“You want what only I can give you, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, fuck,” he gasps, his cock straining, the tip glistening with pre-cum. “Only you— Fuck!”
“That’s right, baby,” I rasp. “I’m all yours.”
Even though I’m holding him in place, Remington’s hips still try to rock of their own accord. He clenches his teeth, eyes slamming shut. “Oh god, daddy…Please!”
“Does my good boy need to come?” I wrap my fist around him, and his hole clenches as soon as I make contact.
“Yes…yes, fuck,” he moans.
“Give it to me,” I growl, pumping up into him harder, faster. “Show me how good only I can make you feel.”
As if on cue, his body tenses while his cock erupts. Remington slaps a hand over his mouth as he cries out, the barely muffled sound setting off my own release. Thick ropes of cum rip from my body, coating his insides as I throw my head back, stars dancing behind my eyelids. Remington collapses on top of me, his chest heaving as he buries his face in my neck. I pump myself into him through the aftershocks, my arms tight around his middle.
“Wow,” he says breathily after a minute.
“Yeah…wow.”
Chuckling, he rolls onto the bed beside me. “That was intense. Bein’ with you is always intense, though.”
“Hopefully, in a good way,” I tease, turning on my side as I prop my head in my hand.
“The best way.”
Leaning in, I press a kiss onto his lips. It’s slow, tender. The opposite of what we just did.
But it’s perfect.
Like Remington is for me.
Thirty-Four
Gentry, Six Months Later
Early morning light spills in through the gap in the curtains, warm and golden, brushing across the bed like it’s moving carefully so it doesn’t wake him. I’ve been awake for a while, propped on my side, watching Remington breathe. His leg is pressed between mine, like even in his sleep, he needs to be touching me.
He stirs, stretching his arms above his head, and blinks once, slow and sleepy, before his piercing blues settle on me. My chest tightens in that soft, achy way, as if the love I feel for him is too strong to hold inside. His blond hair is tousled, catching the sunlight in uneven strands.
Remington smiles, small at first, and the dimples appear like they always do, deep enough to make my heart stutter. It’s unfair how easily he disarms me, how something as simple as his beautiful face in the morning can make everything else in the world fall quiet.
“Mornin’,” he rasps.
My stomach flutters at the sound of his sleep-covered voice. “Mornin’.”
I trace the lines of him with my eyes—the warmth of his skin, the way his smile lingers, the twinkle in his eyes—cataloging this version of us to memory.
Unguarded. Unhurried. Wrapped in light and warmth and each other.
“Been up a while?”
Breathing out a small laugh, I say, “You know I can’t sleep in for shit.”
He chuckles, running his fingers through his hair. “Maybe one of these days.”
“Wouldn’t hold your breath.”
Remington rolls over, checking the clock on the wall behind him. “Think the boys are awake?”
