He’s hard again.
Already.
Christ.
Am I the luckiest bloke in the world or has Christmas come early?
Sab
I stay at Galen’s until the early hours of the morning, and I swear what happens while I’m there is beyond an out-of-body experience.
We use our hands. Every time I think I might be close to sliding him between my lips, his hot fingers wrap around my dick, and I lose track of anything and everything that isn’t the consuming friction of his grip.
I come so many times I lose track. But only of the numbers. That feeling…like breaking apart and being reborn. Even if I never have it again, I’ll never forget it.
“You can sleep here,” Galen murmurs against my neck. “I don’t have a bed, but the mattress is new and the bathroom works.”
I want to.
As in, I don’t want to leave the sweaty pile of limbs we’ve become. But I’m so hooked on him right now, I know I won’t sleep a wink while we’re this entangled. And I need to sleep before I shower him from my skin and step back into the life I’ve left to be here.
To go back toEsme.
She’s on my mind as I extract myself from Galen’s massive couch and find my clothes.
They’re everywhere, and this dazed, it takes me a minute to find them.
Galen pops up in front of me and eases a shirt over my head. “This feels like sacrilege.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” He soothes the cotton over my chest. Doesn’t say anything else, and I can’t decide if it’s a good or a bad thing. If I’d crack if he asked me to stay again.
He doesn’t.
Galen brings me my shoes and watches me step into them. By now, he’s not naked anymore either, and I miss it. The hard planes of his body against mine. The harsh, masculine sounds he made when he came.
The light from his Christmas lantern makes the auburn in his hair shine brighter. I run my fingers through it, getting lost in his green eyes. In his low hum of pleasure. But reality bites deeper; it’s time to go.
Fuck, I need tothank himfor a night that feels like it’s set me free. But I can’t find the words, not in English anyway, and I’ve blurted so much French tonight, Ireallyneed to stop.
So I don’t say anything. I turn to go, to leave behind a night of heat and release that should be just that, nothing more. So why does my heart ache to kiss him again? Why does my fucking soul sag with relief as Galen follows me to the door, catches my wrist, and hauls me back?
We collide, and I claim his mouth without stopping to second-guess if I’m doing it right. By now, I know how he tastes. How he rumbles a moan every time I flick my tongue against his. How he kisses me back, putain, la façon dont il m’arrache ce baiser...
How hetearsthat kiss from my ruined mouth.
I need togo, but for one more hot minute, I’m this reckless, desperate thing that can’t rip myself away from him. Until I force myself to ease back, hunger wound tight in my belly, but reined in by the abrupt reminder we aren’t lovers parting for the night. That this is a hookup, not a date. Afavourif I dig a little deeper into what we’re doing here.
I don’t want to. Not with his lips still on mine, imprinted like a bruise that’ll never heal. But even though every last nerve screams at me not to, I pull back entirely and open his front door. “Bonne nuit, mon ami.”
Goodnight, my friend.
But are we friends?
At this point, I’m not sure.
I’m not sure of anything except walking away before he has the chance to respond is fucking brutal.
