Sheila looks up from the glass she’s polishing. Her eyes track us across the room — the wheelchair at full speed, Mickey gripping the armrests, me pushing him like we’re late for a flight.
“Goodnight, baby,” she says. “Don’t break him.”
“Goodnight, Tex!” I shout toward the kitchen.
Tex’s head appears in the doorway. He takes one look and grins. “Atta boy, Benji.”
I hit the elevator button. The doors open. I push the chair inside and spin it around so Mickey’s facing me. The doors close. The cab starts to rise.
Eight seconds.
We both know it takes eight fucking seconds for the slowest elevator in the world to reach the second floor.
I grab the hem of his shirt and yank it upward. His arms go up on instinct and I pull the shirt over his head and throw it on his lap. His bare chest fills the small space — the shoulders, the pecs, the arms that I can never get my hands all the way around.
I’m laughing. He’s laughing. His shirt is off and we have three seconds left and I’m already pulling my own shirt over my head as the doors open.
“Go, go, go,” I say, pushing the chair out of the elevator and across the loft. The wheels glide over the hardwood floor and the bed is right there against the back wall. I park the chair beside the bed and set the brakes.
“I can transfer myself,” he says.
“I know you can. But I told you — I’m driving tonight.” I hold out my hand. He takes it. I brace myself, one hand on the bed, and help him pivot from the chair to the mattress. It’s not the way Leah taught him and it’s not graceful. He lands on the bed and I’m on top of him before he’s settled.
My mouth finds his. The kiss is not the careful kind from the conversation on his lap. This kiss has a sad beach day, tears and missing his mouth behind it. The taste of him rushes back in a flood that makes my hands tremble against his jaw. His tongue pushes past my lips and finds mine. I moan loud enough that I’m sure Sheila hears it through the floor.
His hands grip my hips and pull me down against him. The heat of his body under mine makes my eyes burn. I kiss him harder. My fingers drag down his chest, his stomach, to the waistband of his pants. I pull back just long enough to undo the button.
“Off,” I say. “Everything. Now.”
We strip each other fast and messy. My pants catch on my ankle and I kick them across the room. His take longer because I have to work them down his legs, but my hands know this choreography now. His body is bare beneath me, and his cock is already thickening against his thigh. The body I once could only touch through a layer of heavy cloth now answers me directly.
I reach for the bottle in the nightstand drawer. It’s right where I left it on my last visit.
“Lie back,” I tell him.
“You’re bossy tonight.”
“I’m bossy every night. You didn’t notice before because you were too busy staring at my ass.”
I pour lube onto my fingers and reach behind myself.
“Wait, let me do it,” he says, grabbing my fist.
“No time for that. I’m in a hurry.”
His eyes go dark watching me open myself up, my hand working between my legs while I’m kneeling over him. His hands grip my thighs, the rough calluses on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, and I can feel his fingers pressing hard enough to leave marks. I want marks. I want evidence on my skin that this night happened.
“Benji.” His voice is low and strained. “Watching you do that is going to kill me.”
“Then don’t watch. Close your eyes, Mickey. We’re not slowing down. Not tonight.”
“Fuck, no, I’m not closing my eyes. I’m never closing my eyes when you look like this.”
I add another finger and his grip tightens on my thighs. His cock is fully hard now, thick and flushed, and I wrap my free hand around him and stroke once. The groan that comes out of him makes my whole body clench.
“Enough,” I say. I pull my fingers free and slick his cock with the lube, gripping him firm, feeling the heat and weight in my palm. “I said I was in a hurry, and I meant it. I’ve been thinking about this. While I was lying on a couch crying, I was also thinking about this, which is a very confusing emotional combination to go through, and I don’t recommend it.”
“You were thinking about sex while you were crying?”
