Page 197 of Whisper

Terror. Fear. He saw David’s fear spin on and on, heart-clenching, throat-choking anxiety. Was it too late? Was he too late?

Did ten years change a man?

Yes… and no. Kris responded to David like he always had, like part of his soul was reaching for David, like something inside of him needed to be with something inside of David. Like they were two halves of a whole, desperate to be one.

Ten years, and he still loved David with every fiber of his being. Every part of his soul, every shattered remnant of his heart.

And David still loved him.

He grabbed David and pulled him close, as close as he could. David groaned, shuddering as he collapsed against Kris, as their bodies fit together.

Hands were everywhere. Grabbing jackets and shirts, tugging, pulling, freeing skin. On waistbands, undoing pants and jeans.

They were naked in moments, clothes scattered on the floor. Kris’s hands roamed over David’s body, over his warm, burnished skin. He knew this body, knew it inside out. Had loved it for years, and still loved him in his dreams. But there were new scars, new marks. Burns and cuts, ragged lines where the skin had been torn, healed roughly. Star-shaped bullet wounds. Ten years had not been kind to David.

David ran his rough hands over every inch of Kris’s chest. SAD had filled him out, turned his lean body hard, made him cutting. He had scars, too, every one of them earned after David’s death, earned because Kris had wanted to feel a fraction of the agony of David’s death. He’d been reckless, so reckless. He’d wanted to die.

“Kris,” David breathed. Their noses bumped, shared breaths mixing together. He kissed Kris’s face, his nose, his cheeks, his eyes. “Kris,please—”

“Yes, David, yes. Make love to me,” Kris whispered.

David backed him through his studio, through the tiny space to his bed. They kissed and never stopped, hands exploring, relearning, remapping bodies they’d committed to their hearts. Kris’s legs hit the edge of his bed, and he scrambled onto the mattress, dragging David by the hand after him.

David surged, covering him completely, his body sliding against Kris’s, claiming him, owning him. Kris whimpered. His arms and legs wrapped around David, holding tight.

“You’re so beautiful,” David whispered. “Ya rouhi.” He bent to Kris again, kissing him, caressing him in every way, dragging a symphony of moans and shudders from Kris.

Kris tipped his head back, gasping for air. Everything inside of him burned, everything. His blood, his bones, his heart. His soul was on fire, every shattered piece of his heart reforging in the heat of David’s love. Nothing existed beyond this moment. Nothing existed beyond their bodies, pressed so close, locked together. Shock waves erupted from within, earthquakes in his soul that rocked in time with David’s thrusts, in time with his grunts, his breaths in Kris’s hair, his ear.

“I love you,” David whispered. “I havealwaysloved you.”

“David!” Kris’s fingers dragged down David’s back, left furrows in his skin. Ran over raised rough ridges, old scar tissue.

David burrowed into Kris’s body, into his soul, into that place inside of Kris that had always and forever been David’s and David’s alone. That part of him that had always held David’s soul.

Somewhere inside of David, part of Kris’s soul existed, too.

David kissed his way down Kris’s throat, cradled him in his arms. Rocked forward, and pressed their foreheads together. Stared into Kris’s eyes. David dragged Kris’s pleasure out in long, languid lengths, until Kris couldn’t breathe, until his back arched and his toes curled and he screamed, yelling at the top of his lungs. It was different, God, it was so different, when there was so muchlove. Nothing could compare, ever.

David held him, after, caressing him as he kept gently rocking into Kris’s body, whispering kisses and declarations of love in English and Arabic all over his skin.

Dizzy, Kris tried to hold on to David, tried to keep both hands on his dead husband as the world tumbled, twirled away. Was this madness? He was okay with it, if it was.

“I want to make love to you forever,” David whispered. “All night long. And tomorrow. And the day after.”

Kris shivered, to the tip of his toes. “Why don’t you?”

Above him, David grinned. He kissed Kris’s nose, his lips, both of his eyelids. “Okay.”

Hours later, they finally rested.

The bed was destroyed. Sheets lay in a pooled heap on the floor. Kris’s white bedspread was torn, more off than on. The mattress was exposed on one corner, the sheet ripped free as Kris screamed through his third orgasm, as David rode him through his second. Handprints streaked the glass mirror at the head of the bed from when Kris had ridden David slowly, an hour’s worth of heat building between them until David tipped him backward and took control.

They lay entwined, one edge of the fitted sheet wrapped around their hips against the cold. Wet spots stained the bed, lube and everything else.

David’s gaze flicked to the bowl of condoms beside the bed. His eyebrows arched.

Kris swallowed. Looked down. “I thought you were dead. I didn’t know how to deal with that—”