“I’ll get the movie queued up,” I tell him.
Moving into the living room, I flip on the gas logs and turn on a lamp on the far end table, setting the mood.
I scroll through a hundred streaming services until Ifind what I want, and then I wait. Before today, Zeke always sat on the opposite end of the couch from me, or a different piece of furniture entirely, but in light of our recent conversation, I’m curious to see where he chooses to sit tonight, hoping his choice brings him closer.
Suddenly, my nerves flare to life, and the feeling is foreign.
Are we together? We didn’t really specify. Being attracted to someone isn’t the same thing as wanting to date them. Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. Is bringing it up again now too soon?
I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts, I don’t realize the man I’m obsessing over is standing behind me, leaning over the couch.
“Do you want a re?—”
“Jesus!” I yell, jumping six inches into the air, knocking the bottle of wine out of Zeke’s hand. I hear it hit something that sounds suspiciously like a tooth before the bottle falls onto the couch, spilling its contents everywhere.
“Shit!Ohmygod, Talon, I’m so sorry!” Zeke yells back, racing into the kitchen for something to clean up the mess.
Meanwhile, I jump over the back of the couch to make sure he’s okay after my clumsy move.
Catching him at the sink, I grab him by the shoulders, spinning him to face me.
“Are you okay?” I ask, probably overreacting, as I cup his face, trying to see if I split his lip.
“I’m fine. Really,” he says. “But I’m pretty sure I just ruined your couch.”
“I don’t care about the couch,” I tell him honestly, my eyes fixed on his. Instinctively, I take a step closer, my thumbs brushing across his cheekbones, following the path my knuckle took earlier. The spill forgotten, my mind calms because he isn’t bleeding, and I didn’t chip his teeth. “This is only going to work if we communicateveryclearly. Abouteverything,” I tell him. My heart is racing and my blood is pounding in my ears.
Reading between the lines, he grips my waist.
“What do you want to communicate right now?” he asks.
“That I want to kiss you.”
“Have you ever kissed a guy before?”
“No,” I answer honestly, leaning closer, knowing I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this.
“I’m afraid of what will happen if you don’t like it,” Zeke admits.
“I’m more afraid of what will happen when I do,” I tell him through panted breaths. He looks like he’s about to ask more questions, but I’m literally dying over here, so I whisper, “Can I?Please?”
Finally, he nods, and I’m in heaven.
I move slowly, allowing him time to anticipate my moves. Not wanting to spook him or lose control, I move my hands from his face to his back, embracing him. The moan that escapes from my mouth does so involuntarily, and I feel him smile.
“Okay, so maybe you like it a little,” he says against my lips.
“More,” I answer, desperately wanting him to stop talking and fuse our mouths together again.
I could kiss him all fucking night.Everyfucking night.
Pulling that bottom lip I love so much into my mouth, I suck gently, my cock hardening when Zeke melts against me. Our tongues dance as I savor the flavor of the sparkling wine on his tongue.
I fight the growing need to rut against him, ever conscious of how he’s been treated in the past, when his voice breaks through.
“I’m not as fragile as you think,” he says, reaching forward to cup me through my pants, but I stop him.
“Slowly. We should go slowly,” I say, more as a reminder to myself than anything.
