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I knew I had to stop soon or he was going to come. He’d asked me to fuck him, and I wanted to give this man whatever he wanted.

I dragged myself away, popping up onto my knees and wiping the back of my hand across my spit-slicked chin. Mikey’s legs fell limply against the mattress, and his hand shot out, yanking me down on top of him and kissing me like he was drowning and I was his only source of air.

When he started rutting up against me, I pulled back, breathing hard. “Still want me to fuck you?”

He let out a raspy laugh. “I might die if you don’t.”

“So dramatic,” I teased, uncapping the lube and slicking up my fingers thoroughly as I settled back between his legs, pressing the pad of my middle finger against him and swirling it around until his hips started rocking. “Okay?”

“Very okay,” he murmured.

I pushed slowly in to the first knuckle, which, given the size of my hands, wasn’t nothing.

“Still good?”

He nodded. “More.”

I pressed forward, sliding all the way in, and Mikey let out a breathy little moan. “That feels so good. More. Now. Please,” he added politely, almost as an afterthought.

I added a second finger, again encountering practically zero resistance.

It was kind of mind-blowing, really.

The first time someone had fingered me open hadn’t been bad, but it’d taken twenty minutes to work me up to two full fingers, and my partner’s hands hadn’t been nearly as large as mine. I’d just assumed it would take some time to get Mikey ready for my cock, but he was taking my fingers so goddamn well it was like we’d been doing this for years.

I slid out and pressed back in, his neck arching and his eyelids fluttering closed.

“You’re doing so good,” I praised, my free hand stroking every inch of bare skin I could reach as I slipped a third finger in alongside the other two.

Mikey moaned loudly, his face going slack and his dick jumping, drops of pre-cum leaking out. He drew in a breath, and when he blew it out, his whole body seemed to melt into the mattress, his limbs going boneless.

I slowed my fingers, watching for a reaction, but he continued to just lay there, his breath coming somewhat erratically.

“Hey. You still with me?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” He opened his eyes, his gaze glassy and unfocused. “Is it supposed to feel this good?”

“Ideally, yeah. It’s sex. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“No, this is … it’s different, Cal. Like … like those amazing few seconds just before you come stretched out to infinity.” His mouth tilted into a crooked, dopey smile. “Getting fucked might be my new favorite thing.”

“Yeah, I can see that. You wanna finish like this, or …”

He shook his head. “In me. Please.”

“Yeah, all right.” I eased my fingers out with a wet, suctioning sound, and he let out another long, satisfied sigh.

“I’m a total bottom now, aren’t I?”

“It would appear that way,” I said, pouring lube over my dick and slicking myself up and moving into position, pausing to just … look at him.

A year ago, I was seriously considering quitting hockey and moving to a country where no one knew the name Robert Callahan or had any idea why that mattered. I hadn’t thought I’d be able to trust anyone ever again, and was terrified of the idea of even trying. I’d loathed the man I’d become, but I hadn’t known how to be anyone else. I’d wanted more out of life, but any time I thought I’d found something good, the universe knocked me right back on my ass again.

And then I met Michael Porter, and my world shifted on its axis. For the first time in a really long while, I dared to hope.

Looking down at him now, flushed and glowing and so goddamn trusting, I couldn’t remember the man I’d been before him. Couldn’t remember wanting to be anything but his.

I folded my body over his, resting a forearm on the pillow next to his head. “Hey, Mikey. I need you to look at me.”