He starts laughing uncontrollably.
I love surprising him—he brings out a playfulness in me I didn’t even know I had. And laughing during sex is my new favorite thing. It makes me feel so much more in sync with Noah, proof that we’re both sharing and enjoying the experience. Together.
“I fucking love you,” he says through a wheeze. I smile into his neck, then groan as he tightens around me through the last of his laughter. Those words have my orgasm rushing toward me, so I speed up my strokes while pressing into him deeper.
I kiss along his neck and whimper, “I love you, Blue.”
He shudders at that, his grip on my hair tightening as he releases all over his stomach and my hand with a guttural cry. The grip of his body—the feeling of his cum on my hand—knowing that this man loves me, brings my own orgasm crashing down. I bottom out as I moan into his hair, filling the condom.
We lie there panting, and I place my hand over Noah’s pounding heart. His hand comes up to cover mine.
It’s been three weeks since the lake. Things have been up and down for me mood-wise, but my headspace is improving. I had a good session with Dr. Keane during the week. I spoke to her about intimacy and what I wanted a future to look like with Noah. I want to give him every part of me, the way he’s already given me all of him. I want us to share everything. I’ve been afraid to be touched in that way for so long, afraid to be hurt as I have been before. But I know he’d never hurt me.
Dr. Keane is helping me understand that my body isn’t proof of what was done to me; it’s proof I survived it. That wanting closeness with someone I love isn’t weakness—it’s trust. That if I want to, I’m allowed to touch and let someone touch me without it meaning I’ve gone backward.
It was the wordtrustthat lingered in my mind, a small word that centered around so many of my fears. I sat with that for a long time in her office. I trust Noah with every part of me, but I realized in that moment that I hadn’t trusted myself. I lived in fear—and it wasn’t entirely of others, it was of what my own reactions would be.
Therapy is helping me understand my reactions and gain back control. I know I still have so much to work through, but I finally feel like I’m on the right path.
Noah groans, stretching out, pushing back on my softening cock. I gasp at the sensation, and he chuckles. I grab the base of the condom and pull out. He rolls onto his stomach—straight into the mess of cum left behind—turning his head to look at me, a smug grin in place. I wrinkle my nose at him, and he snickers.
“Don’t like me messy, baby?” he asks mischievously.
I brush the sweaty hair from his forehead with my clean hand. “I love you every way.”
His grin grows tender, eyes going soft.
“Wanna hop straight in the shower?” I ask as I climb out of bed. I’ve invited Aiden, Ciarán, and Abbie over for breakfast. I thought about inviting Theo, too, since he’s part of this little family now, but I’m just not there with him yet. I haven’t seen them much over the last few weeks—told them I was going through stuff and needed some time alone. Which was true. I’ve had a lot to process, and selfishly, I wanted more time alone with Noah.
I also wanted to go to a few sessions before telling them I’m in therapy. I spoke to Dr. Keane about it, and I’m not going to share the details about the lake right away—it would only upset them and make me feel guilty. Down the line, I will, but for now, I want them to know I’m going, that I’m working through things. That I’m done hiding my issues from them.
I told Noah more details about my past last week, about the ways Kyle abused me, we cried in each other’s arms for hours. Shame overwhelmed me, but it was how he looked after that kept me from spiraling. I could see it in his eyes, he was proud I told him, relieved I’m still here, and looked at me like he loves me regardless of whatever was done to me in the past. He hasn’t treated me any differently since.
“Let’s do it,” he says, hopping up and wiping himself with the sheets before throwing them in the hamper.
I tie the condom off and toss it in the trash can. I might love Noah caring for me, but I’m still mortified I forgot I was even wearing one after the first time. I was just so in shock, awed by what we shared and how it felt to be so connected to him.
“You know…” Noah’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I look at him, standing bare in the morning light streaming into the room. His body is stunning—broad shoulders, an actual eight-pack, that V-cut. All those veins. I feel my cock jerk and hear a huff of laughter. When I look up, Noah’s shoulders are shaking as he presses his lips together.
“Sorry, what?” I ask, unsure if he finished his sentence while my eyes wandered.
He clears his throat, a flush spreading across his cheeks. I see it on him so rarely—he’s usually all confidence and steady presence, unflappable.
“We could ditch the condoms.”
My eyes widen in surprise. I wasn’t expecting that.
He goes on, “If you wanted. I’m negative. Got tested at my physical when I moved back. And I’ve only been with you since…” His eyes lock onto mine with such intensity my breath hitches, “There will only ever be you.”
Now I’m the one blushing. To no one’s surprise.
The thought of going bare with Noah is making my cock stiffen all over again. I hold my hands in front of it. “Uh… me too. I’m negative, too, I mean.”
When I look at him again, his eyes are squeezed shut, but a snort escapes.
“What?” I ask, a little defensively.
“Baby,” he groans through a snicker, “do you really think you can hide that weapon behind your hands?”
