The name slides home, puzzle pieces scrabbling for purchase in a brain that’s all Sab. For a moment, I have that mental flail when you know the answer, but it’s out of reach. But then…I find it. I see blond hair and bright blue eyes, and a compassionate smile that never dimmed, even in the grim shadows of an ICU ward where every patient in the row fecking died.
All but one.
All butme, and I know it was because of him.
Bhodi.
Christ. I’m not prepared for that memory to hit, and instinct has me closing the narrow distance between me and Sab, feeling that same steady warmth Bhodi radiated on the ward, the safety of it that helped me to believe I was going to live, no matter how bad it looked.
Of course Sab would be family to him.
Of course. It makes so much sense that my body heeds that kinship quicker than I do, and the embrace Sab pulls me into cements the link to the reason I’m still here to enjoy it.
He hugs me like he did a few weeks back. It seems impossible I feel it more this time around, but that’s what happens. I sink deeper and deeper into it until I’m not sure who I was before I met himorNurse Bhodi. I drown in it, and the only way to save myself is to fuse my mouth to the delicate skin of Sab’s throat.
I sink my teeth in, not biting, justthere, all pressure and claiming, until I move to another sensitive line on his neck, brushing my lips over his skin with enough friction to have him shivering against me, over and over as I don’t let up.
Until hegroansand threads his hands into my hair. “Putain…ouais…Tu me fais perdre la tête, Galen…”
I don’t need a translator to know he’s telling me what I’m doing to him feels good. It’s in every shudder and sharp inhale. Every press of his body against mine, hard muscle and the solid bulge lengthening in his worn jeans. The way he utters my name like a prayer as I keep the bite shy of pain. As I lean into him with force and the energy I’m giving off. “You wanna get more comfortable?”
Sab hums.
I take it as an affirmative and back off enough to let him lose his shoes. Then I lead him to the living space that’s lit with the sole Christmas decoration I currently own—a clay lantern with cut-out stars casting a warm glow that makes the sparsely furnished space seem cosier than it is.
The radio’s on from when I came home, crooning out mellow indie rock and there’s a blanket on the couch because my sister put one there when she passed through a year ago.
“You wanna drink?”
Sab doesn’t answer. Just stares at me in the soft light.
I reach for the hem of his shirt. “No coat?”
“I didn’t know I was coming until I was here.”
He’s coming. I’ll make sure of it.
But not yet.
I strip him of his shirt and skate my hands over his warm skin, leaving contradictory goosebumps in my wake.
The light touch has him shivering again, and then I kiss him, and it’s nothing like the first time I claimed his mouth. That he claimed mine in return. This time, the runaway train has adestination, and though I’m in no hurry to get there, I’m not stopping unless he asks me to.
He doesn’t.
I get him on the couch. On his back, beneath me, and he lets me roam his body and explore every inch of that skin as I slowly toss our clothes aside, teaching myself a lesson in control while my cock aches for more.
Underwear winds up the last barrier between us, but the thin cotton doesn’t hide much.
Sab bucks into me, his olive skin sheened with sweat. I grind back, stretching the tension.
Then I slip a hand between us and grip him, squeezing, grazing my fingers from base to tip. “You ready to lose these?”
The boxers.
Sab swallows hard and I cup his jaw, the way I’ve come to learn grounds him when my dirty mouth gets away from me.
“Just my hands.” I punctuate the whisper with a kiss. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”
