Page 52 of Pages of My Heart

Charlie tilts his head back and their mouths meet hungrily, lips parted and tongues eager.

Thomas continues to stroke Charlie’s cock until he’s hard and leaking, the sounds of their pleasure rising, ragged and fragile.

He thinks the pressure against his own cock where it’s trapped between their bodies will be more than enough to get him off, and he desperately wants that release, but he wants to be inside Charlie even more.

“Should we stop?” He stills his hand. “I want to make love to you. I’ve dreamt about it so many times.”

Charlie sits up, putting a bit of space between them. “I want that, too, but—” Charlie’s eyes dart around, anxious. “But were you . . . were you? I need to know.”

“Need to know what?” Thomas’s mind is cloudy with lust and he doesn’t understand what Charlie is asking.

“Were you faithful?”

“Yes! Of course, my love, yes.” Then dread strikes and Thomas feels fucking sick. “Why? Weren’t you?” He closes his eyes and drops his forehead against Charlie’s back, bracing for the answer.

“Of course I was . . . but you went so long without writing, and I thought . . . I thought—”

Thomas shakes his head. “No, no, it wasn’t that.

Never that.” He pauses, afraid to tell Charlie the truth but knowing he must. He lifts his head and opens his eyes.

Charlie is watching him, expectant. “I had an episode. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t want you to worry. There will never be anyone but you.”

Charlie falls back against Thomas’s chest as if all his strength has been stripped from him.

Thomas tries to wrap both his arms around Charlie, but he’s afraid of hurting his shoulder, and his left arm ends up hovering awkwardly above the lip of the tub.

He can practically feel Charlie’s guilt seeping into the bathroom, heavy and mournful—this misguided responsibility he’s placed solely upon himself to keep Thomas safe and well.

“I should have been here for you,” Charlie whispers, his chin dropping down to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Bridget looked after me. And Michael too. I got through it. It’s in the past now. Come on, let me finish washing you and let’s go to bed. We can get up later to eat if we’re hungry.”

Charlie withdraws further, remaining silent as Thomas finishes washing him.

When they get out of the tub, Charlie cannot dry himself properly, so Thomas takes over.

Still Charlie doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear he is far from happy about it, anger once again simmering just under the surface.

Thomas doesn’t push, he simply takes Charlie’s good hand and leads them to their bed, pulling back the blanket for them to get in.

Charlie has some movement in his left elbow, wrist, and fingers, but he cannot lift from his shoulder, nor does he have any strength to grip with his hand. He thinks Charlie should just lie back and let him take care of him.

“Charlie, please relax. I want to make you feel good, okay? Is that okay?”

He waits for Charlie to nod yes, then settles on top of him, keeping his weight off Charlie’s injured shoulder.

The sensation of Charlie’s naked body finally under him once again nearly makes him weep.

Charlie spreads his legs and brings his feet up around Thomas’s hips.

They kiss deeply, mouths and tongues slow and deliberate as they reacquaint themselves.

Thomas rocks against Charlie, his arousal an unstoppable force.

He will be lucky if he lasts two minutes.

But it does feel different, with only one arm wrapped around his back while he tries to support his own weight to one side.

Not that he cares. Charlie’s lips, the heat of his skin, his familiar scent and his soft moans—it all takes him to a state of bliss.

He kisses down Charlie’s neck, sucking hard and possessively before laying his lips delicately on the healing scars.

Then he travels further down to the scars on Charlie’s chest. He wants Charlie to know he loves all of him.

He wants Charlie to know he grows more beautiful with every passing day.

“Oh, Charlie,” he says, unable to find the words that could express the magnitude of his feelings. His joy. His sorrow. His unbreakable love.

He lavishes attention on Charlie’s cock, taking him into his mouth and tasting him for the first time in over a year.

He wants to do everything, touch everywhere, but it will have to wait, his need to be inside Charlie overriding all else.

Sitting up, he reaches over to grab the Vaseline off the nightstand but stops abruptly when he sees Charlie is staring up at the ceiling, tears falling down the sides of his face. Immediately he panics.

“Charlie! Jesus, what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“I can’t even hold you properly! I’m just lyin’ here like I’m fuckin’ dead.

My arm . . . it’s fuckin’ useless. I’m—” Charlie covers his face with his good arm, his body shaking as tears turn to sobs.

Disappointment and humiliation radiate off him, and it takes all of Thomas’s willpower not to break apart alongside his love.

“Darling, you’ll never be useless. And you can touch me.

Please, I need you to touch me.” Thomas carefully lifts Charlie’s bad hand and presses it to his chest, over his heart, over his tattoo.

“You can still feel me, can’t you? See how my heart beats for you.

” He guides Charlie’s hand down his body, pressing the palm to his hard, leaking cock.

“Feel how much I want you. How much I desire to be inside you.”

Charlie sniffs, dabbing at his tears and then lowering his arm away from his face. Their eyes meet. “I want you, too. So fuckin’ much, sweetheart. I want to be enough for you.”

“Charlie, you will always be enough. You are more than enough. You are my everything,” he says, repeating the words he wrote the day the bus first took Charlie away.

He surges forward, kissing Charlie passionately and rolling them onto their sides so they are facing each other.

He takes Charlie’s bad arm and places it on his own chest, then hooks Charlie’s leg up so he can stroke enticingly over Charlie’s entrance.

“Just look at me, Charlie. Trust me.” When he believes Charlie is ready, he reaches over and retrieves the Vaseline. “Darling, can we . . .?”

“I haven’t even . . . since I left. I couldn’t touch myself there. If I was caught . . .”

“It’s okay,” Thomas reassures, stroking his hand through Charlie’s short hair. “I’ll go slow and be gentle. I just want to make you feel good,” he repeats.

He begins with one finger, never letting their lips part as he prepares his husband. When Charlie relaxes enough, he adds a second finger, and then finally a third.

“What position would make you most comfortable?” he asks, slipping his fingers out.

“I want you on top. Close.”

Thomas prepares himself, using more Vaseline than normal, then positions himself over Charlie. “I’m sorry if I don’t last long. Just—it’s just . . .”

Charlie caresses his cheekbone. “I know, sweetheart. I know. Come on, I’m ready, and I want you.”

Thomas guides himself in. The tightness and the heat, make him gasp. “Oh, Charlie,” he sighs. It feels like their first time, physical pleasure overriding all logical thought. It takes him a moment to remember himself. “Are you okay? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Charlie releases a shuddering breath. “No, I just forgot how deep . . .” Charlie pants. “The stretch, the fullness . . . oh fuck, I’m okay. I’m okay, keep going.”

Thomas pushes until he is fully inside, then lowers his chest to Charlie’s and nuzzles into his neck. As he moves in and out as slowly and as tenderly as he can, Charlie pants harder and harder under him.

“Feels so good, Tommy. Please touch me. Kiss me. Sweetheart, please.”

Thomas lifts his body up so he can gaze upon Charlie’s face.

It’s a mirror of his own—mouth open with want and need, eyes glassy and full of love.

There is no way Thomas could ever love another man as he loves Charlie.

Slipping his hand between their bodies, he grasps Charlie’s cock and begins stroking.

“I love you. Oh God, Charlie, I love you . . . I love you . . .”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Thomas’s orgasm rips through his body, shattering him into pieces and then putting him back together again.

Charlie falls over the edge with him, their lips pressed desperately together as guttural moans rise from deep within their chests.

Their bodies shudder and shake, overcome with pleasure, but Thomas is also wholly aware of the accompanying pain—both his own and Charlie’s—and how it is now permanently woven through the fabric of their lives.

It sounds melancholy, and yet it’s not. His heart is blown wide open, exposed and vulnerable, but he is filled with only love and gratitude.

Charlie, his darling husband, is home and once again safe in his arms.