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Chapter Twenty-Six

Justin

This.

I can’t believe I denied myself this for so long.

Over the next week, Drew and I are together every night, and it’s incredible. It’s beyond incredible. It’s like discovering you’ve been watching TV in black and white your whole life and someone’s just hit the color button.

Now, it’s the weekend, and I don’t have the pesky interruption of work to get in the way of discovering what places I can touch Drew that cause him to make that incredibly hot noise in the back of his throat.

“So, do you want to go anywhere today?” Drew asks me on Sunday morning as we lie in a patch of sunlight streaming through the window. The perfect blue sky makes me feel like nature is celebrating with me.

“No offense to London, but I don’t think anything can match the sight in my bed right now,” I say as I reach out to stroke down his side.

The corners of Drew’s mouth twist up.

“What, the British Museum’s ancient artifacts aren’t as appealing as my morning breath?” Drew asks.

“Well, your morning breath is practically a cultural artifact on its own.”

“Are you saying I belong in a museum?”

“More like a very specialized private collection. Though the sign would definitely need an adult content warning.”

Drew laughs, and I lean over to kiss his smile.

Our kiss quickly turns delicious, and I reach out to touch his hardening cock.

“See, I’ve got my own version of Big Ben right here,” I murmur against his lips.

Drew pulls back to stare at me. “Did you seriously just name my cock after a clock?”

I shrug. “It’s large, reliable, good with timing…”

Drew laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest where we’re pressed together.

In bed, there’s none of the hesitation I sense from Drew at other times. Here, he’s always fully present.

We kiss and kiss, and the kiss starts to ramp up until we’re both panting into each other’s mouths, our touches growing more urgent.

I’m on top of him, grinding against him, loving the feel of his cock against mine.

Then I shimmer down his body.

Every kiss I plant on Drew’s body feels like a repudiation of Bobby Ray’s words still alive in my head. I kiss down his chest, and the soft sounds he makes vibrate through his ribcage, humming against my lips like whispered encouragements.

I kiss the soft skin of his inner thigh. I kiss the juncture of his hip and leg.

Then I take him into my mouth.

The weight of him on my tongue causes everything else to fall away until there’s just the taste of him, the gentle rock of his hips, the desperate sounds catching in his throat.

When I finally pull off, Drew’s staring at me with those whiskey-brown eyes, his chest heaving.

I love Drew like this. Flushed and wanting.

I reapply my mouth.

But this time, as I’m worshipping him, I let my fingers drift backward, stroking the soft skin behind his balls.

Drew groans my name like a prayer, his hips bucking up instinctively as my fingers explore farther.

When I tentatively circle his hole, he makes a needy and desperate sound.

So far, we’ve been using our mouths and hands to get each other off, and it’s been amazing. But I want more. I want to experience all those firsts I denied myself for so long, and I want them with Drew.

And judging by the sounds he’s making, Drew’s just as desperate for this as I am. He’s arching into my touch, his body begging for more.

“Do you want…?” Drew rasps out.

I pull away so I can look at him.

And even though he’s the one who asked the question, for the first time the whole weekend, I see a hint of that hesitation in Drew’s eyes.

“Um…yeah. I mean, I’m definitely up to try…” I say.

Shit.

My face heats. For someone who makes his living talking to people, I’m suddenly struggling to string two words together. But there’s no PowerPoint presentation for How to Tell the Guy You’re Falling For That You Want To Have Penetrative Sex with Him .

I think back to what my health teacher in high school used to say.

If you aren’t mature enough to have a conversation about sex, then you’re not mature enough to be having sex.

I take a deep breath through my nose and force myself to address this like an adult.

“I’ve had penetrative sex with women, but I’ve never done anal. So I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“We can take it slow,” Drew says. “Figure out what works for you. There’s no rush.”

I exhale shakily. “Mrs. Otterman would be so proud of me,” I say.

Drew seizes up. “What?”

I huff a sheepish laugh. “Oh, I was just thinking about my high school health teacher. She had this saying about how you shouldn’t be having sex unless you could have conversations about it.”

Shit. Should I have admitted that? Drew looks freaked out by my admission, his earlier playfulness draining away.

Maybe discussing high school health teachers isn’t the best way to set a romantic and sexy mood?

There’s a guardedness in Drew’s expression as he replies to me. “Yeah, my health teacher said something similar.”

But he still looks uneasy. His fingers twist in the sheets beside him.

“So, I guess we need to discuss the logistics,” I say. “So, um…? Who’s going to be the pitcher, and who will be the catcher? God, that sounds like I’m reading from some terrible gay sex manual. Sports metaphors really aren’t the best in the bedroom, are they?”

A small smile blooms on Drew’s face, but it’s only there for a few seconds before it fades.

His teeth catch his bottom lip, and he’s looking at me like he’s trying to make some crucial decision.

“I’ve done both,” he says finally. “And I enjoy both. Do you have a preference for which one you want to try?”

“I like the idea of both. I don’t really have a preference for which I try first,” I say.

“For your first time, it might be easier for you to top.”

“Okay.”

I lean forward to kiss him, trying to pour all my gratitude and tenderness into the gesture. His lips part beneath mine.

Our kiss becomes deeper yet still gentle, like we’re having an entire conversation without words.

When his hand comes up to cradle my jaw, his thumb stroking along my cheek, my heart does this complicated flip that has nothing to do with physical desire and everything to do with how safe he makes me feel.

But when I withdraw, there’s still hesitation in Drew’s eyes.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I’m really happy with what we’ve been doing. We don’t have to try anything different,” I say.

Because Drew is still looking uncertain, and I hate feeling like I’m the reason why. I hate that the blissed-out expression I’ve gotten used to seeing on him has become more guarded.

I want nothing more than to kiss away whatever doubts are clouding those gorgeous brown eyes.

Drew swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“I want to do this with you, Justin,” he says quietly.

His words sound sincere, but there’s still something in his vulnerable expression that makes my heart clench.

I lean down to brush my lips against the sensitive spot below his ear that I’ve discovered drives him wild.

“You’re so sexy,” I whisper, but it still doesn’t remove the lingering uncertainty on his face.

Did someone hurt Drew? Did one of his ex-boyfriends make him feel like he wasn’t enough in some way?

The thought of Drew being hurt causes something protective to flare inside me.

I kiss him, and it’s a dreamy, languid kiss that feels like Sunday morning pancakes and lazy cat cuddles, the kind of kiss that makes time stretch like warm honey.

Eventually, I reach for the lube in my bedside table drawer.

I’m trying for suave, but I squeeze the lube bottle too enthusiastically, and suddenly, lube is everywhere, the bottle slipping through my fingers like it’s auditioning for a slapstick comedy routine.

And we’re both laughing, giddy, intimate giggles that make everything feel easier.

Drew’s chuckle vibrates against my skin as he guides my hand to where he wants it.

Our playful mood shifts into something more intense as I breach him carefully, watching his face for every tiny reaction. Each tiny flutter of his eyelashes, every subtle shift of expression, feels magnified, significant.

Thankfully, my fingers aren’t trembling for this intimate exploration, even if the rest of me feels like I’m vibrating out of my skin.

I want to pour everything I’m feeling into every touch, every movement. How do you thank someone for making every first time feel like coming home?

Drew’s skin flushes pink down his chest, his breathing growing more ragged.

I move my fingers inside him, hitting that spot that makes him makes him arch off the bed with a gasp.

And oh my god, this is another side of Drew I get to discover. Drew without his careful composure, Drew letting himself just feel.

I continue to pleasure him until he’s glassy-eyed and panting, his head thrown back against the pillow, his lips red and swollen from our earlier kisses.

I’m going entirely by instinct because I can hardly bear to rip my eyes from his face.

“I’m ready,” he gasps.

Oh, holy shit.

I fumble for more lube and a condom, nearly demolishing my bedside table in the process because, apparently, my usual coordination has taken an impromptu vacation. Nerves chew my stomach lining.

But it’s Drew, so it’s going to be okay. Even if I mess this up somehow, he won’t judge me for it. He’ll guide me through this like he’s guided me through everything else, with that perfect mix of patience and understanding.

A mix that makes me feel so safe.

“What way? I mean, what position works?—”

Oh fuck, I almost trotted out a football metaphor there, luckily pulling myself up in time.

Luckily, Drew answers my question in the best way possible, pressing me back against the sheets and moving to straddle me, his thighs bracketing my hips as he settles into place.

The sensation of Drew taking me inside him steals every coherent thought from my brain. My world narrows to the exquisite pressure, the impossible heat, the way his body trembles as he adjusts.

A sound escapes me that I didn’t know I was capable of producing, something between a growl and a whimper, raw and desperate and completely beyond my control.

Each tiny movement sends shockwaves through my entire body. I’m pretty sure I’m going to die, but what a way to go.

My hands grip his hips, trying desperately to ground myself when everything feels like it’s spinning out of control.

Drew’s head falls back, exposing the line of his throat where I can see his pulse racing beneath flushed skin. His dark hair is wild from my fingers, his eyes squeezed shut, his lips bitten red and parted on shaky breaths.

He starts to move. Holy god, my entire body feels like I’ve discovered a new dimension of pleasure, one that would definitely require a warning label and possibly government regulation.

It turns out I don’t need to overthink this, which is good because thinking isn’t my strong suit right now. Every tiny response from Drew guides me like the world’s most intimate GPS system. All those months of studying his expressions, learning the meaning behind every quirk of his eyebrows, every subtle shift of his lips, translate into something deeper now.

It’s so easy to read his body, to go slowly, adjusting my angle, pace, and pressure until Drew makes these incredible sounds I want to record and play on a loop forever.

Being inside him feels like every nerve ending in my body just got an upgrade.

The heat and tightness make my vision blur at the edges.

I’d compared sex with Drew to seeing a black-and-white world finally in full color, but this feels like I’m experiencing colors I never knew existed.

I reach out to touch where we’re joined, tracing that point of connection between us with trembling fingers, drawing a moan from Drew that makes my heart stutter and my hips jerk forward instinctively.

I wrap my hand around his cock, and Drew’s whole body goes taut, his thighs trembling. His movements become more desperate as he rocks between my grip and my cock, gasping my name like a prayer.

I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than Drew like this, all that brilliant wit and sharp intelligence melting into pure need.

I need to kiss him right now more than I need to breathe.

I surge up, pulling him to me as I scramble for his mouth, swallowing his moans as he grinds down onto me with renewed intensity, my free hand splaying across his back to pull him closer.

Then, going purely on instinct, I hook his leg and flip us in one smooth motion so Drew’s beneath me. Drew’s legs wrap around me, his hands sliding up my arms, mouth finding mine again.

The need to go deeper, to claim every inch and lose myself in him, overwhelms me.

I balance on one elbow so I can brush his hair back from his forehead to see his eyes and watch every flutter of his eyelashes.

His face is transformed into something almost ethereal. Those brown eyes that usually spark with wit and intelligence are now dark and dreamy.

“Oh my god, Drew, you feel so good.” The words come out rough and reverent, barely recognizable as my voice.

Drew’s shoulders tense, and a flicker of hesitation shadows his expression, like he’s momentarily caught between pleasure and doubt.

I slow down, keeping one hand steady on his hip while the other traces soothing patterns along his side.

“Are you okay?”

His forehead is scrunched. “Yeah, I’m okay.” But he’s biting his lip, something uncertain still in his expression.

I kiss his bitten lip, bracketing his body with my own. Our kiss is sweet, a gentle exchange of breath and warmth.

Then I stroke his sides, running my hands tenderly along the curve of his waist, the skin of his inner arms, the muscles of his thighs, until he melts back into the mattress.

When I start to move again, I watch his face carefully, tracking every micro-expression that tells me exactly what he needs and how to make this perfect for him.

Drew’s whole body responds to my touch. When I change my angle slightly, he makes this broken sound that shoots straight through me, his fingers digging into my biceps. I press open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone, tasting the salt of his skin, feeling his pulse race against my lips.

I sense he’s getting close from the way his breathing changes, becoming more ragged, his hands clutching my shoulders with increasing urgency.

I wrap my hand around his cock, wanting to see him completely fall apart, wanting to be the one who takes him there.

I stroke him in time with my thrusts, watching in wonder as his usual composure splinters completely.

Drew’s orgasm is the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever witnessed—the arch of his back, the way his fingers dig into my shoulders as he comes gasping my name.

The fact I’m the one who brought him to this point fills me with a mixture of pride and awe that tips me over the edge right after him. Pleasure hits me with the force of a football tackle. My entire world narrows to the sensation of being inside Drew.

For several heartbeats, we stay wrapped in each other, my forehead pressed against his neck as aftershocks of pleasure ripple through us.

My fingers trace the curve of his shoulder, memorizing the way his skin feels against mine.

Eventually, I carefully pull out and deal with the condom, then immediately gather Drew back into my arms. I have this overwhelming need to maintain the connection between us. He comes willingly, melting against me like he’s lost all his bones.

Have I ever felt a greater sense of accomplishment than I do right now? I did this to this amazing man.

“You okay?” I whisper, pressing soft kisses to his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. His skin is flushed and warm under my lips.

“Mmm,” is all he manages, which makes me grin. Rendering Drew speechless is definitely something for my highlight reel.

I grab tissues from the nightstand to clean us up. There’s something so intimate about carefully cleaning him, about taking care of him right now.

When I’m done, I pull him close again, wrapping myself around him like I can somehow protect him from whatever makes him tense up sometimes. He nuzzles into my neck with a contented sigh.

“That was incredible,” I murmur into his hair. “You’re incredible.”

He lifts his head to look at me, and something soft and vulnerable in his expression makes me want to kiss him. So I do, pressing my lips to his in the gentlest of kisses, trying to pour all my feelings into the gesture.

When we part, Drew melts against my chest like he’s finally found his place in the world, his body fitting perfectly against mine.

His breathing slows, and I watch him for a while, mapping the way his dark eyelashes fan against his cheeks, the slight curl of his hair where it’s still damp with sweat, and how his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. I could happily spend hours just watching him sleep.

My heart does a weird flutter at that realization.

I carefully extract myself from the tangle of limbs, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead when he makes a sleepy sound of protest. After pulling on my boxers, I pad to the kitchen, gathering ingredients for quesadillas.

I’m carefully arranging Drew’s favorite toppings—extra cheese, those specific jalapenos he claims aren’t addictive, but he always takes seconds of—when footsteps make me look up.

Drew’s watching me from the doorway.

“I’m making you quesadillas for lunch,” I say. “If you’re hungry?”

“Thank you.” Drew hesitates for a second, then closes the distance, putting his arms around me and nuzzling the back of my neck.

I turn in his arms so I can kiss him.

Only the sizzling of the pan makes me reluctantly wrench my lips from his.

After rescuing the slightly singed quesadillas, we settle at my kitchen counter, our legs tangling together as we eat.

Cassie and Tabitha appear, summoned by the smell of food. Drew immediately starts sneaking them pieces of chicken.

I raise my eyebrow at him.

“I’m just ensuring I have inside agents for when the cats finally take over the world. It’s called strategic planning,” he says.

We migrate to the couch afterward. I pull Drew to me, and he ends up settling between my legs, his back against my chest.

He’s wearing my T-shirt, which is slightly too big on him, and something about seeing him in my clothes makes my heart do complicated acrobatics.

As we snuggle, we watch British comedians struggle with American concepts like the concept of free refills—“But when does it END?”—tailgating at sports events—“You mean people intentionally eat in car parks?”—and the mysterious allure of spray cheese—“This cannot possibly be classified as food.”

Every time Drew laughs, I feel it vibrate through my chest, and I watch him more than the screen. Tabitha claims Drew’s lap while Cassie drapes herself across the back of the couch above us, occasionally batting at Drew’s hair.

This feels so domestic, so right. I drop kisses onto Drew’s shoulder, neck, anywhere I can reach just because I can. He settles against me with a contented sigh.

“I should probably go back to my apartment at some point, change my clothes, charge my phone at least,” Drew finally says, and I hear the reluctance in his voice. “Maybe take a shower.”

I tighten my arms around his waist, nuzzling into his neck. “Do you want some company?” I ask.

He turns to look at me, quirking an eyebrow. “Are you thinking I can’t walk the forty feet to my apartment without an escort?”

“I was thinking more that we haven’t had shower sex yet, and your shower is bigger than mine,” I say.

He grins. “I like your thinking.”

“Come on then.” I get to my feet and pull Drew up with me. “Let’s get you home and cleaned up.”

“You make it sound like I’m a stray dog you found in the park.”

“Well, you did just eat all my food and make friends with my cats.”

The forty feet between our apartments has never felt longer. Drew fumbles with his keys, probably because I can’t stop kissing that spot behind his ear.

“You’re not helping with my coordination,” he says.

“I’m providing motivation for faster key usage.”

We finally make it inside, but Drew barely has a chance to plug in his phone before I kiss him again. His breath hitches as my hands slide under his shirt.

“What happened to shower sex?” he asks, but his hands are already working at my buttons.

“We’ll get there. Eventually.” I capture his lips with mine, swallowing whatever clever response he was about to make.

We finally make it to his bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes that would probably make my usually meticulous self cringe if I wasn’t so distracted by my mouth on Drew’s collarbone.

It appears London plumbing isn’t designed with urgent make-out sessions in mind because the shower takes forever to heat properly, but I barely notice because Drew, naked and soapy, is possibly the most incredible sight I’ve ever seen. Water droplets cling to his eyelashes, and his hair is plastered to his forehead in a way that makes him look younger, more vulnerable.

“You’re staring,” he says, pushing his wet hair back.

“Can you blame me? You look like a very sexy drowned rat.”

He splashes water in my face. “Such a romantic.”

But he doesn’t offer any protests when I press him against the shower wall, claiming his mouth in a kiss that tastes like water and desire. His hands slide over my wet skin, finding all those spots he’s already learned drive me crazy.

Shower sex turns out to be even better than I anticipated. Drew keeps making these incredible sounds that echo off the tiles, and the way the water makes everything slick and smooth between us drives me absolutely insane.

Afterward, we wash each other’s hair, trading lazy kisses under the spray.

We eventually stumble out of the shower. I wrap a towel around my waist, unable to resist pulling Drew in for one more kiss. Water drips from his hair onto my chest.

“I’m thinking you need some more nourishment.” I nuzzle his neck, tasting shower water and Drew.

“Good luck finding anything edible in my kitchen,” Drew says.

“Hey now, I’m sure there’s at least one unexpired condiment packet in there,” I say, and Drew laughs.

We leave damp footprints on the carpet as we head to the kitchen, trading kisses and funny ideas of what kind of fusion cuisine we could cobble together from his fridge.

We’re so caught up in each other that, at first, I don’t notice we’re not alone.

When I do spot the guy standing in Drew’s living room, the sight hits me like a bucket of ice water, shocking every system in my body into high alert.

What the hell?

The guy appears equally shocked to see us. He’s standing in the middle of the rug with his mouth hanging open.

My mind immediately churns through a whole lot of alternatives. This isn’t Drew’s apartment. He’s been squatting here. Or maybe this is a burglar who’s been staking out the place and thought the apartment was empty.

“Leo, hi.” Drew’s voice sounds like it’s being strangled by his towel.

Okay, so all the stranger scenarios are out the window. Now, my mind is churning through horror scenarios. Drew’s husband has come back from his world cruise? His ex still has a key?

“Hey,” the guy apparently called Leo says.

“What are you doing here?” Drew asks abruptly.

Leo holds up a key.

“I’ve been in London for two days, and you haven’t replied to any of my messages. I’ve just been hammering on your door for the last ten minutes. I thought I was going to walk in to find you dead, slumped over your laptop.”

“I’ve just been…busy.”

Leo’s eyes shoot to me. “I can see that.”

Drew stays silent. His brain doesn’t seem to have come online yet. He’s obviously freaking out about being caught out like this.

Deciding I should try to summon some normal etiquette, I step forward, stretching out my hand. “Hi, I’m Justin, nice to meet you.”

But somehow, things get even weirder when I say my name. Leo makes a kind of choking noise, like a constipated goose.

“Justin.” He repeats my name slowly like it’s a three-course meal that needs to be carefully digested. His gaze slides to Drew, who is studiously examining the floor. He turns his attention back to me. “It’s nice to meet you, Justin. Uh…Drew’s…uh…mentioned you. You guys work together, right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Drew still looks uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot.

“How is your job going, Drew ? I think you told me about an interesting project you were working on. Any developments on that project ?” While Leo’s questions seem benign, there’s something strange about how he stresses different words in his sentences. Maybe he has some kind of speech impediment?

“He’s fitting in great,” I say.

“Weren’t you a little worried that the work might be too advanced for your skillset?” Leo raises his eyebrows at Drew.

I flick a glance at Drew. He’s never said that to me. But that would be Drew, burying his insecurities behind his competence and dry wit.

“He’s insanely good at his job,” I can’t help piping up. “Everyone calls him Techno-Genius.”

“Techno-Genius. That sounds like a good nickname.” Leo’s mouth twists into something that’s not quite a smile. “Probably better than some of the other nicknames you’ve had in your life, right, Drew ?”

The tension in the room ratchets up another notch. There’s clearly something going on here that I don’t quite understand.

“I should probably go,” I say awkwardly. It feels like I’m intruding on something private, even though this is supposed to be Drew’s apartment and I’m supposed to be his…whatever we are.

Drew doesn’t protest my suggestion. He’s still locked in a staring contest with Leo.

I glance down at my towel. “I…uh…should find my clothes before I make a break for it.”

“Your neighbors might appreciate that,” Leo says.

I scurry past Leo to collect my scattered clothing from the bathroom and hallway. There’s nothing quite like playing Find Your Underwear in front of a random stranger.

In Drew’s bedroom, I dress quickly, though my hair is definitely a disaster. I can hear murmured voices from the living room, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.

When I emerge, Drew’s still standing in his towel by the door. I hesitate for a moment, torn between wanting to kiss him goodbye properly and feeling Leo’s gaze burning into my back.

“I’ll message you later,” Drew says, his voice soft. There’s something in his expression I can’t read.

Screw it. I’m not going to leave without saying a proper goodbye. I lean in and kiss him, keeping it brief but pouring everything I feel into it. When I pull back, Drew’s eyes are wide.

“Bye, Leo. Good to meet you,” I call over my shoulder as I head out.

“It was interesting to meet you too,” Leo replies.

When I’m back in my apartment, I lean against my door and touch my lips. My cats appear, but I barely notice them. All I can think about is Drew. How right it feels to be with him, how much I want to keep kissing him, touching him, being with him.

And that’s the terrifying thing, isn’t it? Because Drew and I are supposed to just be doing the casual thing, but it feels anything but casual to me.