Page 45 of Grief & Glitter

“I smile all the time.”

“Not like that.” I hadn’t meant to say it that way, or maybe I had. I lowered the camera while he looked at me long enough that I really thought I’d messed up.

“Okay, one more.”

I lifted it again. He didn’t pose, didn’t fix his hair, or straighten his sweater, or angle himself toward the light. He just stood there, surrounded by the start of something that was entirely his, and smiled at me. I took the photo, knowing before I even looked at it that I was keeping that one for myself.

Ryan’s fingers caught the hem of my henley, and I set the camera down on the island.

“Can I give you a thank-you kiss?” he asked as his sapphire gaze held mine then dropped to my mouth. I traced his jawline with my thumb and felt a tremor run through him. When his lips parted, I leaned down and covered them with mine.

The kiss started slow. I kept one hand curved along the back of his neck, his hair soft and warm under my fingers. Ryan made a sound against my mouth. His free hand fisted the front of my shirt. I deepened the kiss. His lips opened further, and I slid my tongue against his as his breath hitched. My other hand rested on his hip. I tugged him forward until his chest hit mine.

He wound both arms around my neck, hard, wrists locking behind my head, forearms pressing into my shoulders. I could feel every line of him against me, chest moving with each uneven breath, and lower, the hard length of him against my thigh. He was hard.

I broke the kiss just enough to speak. “Ryan, I haven’t…” My voice came out rougher than I meant it to. “I’ve never wanted…”

“I know,” he whispered. “Slow.”

I hooked my hands under the hem of his shirt and found warm, bare skin. His stomach jumped under my fingers. I lifted him. He weighed nothing, or maybe that was just adrenaline. The same arms that had carried a two-hundred-pound defenseman into the boards found this easy. His legs came around my waist. I crossed to the island in two steps, setting him down as he tightened his grip and dragged me into more kisses. I braced both hands on the counter on either side of his hips. He’d said I could go slow, but there was nothing slow about the fire inside me.

I kissed him deep, and he opened for me with a broken moan I felt in both our chests. His fingers raked into my hair and pulled. The sting of it went straight down my spine, a feeling I’d never once chased before and now couldn’t get enough of. I stepped between his spread thighs. My hips met his, and the contact—my cock hard against my denim, his cock hard against my thigh through his pants—punched the air out of me. I rolled my hips. Slow. Deliberate. Ryan groaned into my mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathed against my lips.

I did it again, ground down, felt him shift rigid against me, my own cock throbbing so hard it ached. His head fell back. I ducked down and put my mouth to the tendon running from his jaw to his collarbone, bit down gently, then harder when his hips bucked up to meet mine. The sound he made was high and thin.

“Gideon—” His voice cracked on my name. His nails dug through the henley into my shoulders, and his hips rolled to meet mine. We found a rhythm, slow and grinding, fabric dragging against fabric, pressure building with every roll. I could feel the exact shape of him alongside mine, and it wasn’t enough, yet it was too much at the same time.

I pulled back just far enough to look at him. His hair had come loose completely, a curtain of copper around his flushed face, mouth swollen, eyes glassy and fixed on mine. I rolled my hips again, slow, deliberate, watching his eyes flutter shut, and the flush spread down past his collar.

“More.” His voice was wrecked. “Don’t stop.”

Nothing on earth could stop us now as we raced to the finish. He came first, head thrown back as he called my name. I kissed his throat, once more, twice, and then I joined him, coming so hard I couldn’t breathe.

My Ryan.

He was everything.

Chapter 15

Ryan

One final hurdle remained before I could free the real Ryan into the world. Well, actually two, but I wasn’t pushing the team to accept me in makeup just yet. I’d ease them into it, and as for work gear, it was pretty much the same for all trainers and staff, male and female, so the humdrum masculine polo and trousers was my uniform for the foreseeable future. Didn’t mean I couldn’t add a few touches of my own when I felt the time was right. Given the mix of responses to the social media posts about casino night, that time wasn’t now. Soon though. A pride pin, possibly, a feminine bracelet, maybe some tiny earrings. Gideon said to ease the people into it now that they knew I was fluid. So, we’d ease while we wore ugly pants. Truly, they were just hideous. Even Dad agreed, and my father gave zero fucks about clothing other than to make sure his underwear was clean and didn’t pinch his balls.

So work was dealt with. But I’d not broached the subject of my gender fluidity with my recovery group. Not even Lyle. Which was dumb. I was sure he’d seen the splash of photos on the regional news outlets. Heck, even a few cities outside Rochester had spread pics of me in my Cinderella dress on Gids’ strong arm. Sports pages, a dozen or so queer sites. Lots of feedback. Some good, some not good, according to Gideon, who decided to be my social media screen. Just another reason to adore him.

So yeah, Lyle probably knew. Maybe the others did as well. Maybe not. I’d decided to roll into the group in soft feminine clothes. Fall colors, a long skirt, some tiny brown boots, and Gids’ hoodie. Light makeup. Hair up but not decorated. Tiny pearl earrings. Nothing glitzy or rambunctious. Just a gentle opening of the closet door for my fellow recovering addicts to see into.

The community center was quiet as I pulled up. The trees on the lawn were bare, the grass dead and frozen. November had barely begun, but it had stampeded in with a blast of arctic air that had me wishing I’d worn a coat instead of just a hoodie. Maybe Gids had a coat I could pilfer. I’d have to snoop in his closet when I was there next week doing Claire’s face for a library event she was hosting for a local children’s literacy initiative. Turning the key to quiet my car, I sat there watching people file in, most jogging, shoulders up around their ears, breath fogging.

Funny to be this nervous about walking into a room filled with people I knew, or knew as well as an anonymous group setting allowed, after I’d shown the real Ryan to the sporting community in a grand way. As the window fogged, it occurred to me that perhaps the reason I was so hesitant again was that I feared what Lyle would think of me in a skirt. We’d talked a lot a few times. About dependency, about recovery, about my sniffing a man’s hoodie. In all those discussions, I had never once mentioned being fluid. That was down to fear. Fear that this man whom I admired would turn away. Fear that my sponsor would call me a freak before telling me to get the hell out of his group.

“Ugh, does this ever get easier?” I asked myself.

Man, I sure hope so…

“Me too.” I grabbed my phone, my keys, and the box of donuts I’d purchased on the way. Braving the cold, I hurried inside, taking just a second to enjoy the warmth before slowly making my way to our meeting room. The art room was dark. No classes tonight. Gideon was home resting up for a big game tomorrow night. I planned to stop after group to curl up beside him and watch a movie, or make out, or suck his dick. All had merit. We’d see how things went here, then decide if it was a good night cuddle or a bad night cuddle.