His voice was barely above a whisper. “You really spent time thinking about it, huh?”
It was meant to be a light, teasing comment, but his voice cracked slightly under the weight of emotions, betraying him.
Logan exhaled softly, his fingers tilting Adrian’s chin so their eyes met in the dim light. His gaze was warm, knowing, steady.
“Of course, I did.” His thumb brushed over Adrian’s jaw. “I was trying to figure out what the hell was happening to me. Why couldn’t I stop thinking about you? Why, after one night—hell, after one conversation—I felt like I’d already known you forever.”
Adrian swallowed hard, his throat tight.
Logan’s smirk softened, dissolving into something devotional, almost disbelieving, as his thumb brushed over Adrian’s ring. The silver glinted in the soft glow of the lamp, a fragile star between them.
“My future husband,” he murmured, almost to himself, like the words were too sacred to say out loud, too large to fit in a single breath.
Their mouths met suddenly, fervent and urgent—no prelude, no hesitation. An unquenchable desire that first ignited on that Hawaii shore and had been shimmering through the heartbreak and the destruction and the pain until it blustered again.
The kiss was a collision of memory and need, lips parted, breath shared. Adrian’s hands explored with intent, not just hunger but ache. He traced the solid line of his shoulder, the curve of his bicep, the strength still humming in him. His fingertips glided down the slope of Logan’s chest, then his stomach, memorizing the heat of him.
He moved on Logan’s lap, hips rolling with slow precision, grinding gently where their bodies met, feeling the heat of Logan’s arousal rising against him. He wasn’t imagining it—Logan’s cock thickening under the water, responding to his touch, to his presence. And the feeling ofLogan’s thick cock touching his own made his eyes roll back, made him feel powerful.
The friction drew a sound from Logan, something deep, half-gasp, half-groan. “What… what are you doing?”
Adrian smiled, barely. His voice came quietly, threaded with breath. “I want to touch you.”
Their lips met again, slower now, reverent. Adrian reached between them, fingers curling around Logan’s shaft, solid, growing harder by the second. That sound again, Logan’s moan, unfiltered, helpless, made Adrian’s own breath catch.
Inside him, something flickered. Arousal. Desire. But as it rose, it stuttered, like a flame in the wind. He felt his body trying, wanting, but not responding the way it used to. His cock twitched, swelled halfway… then faltered. The fullness never came.
He froze. His movement on top of Logan’s and his hand as it jacked Logan off just stopped, and for half a second, the room felt colder. The steam couldn’t hide it. His heart pounded more rapidly, not from longing, but from a wave of shame.
This again.
The doctors had warned him. He remembered their words: low testosterone, hormone disruption, erectile dysfunction, delayed response. Clinical terms, cold syllables. He’d nodded through those appointments like a soldier taking orders, but none of it had prepared him for the hollow pause in his own body. For the way desire could rise without being met by function. Those words that sounded clean on paper but tasted like failure when they lived in your body. He was supposed to understand this, accept it, not define himself by it.
But still, he wanted. Wanted to be a man. Not just a survivor. Not just a patient. A man who could take his partner apart with his hands, his mouth, his body. A man who could stillgive.
He looked at Logan, flushed, panting, eyes hazy with pleasure. Adrian’s heart clenched withloveso consuming it eclipsed the rest.
He didn’t need release. He didn’t need performance. He neededthis—to give, to touch, to make Logan feel everything he couldn’t always feel himself.
“Ad,” Logan gasped, breath hitching as pleasure rolled through him, but even in the haze, he saw it. The shift.
The way Adrian stilled.
Not in hesitation, but in something quieter, heavier.
Logan knew that look. The flicker of sadness. The glint of shame behind Adrian’s eyes. He’d seen it before, felt it in the way Adrian’s body went tense, in the way his own arousal pressed against the soft, limp weight of Adrian’s cock, twitching but unresponsive.
And it was okay.It was okay.
Logan’s hand found Adrian’s cheek, thumb stroking gently across damp skin. “Look at me,” he whispered, not as a command, but as an invitation.
Adrian’s eyes met his, wide, searching.
“That doesn’t matter,” Logan breathed. “Not to me. Not ever.” He leaned down, pressing their foreheads together, breathing into the silence. “I feel you,” Logan whispered. “Every time you touch me. Every time you kiss me. That’s desire. That’s love. And it doesn’t need to be hard to be real.”
He let the moment sit, let Adrian feel it, not just the words, but the weight behind them.
“There’s nothing broken in you,” he said softly. “You’re still the man I want. The man Ichoose.”
