Page 24

Aaron

Could that have been any more beautiful? It’s just a physiological response, I’m not going to flatter myself, but he did that for me — because of me .

Sinking my teeth into my lower lip, I try to get a hold of my breathing as he comes down. When his body finally goes slack, he sighs, burying his face in my pillow. Moving over, I settle down on the bed to free him from my weight. It’s my first unfettered view of the back of him. I don’t have to look away like that day in his apartment when he dropped his towel. I understand now why he did it, though. The tease.

Reaching out, I trail my fingers down the curve in the small of his back. It feels like such a gift to be touching him after weeks and weeks of becoming addicted to being near him. My entire life outlook just did a one-eighty because of the truth he shared with me. I feel… good , so damn good.

Rolling onto his back, his hand is cupped over the glistening spot on his stomach. “Sorry about that,” he murmurs, glancing around.

I really don’t want him out of this bed yet, so I climb over him and snatch my T-shirt up off the floor. “What’s to be sorry about?”

“Thanks,” he deflects, taking the shirt and cleaning himself off.

I refuse to give credence to the pink tint on his cheeks. I’m flying too high to let him be embarrassed. The second he looks around like he isn’t sure where to put my shirt, I grab it from him and toss it. Leaning over him, I get back to where I left off, exploring new places to put my lips. Each press to his skin is a thank you for that astounding revelation that keeps repeating in my head: Easton wants me .

Easton. Wants. Me . Hoping for it and knowing it are two different things.

I’m practically covering him again now, unable to stay away from his mouth any longer, even though I silently vowed to kiss every inch of his body. With each sweet pass against his tongue, each stroke of his jaw, a delighted voice in my head resounds, mine. He’s mine . This is actually happening.

His hands slide down my hips, giving me gooseflesh all over. Has it ever felt this good to just be pressed against another body? Those talented fingers of his reach between us, wrapping around me. While my body is fully onboard with the contact, I’m sorry for it at the same time. I could just kiss him for hours. I can’t seem to stop myself.

His mouth breaks away from mine, coming up with a breathy chuckle. “Did you think I wasn’t going to get you back?”

Grunting, I slide my hips lower; out of his grip. “No. It’s not that…” Pinching my eyes closed to fight back the new pang of arousal, I try to get back to kissing, peppering his collarbone. “I could wait for that forever if I get to kiss you like this.”

Making a map across his torso, I feel the slide of his fingers into my hair. There’s a gentle touch to my arm and then he squeezes my shoulder. It’s now that I notice the unsteady rise of his chest.

Glancing up, I’m met with an image a thousand miles deep. Lips parted. Eyes longing, and yet, maybe a little scared. It’s the look of an unspoken question, leaving me staring, desperately trying to decipher his silence.

Swallowing, his weighted gaze doesn’t stray. The silky skin of his inner thighs slides against my hips. I had hardly noticed my cock slipped down against his ass when I moved. As he raises his knees, however, it nestles me into the hot fold between the globes of his ass. Like a tiny bead of water working its way down a pane of glass, his fingers glide down my back until they come to rest on my hips. They stop, and then… they press more firmly against me.

Time has been suspended. We stare at each other as though he’s sharing a secret code.

He doesn’t have to say a word.

I’ve just been extended an invitation.

I’m speechless, so stunned I’ve forgotten all about mapping him with kisses. I know well enough that he doesn’t ask for things. The vulnerable look on his face, however, tells me he doesn’t ask for this—ever .

Bottoming is about trust. It’s about giving yourself over to the sensation of being completely connected and almost at the mercy of another person. It’s a unique kind of pleasure—one that requires satisfying emotional needs to get to the physical. You have to be in the right headspace to enjoy it to its fullest. The look on his face says he knows it, and that … is what has me humbled beyond words. I could have died happy just kissing him until our lips were both raw, but if Easton Bennick is silently begging me to fuck him, I’m going to do whatever he wants.

I nod, awash with new nerves. It’s been years since I topped. I know it’s like riding a bike, but not every bike is the same, and not every bike is a precious bicycle that I want to have the best cycling experience of its life.

Leaning in to kiss him, a thought occurs to me. “I don’t have anything,” I blurt in a panic. “I…haven’t needed to have anything…in a while.”

“I’m on PrEP,” he replies softly, shrugging a shoulder with a little smile like he’s back to trying to hide his nerves.

“Oh…good.” I nod, but then a nervous laugh bubbles out of my lungs. “Um…we still need something, though. I meant I don’t have anything . Not even lube.”

He pats my arm for me to move and starts getting up. Great. I was just given the sweetest offer of a lifetime and I ruined it.

“I’ll be right back.”

Watching the shadowed dimples in his ass as he pads out of my room, I silently hold him to that promise. Closing my eyes, I give myself a stroke and blow out a breath. I was ready to go over the edge moments ago, but now anxiety is showing its effects. Remembering all the parts before his request, however, brings my body back online.

“So nice of you to wait.”

My eyes flare open to find he’s returned. Lying back down on the bed, he tosses a yellow can between us on the mattress. A yellow… aerosol can of olive oil.

“Is that…my cooking spray?”

His brows quirk. “You apparently don’t know your way around a kitchen.”

Oh. My. God.

The things you learn about someone. I wanted to know about what he’s been up to since I moved away. This will teach me to be nosy.

Shaking my head, I grab the can, feeling a bit out of sorts, and settle in next to him. How do I even go about this? Picturing myself aiming for his entrance, I doubt that’s what he has in mind. “I’m not trying to be a downer, but this doesn’t exactly sound mood-inspiring.”

“Sure it is. Once you hear this sound, you’ll never associate anything else with it.”

Taking the can from me, he grabs my hand, and the next thing I know, my palm is being sprayed with cooking oil. The shhh noise seems to go on and on as he unloads the oily mist.

“Whoa! Whoa! Okay, that’s enough!” I laugh.

Grinning, he guides my hand to his cock and leans up to kiss me. My laughter dies in his mouth, and just like that, we’re back to the precarious moment before he stormed my kitchen. Except now, he’s slick in my grip, thickening again when I start stroking him.

Jesus, this stuff really does work well.

“I think this is my new favorite recipe.”

Groaning, he pinches his eyes closed. “Stop it. Please.”

“What?” I chuckle, easing over him, grateful for the distraction. “You planted the seed there. I’ll never trust you in my kitchen again.”

“You shouldn’t, now that I’ve seen you naked,” he snorts, but he must realize what a tell that is because he goes quiet even as my heart flips over the thought of being wanted by him in every room.

Easing my hand lower, his puckered flesh greets my cooking-oil-sprayed fingers. “You’re sure?” I whisper.

Turning his head, he grabs up the can and lifts his leg. Sneaking it between us, the shhh sound is an elephant in the room, but perhaps only to my aerosol-as-lube virgin ears, because he tosses it and then nods somberly.

God… I will not unsee that. Strangely enough, though, it has its own kind of sex appeal, knowing that he’d resort to uncommon lubricants to be with me.

Circling his rim, I try to ignore the olive oil now dripping from it. Luckily, I’m captivated by the flicker of his pulse in his neck. His breath comes in hot waves on our kisses the more I continue. My reward is his hands introducing themselves to my body in new places—first touches I’ll put to memory. Carefully, I slip a finger through his ring, greeted by the fire inside. His fingertips knead my back like a cat flexing its toes in satisfaction. I can tell he’s impatient, but if I cause him any pain, I’ll never forgive myself.

Easing in another finger, I bite back all the praise I want to shower him with for being in my life, for being so wonderful, and for being the strongest, sexiest man I’ve ever met. I’ll get him to accept those compliments some other day—baby steps.

Grunting, his eyes slip closed, and he shudders when I pass over his gland. Transfixed over the way his mouth falls open, I’m suddenly impatient to be inside of him. I wait, though, slowly working my fingers and watching the beauty of him unfolding before my eyes.

“Okay,” he gasps. “Okay. Now .”

Raising his knees higher, his eyes dart between my face and where I draw my cockhead over his ring like he can’t decide which he’d rather watch. I know what I want to watch—him, just him. Nothing has ever been more in focus in my life.

His face looks like he’s about to meet his death and yet his hands have slipped to my waist, kneading it sensually. He must finally see something in my expression that gives my nerves away because he reaches up and strokes my cheek with his thumb. I nod for some reason, as though I’m telling us both that it’s okay to feel this lost and that it will still be okay afterward. Nothing will ever be the same between us, and I don’t want it to be.

Pressing forward, I hold my breath, watching the brave facade on his face. It’s mingled with this look of hope, almost like he’s watching the sky for a shooting star. His eyes slip shut, and hot gusts of breath hit my cheek. A low moan erupts from his throat. It’s a soft, breathy sound that I selfishly wish he could produce to the fullest. He deserves to hear how he feels.

I feel rigid as a board, but my muscles are quaking. My heart is slamming against my ribs from the way his body is cuffing me.

A long sound of relief filters past his lips and the pressure around my cock instantly abates. His eyes flare open, and I know he’s seen his shooting star. His gaze flicks to my mouth, and I go happily where his hand directs when he tugs me to his lips. I never knew topping could be just as emotional as it is for the person bottoming. Maybe it’s just him. Maybe it’s just because it’s him and me . I don’t know, but my filter springs a leak.

“I’m so glad you didn’t leave.” Easing my hips back, my body finds a slow rhythm, encouraged by his moans. “I thought you hated me.”

Scoffing, he takes two handfuls of my ass, sending a thrill all the way to my toes as he squeezes. “Thought we cleared that up.”

A celebratory whir spins inside my chest, my doubts flying away to a forgotten place. I just… enjoy. And he enjoys. And we watch each other enjoying. I will hear all his sounds in my mind until I’m too old to dream. I’ll feel the memory of his heels pressing at my lower back, his hands running over my body as we move like a slowly building chemical reaction.

His head thrashes. I can feel the tension in his legs and abdomen. I can see it on his face. I can hear it in the way his moans have changed to a sound of sweet agony. He keeps reaching like he wants to either stroke or stop himself. His hand retreats again, and he looks at me like I need to put him out of his misery.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “I didn’t know it’d feel this good,” he grits, baring his teeth.

It’s killing me not to pick up the pace. I’m so close, right where he seems to be, too. I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to unweave my fingers from that wild hair of his. But all good things must end and there’s still a higher plane I can take him to.

“I knew it would,” I whisper back before capturing his mouth again and reaching between us, making the decision for him.

He groans in protest, like he was determined to hold out longer. God, there’s no need. Drawing back, I try not to blink as I come so that I can see his expression. It’s like being seen on another level, as though some being appeared in a halo of light the way he looks at me as I pulse inside him and he spills over my hand, clutching onto my wrist.

His voice cracks in a raspy wail. I kept thinking how sad it was that his voice wasn’t as perfect as it might’ve been able to be, but I was so wrong. It’s perfect, just as it is. It’s the sound of our broken pasts. It’s the sound of the man that life made him. It’s just as it ought to be.

As our tremors subside, the room goes silent, all but for our winded noises. Droopy-lidded, he smiles up at me part bashful again, but mostly sated. He can say so much without words. Did I ever truly listen? I blink heavily, fighting the sleep that’s hunting me. I don’t want to look away from the silent heart that just brought me back from the dead.