“I mean, if he has better shoulders than yours, yes.” But his thumb drifts reverently over my bottom lip as he says it.
I pull my hoodie and T-shirt over my head, my nipples puckering in the cool air given we left the door wide open when we rushed to aid our neighbor. “My shoulders are perfect. And you and I both know we aren’t going anywhere.”
Garrett chuckles, placing his warm hands over my shoulders. “You don’t know that. I could wake up tomorrow and feel like a change.”
There’s a sharp tug on my heart. I know he stands by monogamy, but there would be a way to scratch that itch for change if he would open himself to the idea of polyamory. We could be ethically non-monogamous.
Sometimes, my dreams take me to a place where we find a third. Someone we could love, who would love us both, and close off a triad with.
And there are some days that I feel my love for Garrett isn’t enough to save him from himself. If there were more than just me to love and care about, his foundation would feel more stable somehow.
And he’d benefit from being loved more.
He’s been so deprived of it in his life, it’s as though he’s a constantly leaking well I can’t top up, no matter how hard I try.
But I won’t raise it with him because I would hate him to feel pressured or think I’d cheat because he isn’t enough. He’ll always be my choice.
He runs his finger down my arm, tracing the snake tattoos that crisscross my forearm and bicep, one for every important moment in my life when I feel like I’ve shed skin.
“Well, if that lumberjack everdoesmove in across the street, I’ll be sure to invite him over. You can take a tape to our biceps…or cocks. Whatever.”
“You always talk too much before you kiss me,” he murmurs.
And I seize the opportunity to steal a kiss from the man who stole my heart from the moment I first met him. The man who felt so woefully unworthy of love that it took him nineteen months to admit he loved me, when I declared my love four days after we met.
He drags me closer, his mouth rough against mine. The tension between us, the leftover adrenaline from facing off against two armed men, burns off in the heat of his kiss.
“And for the record,” he says, “I’m getting too fucking old to be dating someone else. Even a cute lumberjack. You’re stuck with me, Wild.”
Wild. The nickname he gave me after the very first time I came on to him.
I see the hair at his temples that just started to get the first hint of gray. “You’ll never be too old for me.”
“Good,” he says, before pulling his lips to mine again.
His kiss has always reminded me of a storm breaking. It’s a turbulent and beautiful force of nature. I slide my hands around the back of his neck. His body has always met me with strength, something solid and grounded. There’s a safety in giving up control to him.
To his quiet stillness.
Letting him lead without ego between us.
Mom thinks it’s Garrett’s strength that draws out a gentleness in me. I think of it more like a good cowboy knowing how to rein in the feistiest horse.
I reach for the buttons of his plaid shirt and unbutton them slowly. There are a couple of silver hairs in the thatch on his chest, and I smooth my hands over them as I make my way down to his jeans.
“I love you,” I say, reassuring him that no matter what happens in our lives, he will always be my love.
“I know.”
He watches as I unbuckle the belt of his jeans and find his cock already straining against his boxer briefs for me. “Lift your hips,” I encourage.
His hands flex on the arms of the chair, scarred knuckles pale, as he takes his weight.
The denim rustles as I shimmy it down his thighs a little. Enough so that I can reach him. He’s big. Sometimes, painfully so. Had to ramp up my butt plug sizes when we started having sex, just to help get better prepared.
But sucking on him is one of my favorite things.
Because this man, who is reluctant to give his feelings away, can’t help but share them when I’m sucking on his cock. Like he can’t contain how he really feels about me.
