“You’re doing so good.” He moves under me.
“Thanks… I want—need—more,” I moan, grinding against him.
“How’s this?” He arches his hips, plunging into me.
“God!” I cry, my nails digging into his shoulders.
Chest heaving, he holds me in place. “You okay?” He runs his hands down my naked body.
“Better than okay.” I wiggle just a bit, electricity zings with the feel of him filling me.
“Good.” He drags his palms down my folded legs. Tapping my shoes, amusement plays in his expression. “I do like your new red shoes.”
“Me too.” I brush my nose against his.
In lazy caresses, he strokes his hands along my sides. Neither of us moves. It’s the closest I’ve ever felt to another human. We’re not rushing to the end. We’re reveling in this connection. In how good this feels to be tethered to one another—not just with our bodies.
Despite the full sensation, my body hums for more. To have every inch of me experience every inch of him. I pull up just a bit and then slam back down on him, causing both of us to cry, “Fuck.”
“You like that?” I murmur and repeat the action.
“Yes,” he moans.
Our gentle pace becomes harder and faster. My blood almost sings with each note he hits inside me. Any lingering anxiety about not knowing what I’m doing is washed away. Not just in how good this feels, but thanks to the pleasure his moans assure me he is experiencing. The quickening thrust of his hips up into me. His fingers biting into me.
“Baby… I’m going…” he rasps.
“O-kay.”
“Are you…close?” He curls his hands around my ass, urging me on.
“Almost.” I slip my finger between my legs and massage my clit, tipping myself over the edge.
He shudders. “Fuck, Jensen.”
Falling against him, his arms wrap tightly around me. We just hold each other through our mutual climax. The aftershocks rippling through us. The gasping breaths. The tumbling back to reality. A reality wherethatjust happened, and it’s going to happen again.
23
MILE TWENTY-THREE
THE CLIFF
How am I already six months into marathon training? Sugar cakes! I’ve dated Garrett for almost three months.
Just like running, time marches at its own pace. It’s that time when the initial ache of the start dissolves into the actual run, and I’m in it. The last six months have left me soaring. Friends. Marathon training. Garrett. It’s all coming together.
Well, almost everything.I received an email that my department’s grant application for the access technology center wasn’t selected. The note came with the standard language about this not reflecting the merit of the application, but the limited resources available. They encourage us to apply again next year. Yadda, yadda.
It’s frustrating because the university has denied this requested budget item each of the last three years, so I thought the grant might be an alternative funding resource.
I’ll apply again next year, while I look for additional funding resources. As Garrett teases, I am like a dog with a bone, and I plan to find a way to make the access technology center a reality. As well as a few other ideas. This includes spending time with Bryce when we fly to Buffalo for the half-marathon tolearn about some of the revenue resources he’s tapped into for Boundless, his and his husband’s nonprofit.
Thanks to my own experience and the work I do with students, I have a list of resources and programs needed to supplement the current lack of social and recreational activities for disabled students. It’s not just the accessibility needs that aren’t always addressed, but the lack of a culture that embraces and supports them—supports us. Ableist comments from others. People staring. Inaccessibility. It all leads to isolation.
“And isolation is something you know all too well,” Dr. Nor says, handing me a cup of tea.
“It is.” I take the cup and scoot back on the worn couch.
