Page 53 of Necessary Space

I did as I was told, but found myself missing the eye contact of my first orgasm. But I’d hated it while it was happening, the weight of being seen by him something I hadn’t asked for. Something I hadn’t been looking for.

“Fuck. Fuck. H…Hendrix, fuck, I think I love you. I love you.”

How long had it been since I heard him say my name?

And…

Miles’s hips stuttered on his next thrust. He gripped my thighs and spread them open, making room for him to get even deeper than he had been. He cursed, a string of obscenities and praise and then he went still, so tense that even though I couldn’t see him, I could feel the tightness that came with his release.

I followed after quickly, cum shooting into the tip of the toy and leaking out down my shaft.

Had he just said he loved me?

And if he did, had he meant it?

I opened my mouth to ask, but no sound came out, just a hoarse rasp. My cum slid down around my balls and toward my ass. Miles pulled out, using his fingers to collect what he could, then he fucked my own cum into me. Mixing our releases together, his entire body trembling.

“Can I open my eyes?” I cleared my throat.

He kissed each of my eyelids and traced them with his thumbs.

“Slowly,” he said.

I did, blinking against the harsh glare of the room, his face right in front of mine. He was flushed, disheveled. Covered in sweat, his cheeks were red and his hair was damp, matted against his forehead and cheek.

“Are you good?” he asked.

I nodded, my eyes rolling back a little at the absurdity of the ask. “No one before has ever…”

“I want to handwrite thank you notes to every man you’ve ever been with,” he said, shoving his hair out of his face. He gave me a familiar—if not exhausted—smirk.

“What for?”

Miles eased his cock out of me, groaning approvingly at the sight he found between my legs. He swirled his finger around my rim and then sucked it into his mouth with a groan.

“For saving this for me.”

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

Miles

Of all thethings I liked—loved—about Hendrix, the fact he had a carafe-style coffee pot and not a pod one was very close to the top of the list.

Sure, it was a small thing, but I’d always been an instant gratification kind of man and not many things sucked more than having to wait for the second cup to brew. Catching an STI in my teens had been pretty awful, and breaking up with Grayson in my early twenties had been hard, but not having coffee ready when I wanted it? A consistent downstroke in my otherwise optimistic life.

The coffee was, of course, the least important part of the thought, though. I’d tried to ignore the fact I’d blurted out that I loved him last night. I was high on endorphins and adrenaline or something, and his body had fit my cock like a bespoke sleeve, and I’d gotten carried away.

Liar.

Even as I worked to talk myself out of the feeling, my heart saw right through my brain’s bullshit.

Hendrix thankfully hadn’t said anything about my admission. I tried to convince myself that was a good thing, like we could pretend I’d never said it.

But Ihadsaid it, and hehadheard me, and he’d just…

Come.

I told him I loved him and he’d come all over himself.