“Gotta get these jeans off before I risk permanent injury,” he says, his voice tinged with both pleasure and pain. “Fuck.” The single word, drawn out on a groan, makes my dick twitch and anticipation crawls up my spine when he’s standing before me in only his briefs, a condom and packet of lube in his hand.
The way his muscles tense and flex, the anticipation lighting his eyes, his confidence and grace, despite his bulk…I’m mesmerized. I wish I had one ounce of his courage.
Because he’s magnificent. Rugged and handsome, but also, somehow beautiful. Like he was sculpted from clay and brought to life from an artist’s fantasy. Or from mine.
And then he does the sexiest fucking thing I could imagine. Crawls up the bed until he’s next to me, cups the back of my head, and holds my gaze. “Tell me what you like.”
WhatIlike. Not what he needs. Not what he wants me to do. With those five words, he banishes all of my fears, all the ghosts that haunt me.
“It’s been so long I don’t know anymore.” The admission costs me, and I try to look away from this man who’s starred in more than one of my dreams the past week, but he slides his palm until it rests against my cheek, plants a gentle kiss to my lips, and shakes his head.
“Yes, you do. And whatever it is? You can tell me.”
“I just…” Tears burn my eyes when I realize there’s only one thing I want. Thatnothingelse matters as long as I can have thisonething. “I want to look at you. I want to see you. The whole time. Face to face. Whatever we do, whatever we can or can’t do with my back as fucked up as it is, I don’t care. But I need to see you.”
“Then you’ll see me. No matter what.” With a kiss to my palm, he seals his promise, and he’s so earnest, so completely focused on me, that I start to think maybe…I can have this one night. This one, perfect night to get me through all the ones after.
Because soon, he’ll start asking questions. AboutAlec. About why I didn’t leave him sooner. About how I let myself be turned into a pathetic, drugged up, obedient zombie.
“Q? Are you sure about this?” Graham pauses, his fingers curled around the waistband of my briefs. I picked red today. Another rebellion against my past. Against Alec’s hatred of anything but tighty whities. “If you’re having second thoughts…”
Shit. Don’t think about the future. Not yet.
I answer by covering his hand with mine and squeezing gently. “I’m not.”
And then I’m bared to him, my cock throbbing and a drop of pre-cum glistening at the tip. Graham straddles me, dips his head, and swirls his tongue around my crown. That might be the sexiest thing anyone’s ever done to me. “Is that okay?” he asks, his voice tight with need.
I can only nod, and then my God. He wraps his strong fingers around the base of my shaft and takes me slowly, like he’s savoring each inch. His cheeks hollow, and I dig my heels into the mattress, pure, white hot need shooting through me.
Velvet lips, the heat of his mouth, and whatever he’s doing with his tongue…I’m close. So close. “Graham.”
He raises his eyes, keeping his promise. In that moment, I realize I asked him for the wrong thing. I don’t need to see him. I needhimto seeme. And he does. With a throaty hum, he takes me even deeper, his free hand cupping my balls, and I can’t hold on any longer.
The whole world slows, going soft and warm, and sheets rustle as Graham slides up my body and gathers me against him. “Come back to me, Q,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear.
I’m trying, but I haven’t felt this good in so long, I don’t want it to end.
“Can I kiss you, baby?”
He’s asking. Why is he asking? Blinking hard, I focus on his handsome face, his swollen lips, the eyes bright with need. Without hesitation, I pull him on top of me until we’re locked together, and I taste myself on his tongue.
Graham gave me the choice. He’s given meeverychoice.
“There you are,” he manages when we come up for air. “Was worried for a minute. Was that okay?”
“That was…wow.”
* * *
Graham
The gift Q gave me? It’s beautiful. Letting go with such abandon, such joy…it’s like he’s never been allowed to befreebefore. I don’t deserve this—or him—but that doesn’t stop me from skimming my hand down his side and under one toned ass cheek.
His legs are thin—in stark contrast to his arms and chest, and a scar bisects his left hip. Pressing a kiss to the thick line, I watch his face, making sure I’m not hurting him or dredging up bad memories. One day, I hope he’ll trust me enough to tell me everything.
“Put this under your ass,” I say. “It’ll relieve some of the pressure on your back.”
He wriggles until his hips are slightly elevated, which affords me a beautiful view of his lithe, toned muscles and a chance to study how he moves. “Your right side is stronger? More flexible?”
