Page 69 of Pages of My Heart
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 . . . ohfuck, 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.
Chapter 33
August 1944
Thomas
Aguttural scream, thick with fury and fear, shatters the quiet of the night. Thomas bolts upright, body taut and ready to attack. When he realizes the horrific sound is coming from Charlie, he reacts on instinct, reaching out to wake him from his nightmare.
“Charlie, Charlie,” he says, shaking him. “Wake up, it’s—”
The shocking blow to his cheekbone almost causes him to black out, the room tilting dizzyingly before it slowly sets itself right again.
“Fuckin’ get back! Get back! I’ll gut you, ya fuckin’ Nazi scum!”
Thomas receives another blow, this time to his jaw. The pain is blinding, and he understands now that Charlie has punched him. Scrambling off the bed out of necessity, Thomas’s eyes finally adjust to the dark and he can see Charlie’s silhouette, thrashing erratically, throwing wild punches with his right arm while his left swings limply at his side. Charlie’s eyes are open wide, filled with terror and focused on something only he can see. It’s nothing short of horrifying, and Thomas is clueless as to what he should do. His head throbs with pain and he feels disoriented, but he’s concerned Charlie might further damage his shoulder if he continues to fight this invisible enemy.
“Charlie, it’s me!” he yells. “Charlie! Darling, you need to wake up. You’re safe here.”
Charlie suddenly falls still, his eyes focused behind Thomas as though he can see straight through him. A snarl appears on Charlie’s face, mouth twisting with disgust. “Fuckin’ filth.”
Thomas inches forward, about to reach out when Charlie suddenly lies back down and closes his eyes, as though nothing has happened. Thomas isn’t sure if it’s over, so he remains still, his hand hovering uncertainly in mid-air. Several long minutes pass, and when he’s finally convinced that Charlie is asleep, he becomes aware of his own body shaking violently. An overwhelming fear rises in his chest, threatening to engulf him as he grapples to understand what he just witnessed. It was as if Charlie were awake, seeing and actually experiencing things Thomas could not. Whether a memory or a horrible nightmare, the terror and madness in Charlie’s eyes was very real. It was like nothing Thomas has ever seen before, and it rocks him to his core.
He sits unmoving on his side of the bed, watching Charlie sleep for a full hour before he feels calm enough to lie down again. Another thirty minutes pass before he dares to move in closer, gingerly taking Charlie back into his arms. Around dawn, with the first light of day leaking in around the edges of the curtains, he finally succumbs to sleep.
Day 1: Thomas
“Tommy, sweetheart? Tommy?”
Thomas’s eyelids are heavy, and he feels achy and stiff. Exhausted even. And his face . . . he winces. Something is wrong with his face.
“Thomas?”
Charlie’s voice sounds wrong.
“Tommy! Oh my—what the fuck happened to your face? Jesus, Tommy, wake up. Wake up!”
“Charlie?” Thomas blinks, trying to open his eyes. Charlie’s concerned face slowly comes into focus. Charlie is touching his cheek so softly. And then he remembers. “It’s . . . it’s okay. I’ll be f–fine,” he says, trying to sound reassuring. “Let’s not let it ruin our first morning together. Come here. Kiss me.”