Page 68 of Pages of My Heart
“I understand.” He places a kiss on Charlie’s temple, then continues down his cheek and onto his neck. Charlie’s head lulls to the side, his breath hitching. It’s enough for Thomas’s cock to fully harden against Charlie’s back, his control slipping as his desire climbs. “Charlie,” he sighs, moving his soapy hand down to caress his husband’s length. When Charlie twitches in his grasp, Thomas moans and a plea tumbles out of him. “Please, kiss me.”
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 bodieswill 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.Neverthat.” 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. Comeon, 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 itdoesfeel 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 lovesallof 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 youcantouch 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 stillfeelme, 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 aremorethan enough. You are myeverything,” 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.”