Chapter 27: Ivan
Watching him dry his body shouldn't be erotic after what we just did, but somehow it is. Everything about him is erotic to me now. Every movement, every glance, every breath. The way he runs the towel down his legs. The way water still clings to his shoulders. The way his hair is sticking up in messy spikes.
"Stop looking at me like that," Jay says, catching my stare, but he's smiling.
"Like what?"
"Like you want to eat me alive. Like I'm a meal."
"Maybe I do." I grin at him.
He laughs, the sound bright and surprised, echoing off the tile. "Give me twenty minutes. Maybe thirty. I'm not eighteen anymore. I need recovery time."
"You're twenty-one. That's basically eighteen."
"Tell that to my refractory period. Tell that to my body."
We're both grinning as we step out of the bathroom, naked and damp and completely comfortable with each other despite our inexperience. It strikes me, not for the first time, how easy this is. How natural. There's no awkwardness, no embarrassment, no fumbling attempts to cover up or hide or look away.
This is Jay. I've known him since I was twelve years old. I've slept in his bed, cried in his arms, trusted him with my life, trusted him with my worst secrets. Seeing him naked, touching him intimately, being touched by him—it's just another layer of intimacy on top of everything we already have. It's not a leap. It's a natural progression.
Jay digs through his dresser, pulls out two pairs of boxers, and tosses one to me. I catch it and pull them on, watching him do the same. Then we collapse onto the bed together. I roll onto my side, propping myself up on my elbow to look at him properly. His hair is damp and messy, sticking up in every direction. His cheeks are still flushed pink from exertion and heat. His lips are swollen from kissing, from being bitten. He looks thoroughly debauched, like someone who's just beentaken apart and put back together, and I did that. I made him look like that.
I can't stop staring at Jay's face.
"What?" he asks.
"You're gorgeous."
He shakes his head slightly. "No, I'm not."
"You are." I slide my hand down his arm slowly, learning the shape of him. His biceps are defined from years of working with heavy tools. His forearms are corded with muscle and sinew. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Jay. I need you to know that. I need you to believe it because it's true."
"Ivan—"
"I mean it." I trace my fingers across his collarbone, following the ridge of bone, then down the center of his chest. I can feel his heart pounding under my palm, racing as fast as mine. "Last weekend, when you came out of the shower in that towel, I thought I was going to lose my mind."
His breath catches. "What are you talking about?"
"I'd never looked at anyone like that before. Man or woman. Never felt that pull, that want." I let my hands wander lower, over his stomach, feeling the muscles tense and jump under my palms. "But you walked out with water dripping down your back and that towel hanging off your hips, so low I could almost see your dick and I couldn't stop staring. Couldn't look away."
"You never said anything."
"I didn't know how. I didn't know what I was feeling or what it meant." My hands continue their exploration, mapping the terrain of his body. "I just knew I wanted to touch you so badly it hurt. My hands started shaking."
"I had no idea," he says. "I was trying not to stare too much at you too."
"I've never wanted anyone before you," I tell him. "I didn't think I was capable of it. I thought maybe there was something wrong with me, that everyone else felt things I didn't. But then I found you, and suddenly all I can think about is this. Touching you. Tasting you. Learning every inchof your body. Memorizing it. I'm really glad I found you. I'm glad I didn't give up."
He turns his head to look at me, and his expression softens. "I'm really glad you found me too. More glad than I can say."
I kiss him, soft and slow. Not leading anywhere, we're both too spent for that, too wrung out to even think about getting hard again. Just a kiss for the sake of kissing. Because I can. Because he's here, and he's mine, and I never have to wonder where he is again.
When I pull back, he's smiling.
"What?" I ask, tracing his bottom lip with my thumb.
"Nothing." He catches my hand, brings it to his mouth, kisses my palm. "I'm just happy. Happier than I think I've ever been in my entire life. I don't even know what to do with this feeling."
