Page 43 of Caden & Theo

I’m sore. There’s no way around it. My thighs ache, and I can feel the slick mess between them—lube smeared and drying tacky on my skin. But I don’t want to move. Not yet. The bed is warm, and his body is still close enough to chase away the chill creeping into my limbs.

He slides back beside me, still naked, and tugs the sheet halfway over both of us. His arm wraps around my waist, and I sink into him instinctively, even though every part of me feels stretched and spent.

We stay like this a while—sweat-damp, tangled in a mess of limbs and sheets, breaths calming bit by bit. My chest rises against his, and I can feel his heartbeat begin to settle, like a song winding down.

“I should probably clean up,” I mumble, though I make no move.

“You don’t have to,” he says softly, thumb brushing lazily over my hip. “Just stay a little longer.”

And I do. The room smells like us now—like skin and heat and nerves and something far bigger than either of us can name. My body feels wrecked in the best way—stretched, tender, sore in places I didn’t even know I could be sore. But also held. Warm. Safe.

I run my thumb absently along the dip of his hip. It’s stupid how much I love that part of him. Like, it’s a hip. But it’shiship. That makes it art.

Eventually, Caden rolls onto his side, pulling me into his chest with one strong arm. Our legs stay hopelessly tangled, like they don’t know how to let go yet. His palm rests flat between my shoulder blades, big and steady, like he’s still trying to hold me together.

We don’t talk. We don’t have to. There’s a certain kind of quiet that only comes after something seismic.

After a few minutes, his voice finds me. “Are you… okay?” he asks softly. “I mean, really. Afterward. Was it… was it what you thought it’d be?”

I let the question settle for a second, because it deserves more than a knee-jerk reaction. My body gives an instinctive “ouch,” but my heart answers louder. “It hurt,” I admit, honest as ever. “More than I expected.”

His arm tenses a little, but I tighten my fingers at his side.

“But,” I continue quickly, “I don’t regret a single second of it. Not with you.” I bury my face into the curve of his neck,breathing in his scent—faint shampoo and skin and the same cologne he’s worn since he was fifteen. “It felt like… everything we’ve been building toward. I wanted that. Even the hard parts.”

He exhales against my hair, his arm curling tighter around me. “God,” he whispers, voice a little shaky. “Being inside you… I’ve never felt anything like that. Not just the physical part.” He pauses like he’s not sure if he can keep going, then presses his forehead to mine. “It felt like you were giving me something I didn’t know I’d been missing. Something… I don’t know. Sacred.”

My heart clenches.Sacred. He said it like it meant everything. Because it did. “It was sacred,” I murmur, so quietly I’m not sure if he hears me until he kisses the side of my head.

“You were beautiful,” he says, like he’s still a little dazed. “The way you let me in. The way you looked at me like… like I was more than just a guy with a dick and a plea-like prayer.”

I snort against his chest, which makes him laugh too.

“There it is,” Caden says, grinning sleepily. “I was wondering when the afterglow sass would kick in.”

“You were nervous,” I say, teasing just a little, my smile pressed against his skin.

“Terrified,” he admits. “I was so scared I was gonna screw it up and make it… I don’t know. Awkward. Or painful. Or accidentally elbow you in the face.”

“That was a real risk,” I murmur. “Your arms are lethal weapons.”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

I freeze for just a second, the words hanging in the air like they’re trying to decide if they’re real.

His eyes widen. “I mean—not like—” he babbles. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. Or maybe I did. I don’t know. I just?—”

I laugh. Not to deflect, not to dodge, but because Iget it. Because that’s exactly how it sneaks up on you. Because I’ve been holding the same thing inside.

“Careful,” I tease, kissing the edge of his jaw. “That sounded dangerously like a post-sex confession.”

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, “I hear it’s a classic mistake.”

“Guess we’re both screwed, then,” I whisper, softer now.

“I was going to say it before I left. And you stopped me.” He meets my eyes, something flickering there—something raw and wide open.

“I just didn’t want you to say it when we were saying goodbye.” I sweep my thumb over his cheek. “It didn’t feel fair. It didn’t feel like enough.”