“Yeah,” he growls, voice rough. “That’s it.”
He adjusts his angle and suddenly every stroke lights me up inside. My arms shake on the bar. “Oh my god—that’s too much, that’s too much but don’t stop—fuck, George, right there—”
“Not stopping,” he says against the back of my neck, fucking me harder. “Been sitting next to this ass for years and had no idea how fucking perfect it feels.”
His hand comes around to my stomach, pressing flat, and the pressure from outside combined with everything happening inside makes me fucking question my capacity to stay in this body.
“You’re so hungry for it,” he breathes against my ear. “I could wreck this hole all night and you’d take every bit of it.”
His hand slides around to press against my stomach, feeling himself moving inside me. The pressure from both sides wrecks me. I’m moaning and cursing, while he fucks me like he’s making up for lost time.
The orgasm hits me from deep in my gut, spreading outward fast. I come for the third time, shaking hard against the bar while my hole clenches around him in long, pulsing waves. George drives through every single one without slowing down until I’m completely spent and still shuddering.
He follows right after, yanks me back onto his cock and buries himself to the hilt. He groans my name against the back of my neck while he pulses hot inside me.
We stay locked together like that, his chest pressed flush against my back, both of us breathing heavily.
He helps me off the bar carefully, one hand steady on my waist, as I stay steady on my feet. He deals with the condom and then pulls me back against his chest from behind as I register thefull accounting of my current state all at once. I’m completely naked, marked with hickeys across my chest and throat. My legs unreliable, every muscle filing a formal complaint. The specific tender ache of having been thoroughly taken apart.
I start laughing, breathless. My forehead finds his shoulder.
“What?” he asks, and I swear I can sense the smile in it.
“Nothing,” I sigh. “You just popped my ass cherry while you look like you just finished an oil change, except you’re naked.”
He huffs a low chuckle and presses his lips to my temple. His skin is warm against my back. All that ink and muscle I spent years knowing existed but never actually seeing. His arms come around me. His chin drops to my shoulder.
My legs are still shaky as we just stand there. My body feels wrecked in the best possible way. And George is holding me like I matter, like this matters.
This man has always been solid as bedrock. The one who shows up, fixes what’s broken, and never asks for anything back. Tonight, he gave me something I didn’t even know how to ask for. It’s George, all in, without hesitation.
I turn in his arms and bury my face against his neck, breathing him in. My throat feels tight.
“G…”
“Yeah?”
I don’t say the rest. That I hope like hell this isn’t a one-time thing. That I want more of this, more of him. That I want him to keep touching me like I’m his.
Instead, I just tighten my arms around his waist and mumble against his skin, “Don’t let go yet.”
His hold readjusts, becomes even firmer. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, mouth brushing my hair.
I close my eyes at that, and maybe it’s stupid how badly I want to believe him.
But for tonight, I do.
28
Lance
I sleep through most of the day after a long night shift.
By the time I drag myself upright again, the apartment’s gone dark. I shower properly, shave like I’m trying to rejoin society, then dig the charcoal trousers and white Oxford out from the back of the closet, where they’ve lived untouched for ninety-eight percent of the year.
These are Seattle clothes. It’s the version of me that got marched into donor dinners and charity galas. It’s where I learned how to survive three-hour meals, where everybody spoke in polished full sentences and somehow made “interesting” sound like an insult.
I button the shirt and look at myself in the mirror, already exhausted by the memory of my mother’s dining table and the standing house rule that you dressed properly no matter who was coming over. Marcus always followed that rule. I know him well enough to be dressed before I even see where we’re going.
