He uses one hand to reach back to cup my balls, then drifts even farther back to circle one finger teasingly over my entrance.
“Devin,” I manage. “You need to— I need?—”
He pulls off with an obscene sound that my brain will be replaying for weeks. “What do you need?”
“You. Here. Now.”
He seems to understand exactly what I mean, sliding back up my body so we can kiss again.
There’s a tangle of limbs and laughter as we bump noses, knock elbows, get the angle wrong, then right, then wrong again.
“So much for resonance,” he teases.
“We just need to”—I shift slightly—“calibrate the system.”
“Oh my god, you’re such a—” The rest of his sentence disappears into a moan as we finally get it right, and my mouth covers his.
This. This is what I’ve always wanted. Someone who laughs when we get it wrong and melts when we get it right. Someone who teases me in a way that feels like affection rather than criticism
I roll us so he’s beneath me, and he moves willingly, pulling me down by the back of my neck to kiss me again. Our bodies align—chest to chest, hips to hips—and we both groan at the friction when I rock against him.
And then we’re moving together, and it actually is like resonance. Each movement amplifying the next, building and building until the whole structure of who I thought I was transforms into something new.
“More,” he breathes, wrapping a leg around my waist to pull me closer.
His hand finds my cock, fingers wrapping around my length with a confidence that makes my breath stutter.
I reach for him, matching his grip, and we start to move.
His thumb swipes over my tip, and I buck into his hand. I twist my wrist on the upstroke, and his eyes flutter closed.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Just like that.”
We speed up together, the sounds in the room obscene and perfect—slick skin, ragged breathing, the occasional moan from both of us.
His head falls back against the pillow, exposing the long line of his throat. I lean down to kiss it, tasting salt, feeling his pulse pound against my lips.
I want to see his face. I want to watch him fall apart. The intensity of the want startles me. I’ve always preferred to keep some distance, some walls, even in bed.
Especially in bed.
“Look at me,” I say.
He does. Those incredible eyes are dark now, hazy with desire. It’s almost too intimate, watching each other like this, but neither of us looks away.
I’ve never asked for this before. Never wanted to be seen this clearly. But with Devin, I don’t want to hide.
When Devin comes, I watch the way his lips part, the way his whole body tenses and then releases, the way my name falls from his mouth. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
It’s not just the physical release. It’s the look on his face, the trust in it, the way he let me see him completely undone.
And then I’m falling too, my orgasm crashing through me with an intensity that whites out my vision.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the two of us, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, existing in a space that my usual frameworks can’t quite map. Time feels irrelevant. Measurement feels irrelevant. There’s just him, and me, and the sound of our breathing slowly synchronizing.
Then Devin lets out a shaky laugh.
“That was…”
