“We’ve got time.” I add a second finger, scissoring them, and he rocks down onto my hand. “That’s it. You’re doing so good.”
By the time I’ve got three fingers in him, he’s a beautiful mess - flushed and sweating and begging for more.
“Please, Zane. I need you. I need you inside me now.”
I roll the condom on, line myself up, and push inside slowly. He’s so tight it’s almost painful, but the look on his face…pure bliss mixed with desire…makes it worth every second of restraint.
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” I murmur when I’m fully seated. “Like you were made for me.”
“Move,” he gasps. “Please, just move.”
I start slow, with long deep strokes that have him clutching at my shoulders, his nails digging into my skin. But slow doesn’t last long. Not when he’s making those sounds, not when he’s looking at me like I’m his salvation.
“Harder,” he chokes out. “I can take it.”
I give him what he wants, what we both need. The couch creaks under us, and I’m pretty sure we’re going to break something, but I don’t care. All I care about is the way he feels around me.
“Zane, I’m close. I’m so close,” he cries out, his frenzied hands gripping me tight.
“Come for me,” I tell him, wrapping my hand around his cock. “Make me feel what I do to you.”
It only takes a few strokes before his back arches off the couch, my name on his lips as he comes harder than I’ve ever seen anyone come. Ropes of cum hit my chest and spill over the side of my hand, and the rumble of my own orgasm rushes toward the head of my cock. The sight of him, the way he clenches around me, sends me over the edge right after him.
I collapse on top of him, both of us breathing hard, pebbled with sweat and completely wrecked.
“Holy shit,” he whispers after a breathless minute.
“Yeah.”
We lie there together, and for the first time in months, I let myself pretend this could be real. That we could have thiswithout the lies and the danger and Morrison’s threats hanging over our heads.
But reality has a way of creeping back in.
“I should probably go,” Tate says eventually, though he makes no move to get up.
“Should you?”
“I don’t know. Should I?” He pauses. “Do you want me to stay?”
I can see the hope in his eyes. The want. It would be so easy to say yes.
I do want. God, I want it so much it scares me. But wanting something and being able to have it are two different things.
“It’s complicated,” I say, hating myself for the words.
His face closes off. “Right. Complicated.”
“Tate.”
“No, I get it.” He’s already on his feet and moving, reaching for his clothes. “This was just physical. Scratching an itch.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.” He’s getting dressed quickly, like he can’t wait to get away from me. “Thanks for clarifying.”
“It’s not about what I want,” I try to explain. “It’s about keeping you safe.”
“From your gambling debts, right?” His voice is flat. “Because guys who break kneecaps are definitely going to care about who you’re sleeping with.”
