Page 85 of The Fall

His silence stretches out over the quiet surf. One breath draws into another as I wait for him.

“When did you know?” he whispers. “That you wanted this. Us.”

I knew from the moment I woke up beside him in my dream, in my not-real life, when my broken mind was a scrambled box of puzzle pieces, but that’s not a story I can tell.

“It wasn’t one moment,” I say finally. “It was... all these little things adding up. It was the way you pushed me to be better and believed in me before I’d given you any reason to.

It was the way you had my back.” I turn my face into his palm, breathing in the scent of his skin.

“It was your laugh,” I whisper. “It was...” I swallow.

“It was everything, every single piece of you.” I shake my head.

“Loving you is like breathing. I can’t stop if I tried. ”

His eyes shine in the moonlight, and when he kisses me, it tastes like salt, like hope, like forever. “I love you,” he breathes against my lips.

He’s quiet for a long moment, his forehead against mine.

“What about you?” I ask him. “When did you know about me?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “After the game against Toronto when you stayed late to work on your shot. You got back on the ice after everyone was gone, and you were so focused. I was watching you for maybe twenty minutes before you noticed I was there.”

I remember that night; it was so long ago, back when I was still working my way into Blair’s tentative approval. “You came out and helped me adjust my release.”

He nods. “Yeah. But before that, when I was watching you, I saw how much you cared and how hard you were willing to work.” His voice drops lower. “I thought, ‘I want to be part of whatever drives him like that.’ And then I thought, ‘Oh, fuck.’”

“You never said anything.”

“I didn’t think I ever would.” The moonlight catches in his eyes.

I stare at him, this man who’s the center of my world.

He shakes his head. “I was scared, but I’m done pretending I don’t want everything with you.

” He exhales, so, so slowly. “I’m not the easiest man to love, and I don’t have everything figured out.

I want to try to give you everything, Torey. Every day, I want to try.”

His words are suspended in the salt-laced air, more real than the dying fire or the star-dusted sky.

He doesn’t need to give me everything. He already is everything. “You are everything I need,” I tell him.

Our last day dawns quiet.

The villa sits in stillness, only the ceiling fan spinning in lazy circles. Blair sleeps on his stomach, one arm stretched toward me, fingers curled against the sheet.

He is beautiful in ways that are unfair, too much for one man to carry inside a single body. Even after thirteen days here, my breath catches when I look at him. I slide closer, drop my lips to his shoulder. His eyes stay closed, but the corner of his mouth lifts.

“Morning,” I whisper.

He reaches for me without opening his eyes.

“Not ready to wake up yet?”

“M’never leaving this bed.”

The room smells of sweat and last night’s ocean air. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, draw him in until he is all there is. I still haven’t gotten enough; I’ll never have enough. This craving I have for him is woven into every part of me. “I want you,” I breathe.

His eyes open, ocean-blue and hazy with sleep, and he looks at me, a lazy curve to his lips. I lean down and taste smile.

“You have me,” he says. He rolls toward me, his body warm against mine. His hand settles on my hip as he pulls me closer, and I slide my palm up his chest.

“How do you want me?” he asks, mouth brushing my ear.

I want him everywhere at once: my mouth on his skin, my hands all over him, my body draped on top of his.

I kiss him deeper, slower, and when I pull back he chases me. “I want to taste you,” I tell him. “Every inch of you.”

“Please,” he moans.

These weeks have taught me what makes him gasp, what makes him groan, what makes him beg, and I take my time with him, working down his body slowly.

He sighs when I close my mouth around his nipple, one deep sound that starts low and rolls out of him.

My hand slides lower, stroking the ridge of his hipbone.

His cock strains against his stomach, flushed and heavy.

I breathe him in, the musk of his skin, the salt-sweet scent that’s purely Blair. He shifts, knees parting for me, and my hands grip his thighs, spreading them wider as I settle between them.

I take him in my hand, his skin velvet-soft over steel hardness. He’s so warm here, so alive. I stroke him once, twice, watching his stomach muscles tense and savoring the way he gasps when I twist my wrist at the top.

Blair props himself up on his elbows, his gaze on me, and I grin before I lick a slow stripe from the base of his cock to the head.

“God, your tongue,” he groans.

I sink down, taking him in until his cock fills my mouth. I hollow my cheeks and suck until he swears, spit running from my lips and down his cock, pooling in his crotch. He groans so deep it vibrates through my jawbone.

“Jesus—Torey— fuck .” His voice fractures on the last word.

I want to map every inch of him, memorize each twitch and shudder, chase every gasp out of him until he’s wrecked.

My mouth and fist move in sync. I use my tongue on the underside, then suck him hard until he throws his head back against the pillow and his throat goes taut. I ease off and lick down his shaft to mouth at his balls, then nudge his knees farther apart with one shoulder. My lips keep moving lower.

His body opens by degrees: first his trembling thighs, then the tilt of his hips as he lifts one knee forward and lets me in. I taste the heat, breathe in his scent at the center of him.

We’ve made love countless ways over these two weeks: hard and desperate, slow and tender, laughing and playful, but there’s one thing we haven’t done, one final threshold we haven’t crossed.

I nuzzle into the cleft of his ass, inhaling before I press my mouth to his hole.

He tastes incredible. Salty, sweet, intensely male.

I want to devour him. Blair gasps, and he goes quiet as I circle his hole with my tongue.

His hand searches for mine, fingers opening and closing until I thread our hands together.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers, almost no sound at all.

My tongue pushes deeper, circling his rim before dipping inside. I grip his ass with both hands, spreading him wider, diving deeper.

“God—” Blair chokes out, hips pushing against my face.

Spit runs down my chin as I eat him out, messy and hungry. When I push my tongue inside him again, he bucks against me, a moan tearing from his throat. His hands fist in the sheets, and each lick, each slow suck, each nibble on his rim draws out another broken sound.

I pull back to catch my breath. His hole glistens. I push my thumb against it, watching as it yields. “You want more?” I ask.

“Yes,” Blair whispers.

My cock throbs. “Turn over,” I breathe.

He exhales, his whole body shaking, and then turns as slow as tidewaters drawing back. On the way, he cups my cheek and drags me up to kiss him. His lips are greedy; he wants to taste himself on my tongue. “Torey…” He’s shaking.

I guide him until he’s on all fours for me.

White sheets crumple under his knees, and sunlight falls across his salt-dusted skin.

He’s beautiful, and his ass is perfect. He’s so solid everywhere, in his shoulders, his arms, in his thighs built to hold the line for a team, but right now he’s melting for me.

I kneel behind him and bury my face between his ass cheeks again. A scream catches in his throat.

He tastes of the ocean and of some deeper musk, a flavor I want to drown in.

He shudders, a full-body tremble that runs through him and into me.

His hips rock back, pushing himself more fully against my mouth.

A low, wounded sound escapes him, ripped from his chest. He’s completely undone, and the sight of it, the sound of it?—

I am wrecked by how much I want this man. I want him open for me, want to take him apart and put him back together until there’s no space left for his fears.

He reaches for the bottle of lube beside the pillow and passes it back, then drops his forehead into the crook of one arm. The gesture is so quiet, so full of trust.

My hand closes over the bottle. His fingers brush mine for a fraction of a second, hot and a little shaky. His back is tension and surrender, muscles shifting with each unsteady breath he draws. I slick my fingers, then gently, so gently, ease one in.

He groans, a long, drawn-out sound of surrender.

The tight ring of muscle clenches around me, then gives way, softening with a sigh that feels ripped from him.

I hold myself still, letting him grow accustomed to feeling me inside him.

His heat is a brand. I move my finger slowly, a lazy circle against his walls, and his hips push back against my hand. His breath hitches.

“Another,” he begs.

I add a second finger, and his body relaxes as I curl them both.

“Right there,” he pants. “Right—fuck?—”

I massage that spot; his cock jumps. Pre-come drips onto the sheets below him. I add a third finger, stretching him wider. Every part of me strains toward him, toward his heat and salt and surrender.

“Tell me what you need.” I map the dip of his spine with my lips, count each vertebra with a kiss.

“You,” he begs. “You, Torey.”

I kneel behind him and cover his back with my chest, lining us up until every inch of me fits against him. My cock slides over his lube-and-spit-slick hole, and my arm wraps around him, holding him tight. I pour more lube over myself as the length of my cock rocks against his ass.

He reaches for my hand, lacing us together and holding our palms over his heart. His other hand braces flat on the mattress.