Page 14

Chapter Fourteen

GRAHAM

I meet Tyler in the bathroom. He’s already got the water warming up for a shower. For the first time, I wish I had a bigger shower stall here. It’s perfectly roomy for one person, but two is going to be tight.

As soon as Tyler declares the water warm enough, we hop in and let the water wash over us. There are several moments of comfortable silence. I’ve got a fancy tankless water heater here, so we can enjoy the tight space and intimacy for as long as we like.

I’m biding my time, waiting for Tyler to bring up what happened on the couch. Even if he recovered quickly, I know I hit a trigger back there. The second his body tensed up, I could feel the difference. Not only in the way he felt beneath me, but in his energy. I can make lots of guesses, but I’d rather hear it straight from his mouth. Both because I want to be sure I don’t do it again and because I think it’ll be good for him to talk about.

He leans against me, letting his head rest against my chest. I manage to reach the shower gel and pour a hearty amount into my palms. I soap us both up slowly, running my hands soothingly over his skin. By the time I make my way up from his hips to his shoulders, he’s practically purring. “God, why does that feel so good.”

“Because you’re too tense for someone who just had an orgasm.” I chuckle and dig into his muscles a little bit more. He’s quiet, so I take the opportunity to work my way down his back, making sure to spread the suds everywhere. They only last a second before the water washes them away. “Want to talk about it?”

He lets out a massive sigh. I keep my hands moving slowly over his back. The suds are long gone, but I hope the motion itself is soothing. He tips his head back, looking up into my eyes.

“I… I’m a side.” Tyler’s voice wavers a bit. “Do you know what that means?”

“I’m familiar with the term.” The internet is a trove of information, whether I want it or not. It’s thanks to many of the great sex columnists that I worked out my own bisexuality and how to fit into queer spaces. “But why don’t you tell me what it means to you.” One thing I’ve learned is that everyone is different.

“I don’t like anal penetration. At all.” He pulls back, his words almost a challenge. “And yes, I’ve tried both. Multiple times.”

“I’m not questioning that.” Given his response, I can only imagine Tyler has had this conversation with some real assholes over the years. “I’m more interested in hearing about the kinds of things you do like.”

He stares at me, blinking. “Pretty much anything that doesn’t include ass play.”

“So that includes oral and frotting?” He nods. “But no rimming, no penetration?”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay.” I can work with that. I’ve typically considered myself vers, though I more often top than bottom. It’s never been the main thing for me, though. Sex is about connecting with my partner, bringing them pleasure, and enjoying each other’s bodies. I don’t need anal for any of those things.

“Just okay?” He backs up, stepping out of the spray of the water. “Okay, what? Do you want me to go?”

“Go? Why would I want you to go?” I step forward and place my hands on his hips. “I mean, okay, that’s fine with me. I’ll respect your boundaries.”

“But being in a relationship with me means you won’t get real sex.”

Jesus. Who the hell has he been talking to? “First, what we’ve been doing is very much sex in my mind. That bullshit about anal being sex is a bunch of garbage. Second, I’m very happy with what we’re doing. I don’t need penetrative sex to be happy in a relationship.”

He seems skeptical, but when I pull him into a hug, he relaxes against me. “You don’t think you’ll get bored?”

“I have a very active imagination. I bet together we can devise a long list of things to do in bed.” We stay like that for a few minutes, resting against each other, enjoying the warm water against our skin. Eventually, we both decide it’s time to get out. Endless hot water doesn’t mean endless showers. Plus, it’s a lot easier to cuddle on the couch or in bed. I can tell Tyler’s emotionally exhausted.

“Want to finish our movie?” I ask once we’re back in the living room. I’ve pulled on a pair of sweats and loaned Tyler a pair, as well. They’re way too long for him, but with some creative rolling of the ankles, he’s managed to make it work.

“Sure.”

I rewind the movie back to about where we stopped. Before Tyler can overthink, I pull him down on the couch and tuck him up against my body, right where he belongs.

TYLER

My neck hurts, is my first thought as I wake up. The second is that I’m having a heart attack. I can’t suck in a full breath, my chest tight and heavy.

I open my eyes and relax. Gulliver’s on top of my chest, dozing away as though he didn’t almost put me in an early grave. Those cartoons of cats sleeping on top of people always seemed a bit over the top. I’m slowly learning they’re exactly right. This cat is more than happy to make me his bed, even though I’ve seen no fewer than six cat beds around Graham’s place. I give him a few small nudges, and he finally concedes, hopping down and storming out of the room.

With that part taken care of, I roll off Graham, who got the worse end of the deal. He’s apparently been sleeping under the combined weight of both me and Gulliver. I have no idea how he’s managed to sleep, but I’m guessing he’ll have a few knots that rival my own. I roll my neck a couple of times, trying to loosen up.

The night slowly comes back to me. Canceling mini-golf, starting a movie, freezing up on Graham when we were fooling around, and, of course, my shower confession. It’s all left me feeling a little raw.I know I should’ve mentioned it sooner, but it tends to be a relationship killer. Any guy I’ve been interested in has made it clear that no anal sex is a deal breaker.

My last boyfriend, Jasper, tried hard. At least, he said he did. I never got the feeling he put much thought into our sex life. Not after the first month, anyway. I’d told him over text message before we even met. I didn’t want to waste an evening on an awkward first date if he already knew we weren’t compatible. He seemed good with it, though, assuring me that a combination of hand jobs and blow jobs would suffice. And it did. For the first couple of months. After that, he changed. He pressured me more often, becoming increasingly frustrated with our limited options.

By the time I ended things, he’d taken to trying to wear me down, insisting I didn’t like it because I hadn’t been with the right guy. Assuring me that he was the one .

Since then, I’d been strictly a hook-up guy. Swapping blow jobs for a one-time thing is easy. No one expects more, and I’m not asking them for a commitment. Graham says he’s okay with it, but I can’t help but wonder for how long.

“Hey,” I say when Graham sits up, rubbing at his eyes. “We fell asleep.” I check my watch. It’s a little after two in the morning.

“Let’s go to bed.” Graham slowly gets up from the couch, his movements stiff and slow. Exactly how I feel right now. When he offers me his hand, I hesitate. I should go home to my own bed. If he’s going to call things off, it’s better not to get any more attached.

Right now, I want nothing more than to curl up next to him, though. My muscles might be in knots, but I swear the nap on the couch is the best sleep I’ve had in a long time. It’s been a long time since I had a sleepover with anyone, though. Probably since Jasper and I broke up all those years ago. With guys on the apps, it’s a safety thing. I don’t need to stay at their place, not knowing what will happen in the morning.

“Come on, we need real sleep.”

That’s hard to argue with, so I let him pull me from the couch and follow him down the hall to his bedroom. We both drop our sweats and shirts on the floor before climbing into the comfiest bed in the world. That might be an overstatement, but I swear it’s incredible. Maybe it’s the mattress, or maybe it’s the way Graham scoots to the far side and opens the sheets, waiting for me to join him. Maybe it’s the way he pulls me close and nuzzles into the crook of my neck, his stubble scratching against my skin and making me squirm.

My brain tries to overthink, coming up with a long list of all the ways I can screw this up, reasons why Graham didn’t mean what he said in the shower.

I want to believe him, not because of his words, but because of how he holds me. I can hear his heart beating, steady and calm, as he wraps his arms around me. Graham manages to be gentle and strong simultaneously, a combination that shouldn’t exist, much like this man. He’s too good to be true. I know it.

Or my head knows it. My heart might need more convincing.