“I’m… so… close.” His voice was low, husky. Wrecked.
I gave my wrist a twist as I stroked us, and lightning streaked down my spine. My eyelids slammed shut and my vision sparkled as I shot hot ropes of cum onto my abs. Étienne came with a shout, pumping his cock into my tight hand.
I released him and he collapsed at my side as we both gasped for breath.
“That was…” He trailed off, breathless.
“Was that okay?” My heart was still hammering, my body still trembling with aftershocks.
“Okay?” He let out a shaky laugh. “That was fucking amazing.” He turned his head and captured my mouth in a kiss that tasted like gratitude and wonder. I poured everything I felt—everything I couldn’t yet name—into kissing him back.
He broke the kiss after a moment. “Wait here.” He climbed out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom. I heard water running, and then he returned with a warm, damp washcloth. His touch was gentle as he cleaned my hand and dick. He tossed the cloth toward the hamper.
It missed by a yard.
He shrugged, completely unbothered, and climbed back into bed with that easy confidence I loved.
“Come here,” he murmured, reaching for me.
I went willingly, letting him arrange us so we were spooned together, his arms wrapped around me, his chest against my back.
Safe. Warm. Home.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he whispered into my hair. “I’m not giving you up.”
“Even if there’s no good solution?”
“Even then.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Étienne
The water was almost too hot, but I didn’t adjust it.
I stood under the spray, eyes closed, letting it pound against my shoulders while my mind replayed the night before. Every touch, every sound, every moment of being with Marco.
It had been different than I’d expected.
Not bad different. Not disappointing or awkward or any of the things I’d worried about in the abstract. Just… different.
Being with women had been familiar. Being with Marco was new territory. Different angles, different textures, different responses. He knew what would arouse me, his reactions were more raw, less performative. The brush of his beard against my skin, the strength in his callused hands, the way he’d looked at me like I was everything he’d ever wanted.
And somehow, despite the newness—or maybe because of it—it had felt right in a way nothing else ever had.
I turned off the water and grabbed a towel, feeling lighter than I had in days.
I found Marco in the kitchen, leaning on a crutch and making coffee. He looked up when I came in, and his expression softened.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning.” I crossed to him, unable to resist the pull. I wrapped my arms around him from behind and rested my chin on his shoulder. “Sleep okay?”
“Sure did.” His hand came up to cover mine where they rested on his stomach. “You?”
“Best I’ve slept in weeks.”
He made a small sound—contentment, maybe—and leaned back into me. We stood there while the coffee brewed, just existing together in the quiet morning light.
