“One more thing to clean up,” I remind him.
He groans lowly as I move his cock aside, my tongue running over his skin. His stomach is warm, his skin soft as I gatherevery trace of his cum. Isaac watches from up on his elbows, content to let me do my thing.
He licks his lips reflexively when I make a show of swallowing. “Are you quite done?”
“For now,” I tell him. “Thirsty?”
Isaac looks temporarily taken aback. “Do you plan to fetch me a pail of water?”
“If you had a well, I would. As is, I was thinking I’d grab a couple glasses from your kitchen.”
He shakes his head a little, as if having to root himself in reality.
Is it that much of a shock, that I’d take care of him after fucking him so boneless?
I don’t wait for Isaac’s refusal, simply grab my jeans off the floor and tug them on. He sits up abruptly as I head for the hallway.
“A shirt?” he calls.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, positive his flush has nothing to do with anyone potentially catching sight of me leaving his room shirtless and everything to do with the visual itself. Isaac has made no secret of his appreciation for my tattoos. “Be right back, Red.”
The house is still as I make the short trek downstairs. I’m starting to think the music playing might be a standard soundtrack to someone’s sleep. There’s already a light on in the kitchen, so I open cupboards until I find glasses. I fill two with water before returning to Isaac’s room.
He’s sitting up when I walk in, his back against the wall. The sheet is tugged over his lap, his hair a mess and his eyes sleepy in a way they weren’t before. I hand over a water, downing my own and waiting for him to drink his fill before I set both glasses on his nightstand. Isaac watches me curiously as I crawlhis way, not expecting, I’d bet, to be tugged back down flat against the mattress.
A smile quirks his lips as I settle over him, the sheet stuck between our legs. I heave out a breath, Isaac’s smaller body fitting beneath mine perfectly. I’ve never had a specific thing for men smaller than me, but everything about Isaac is appealing. His fight. His surrender. His fiery red hair and the fact that I could toss him over my shoulder and cart him away if need be.
He has me wrapped neatly around his little finger, a fact I’m starting to suspect he realizes.
I settle half to Isaac’s side, my head on my bent arm. His fingers trail over my bicep, along intricately designed ink.
“Are you staying tonight?” he asks. “I mean, it’s practically morning already.”
Itismorning, but I know what he means. “I’m staying.”
He nods, letting loose the tiniest breath. “Is it going to be like that every time? That…intense?”
Isaac’s eyes stay locked on my arm, as if he’s scared to meet my eye. Scared, maybe, to find out if tonight was a dream.
Scared that perhaps it wasn’t.
“You know why it’s so good, don’t you?” I ask him.
He swallows heavily, a long few seconds passing before he speaks. “Because we fit.”
“Yeah, Red. We do.”
He nods again, tracing the teeth of a tiger near my shoulder. “Tell me something honest?”
My pulse steadies as I watch Isaac discover my tattoos. I’ll reassure him a million times over that we’re real if that’s what he needs.
“I look at you and see tomorrow. When the sun rises over the edge of the sky. Each minute, each hour, an endless hello.For not a piece of me will ever be ready to say goodbye. Dark will gather, when the sun goes down. But with it is knowledge carved true. Every tomorrow, coming and gone, is another blinding promise of you.”
Isaac’s lips press tightly together, his eyes shining. “How do you do that? Come up with something on the spot like that?”
“You make it easy,” I admit.
He puffs out a breath, eyes meeting mine at last. There’s mirth there as his gaze runs over me fondly. “You should have been a poet, Trevor Slade.”
