he kisses me again and stays there, still inside me.
God, I'm so screwed.
I can't picture myself actually getting on that plane to Canada. I don't feel strong enough for it. I don't feel built for this kind of goodbye. And I can't picture him moving on.
Saying, "Yeah, there was this thing once with Weston, but he left. Had to move on with my life."
I think I might actually throw up. The idea of the only person who ever made me feelthismuch, turning around a few weeks later and doing theexactsame shit with someone else makes me feel sick.
Like real, physical disgust.
I see it all, him pinning someone else to a wall, calling them "angel," smirking against their mouth instead of mine, putting his hand on their neck the way he does with me.
Them laughing at his stupid jokes.
Them getting the forehead kisses.
