Chapter 22 #2
Stefan came to a halt in the middle of the pavement beneath a street lamp. “I do.” He paused. “But I don’t want distance.”
My breath caught in my throat.
“What I said earlier wasn’t wrong,” he continued. “But it wasn’t complete.”
My attention sharpened.
“I’m not going to answer something like that without thinking it through.” His hands were on my shoulders. “You deserve better than that.”
My heartbeat slipped into a higher gear.
“But—”
I felt as if I was balanced on a precipice, awaiting the words that would send my hopes plummeting—or my heart soaring.
I knew what I wanted to hear.
Stefan let out a sigh. “But I’m not walking away from it either.”
I didn’t look away. “What does that mean?”
He hesitated before answering. “It means I want you with me tonight.”
Okay, that wasn’t a promise, but it was unambiguous, and I took his words for what they were—an invitation.
“All right,” I said at last. I reached for his hand, pulling him along the street, connecting us.
It wasn’t what I wanted, but for now, it would have to be enough.
Stefan
The apartment felt different when we stepped inside.
Nothing had changed. The space, the light, the quiet…
Maybe it’s us.
I closed the door behind us, the soft click settling into the silence between us.
Neither of us spoke immediately. Kieran moved through the apartment, slower than usual, as if he were aware of the space in a way he hadn’t been before.
Or perhaps he was aware of me in it.
I removed my jacket, and set it aside.
He turned then, met my gaze, and crossed the floor to stand in front of me, his movement certain. I brought my hand up to his face, my thumb brushing along his jaw before I drew him in.
The kiss was different too, sweeter, more gentle, an exploration involving lips and tongues. He responded immediately, his hands finding me with the same quiet confidence, no hesitation in the way he stepped into it, no longer restrained.
I deepened the kiss, feeling the way he stayed with me, matched me, not following, not leading, but simply there, with me. Present.
Equal.
Kieran broke the kiss first, took my hand, and led me to the bedroom. I closed the door behind us and pushed him against it, grinding against his crotch.
He laughed. “Slow down. We have all night.” He led me towards the bed, then sat on it, burying his face in my stomach, my chest. His hand found mine, and he laced our fingers as we kissed, my hand on his face, tracing the line of his cheek, his beard soft beneath my fingertips.
“Let me see that hair,” I murmured. I grasped the hem of his tee and tugged it over his head.
I tossed it aside, then ran my hands over his chest, loving the feel of him.
The call of that generous mouth proved too much to ignore, and I went right back to kissing him, feeling him open for me, wanting me.
I knelt beside the bed, kissing his chest, and he cradled my head, his touch light yet assured. I inhaled the smell of him, the gentle rasp of his hair against my face, the soft noises that told me he didn’t want me to stop.
Kieran pressed his lips to my forehead. “I want you,” he whispered.
I pushed him gently onto his back, then popped the button on his jeans. His dick sprang up as I pulled them past his hips, and I smiled. “So I see.”
God, I wanted him too.
Kieran
Stefan locked gazes with me as he took the head of my cock between his lips, and I let out a low moan.
His hand rested on my pubes as he sucked, and I covered it with my own, supporting my head with my hand, watching him, thrusting gently into his mouth.
I laced our fingers once more, unable to tear my gaze away, both of us seemingly incapable of breaking eye contact.
His tongue danced over my shaft, and I knew where I wanted it, yearned for it to be.
I drew my knees towards my chest, and he dived in, flicking his tongue over my pucker, pulling noises from my lips, sighs and groans of pleasure as I begged him not to stop.
He licked a path from my balls to my slit, filling the air with noises of his own, sounds that spoke of hunger and desire.
I pushed his face deeper, wanting that tongue inside me, not bothering to hide my need for him.
Stefan got into a rhythm, sucking the head of my dick, then probing my hole with his tongue. He kept repeating this until I was shaking, unable to lie still. He paused long enough to reach into the bedside drawer for the lube, then went right back to driving me wild with his tongue.
“Stefan.” His name came out like a plea.
He slid his thumb into my hole, and I caught my breath. His eyes locked onto mine. “Is that what you want?”
I shook my head. “More.”
His lips parted, and he flicked the cap on the lube bottle. A moment later, I felt the welcome intrusion of a single finger, and before I could tell him it wasn’t enough, one became two, and I shuddered with anticipation.
Then two became three.
I loved the sensation of being full, feeling him stretch me, readying me for his cock. I pushed down, chasing more of it.
He met my gaze. “Want to try four?”
I swallowed. “Do it.”
A heartbeat later, I was fuller than I’d ever been, Stefan watching me, assessing my reaction. Then something changed, and I gasped.
“My thumb is in you too.”
In a wave of heat, I recalled the guy in the sling at Rolf’s party, and my heart thumped. “Will you… can we…?”
Stefan’s hand was gentle on my belly, stroking me, caressing me.
“Not tonight. We might not ever get that far, but I think it’s a destination you want to reach.”
I managed a nod, every nerve and fibre in me alive and electric.
Stefan withdrew his fingers, and I felt their absence instantly.
“Please…. I need you inside me.”
He stood, unzipped his jeans and shoved them to his ankles, his cock bouncing up, hard and flushed.
He placed one knee on the bed, aimed his dick at my hole, and slid into me in one long, leisurely thrust. I grabbed my shaft and pulled on it, raising my leg to rest my ankle against his shoulder. “Yeah, just like that.”
Stefan nodded, moving in and out of me, taking his time, and when he finally picked up speed, I matched his rhythm, tugging on my cock.
Then he climbed onto the bed, his weight on his hands, bracketing my head as he filled me over and over, his face inches from mine.
I brought both legs to his shoulders, folding myself in half, and finally we kissed, Stefan moaning into it as he rocked in and out of me.
I cradled his face in my hands, pouring my heart and soul into every kiss.
Stefan grabbed my wrists with one hand and pinned them to the bed above my head, both of our moans constant now. When he let go, he cupped my cheeks and we kissed, moving together, one flesh, connected… His breathing grew laboured, and I knew he was close.
“Come,” I begged him. “Come in me.”
“Fuck. Kieran…” He groaned, and a second or two later, I felt that delicious throbbing, the tremors that coursed through him as he filled me with his cum, his kisses urgent, fevered. At last, he slowed, and our kisses grew more intense.
“My turn,” I said with a moan.
He pulled out of me, bent low, and took my dick in his mouth. In a rush, I came, and he took it all, making me shiver with each pass of his tongue over the head.
Then he claimed my mouth, sharing the taste of me, his cock inside me once more, still moving, unhurried, gentle, rocking me in his arms.
This felt new. Different.
It was always good with Stefan, so that wasn’t new. It was more the way I hadn’t held anything back.
He hadn’t held back either. And he hadn’t immediately pulled himself back into that composed, controlled version of himself I’d come to recognise. I’d felt it in the way he’d said my name…
And then it hit me.
He’d needed me.
I swallowed, staring at the ceiling. That wasn’t something I could file away as experience.
That was real.
Which meant so was everything that came with it.
It hadn’t only been me. This wasn’t one-sided.
He feels it too. And he hadn’t hidden it.
I let out another breath, slower this time, my body finally catching up with everything my mind had already worked through.
Neither of us is pretending anymore.
Stefan
Kieran lay in my arms, and I listened to his breathing that had settled into a steadier rhythm.
I was aware of everything. The weight of him against me, the warmth of his skin. I loved the way his head fit against my neck as if it had always belonged there, his hand resting on my chest.
What just happened?
I hadn’t recognised myself.
The man who’d made love to him? That wasn’t me.
There’d been no restraint, no careful awareness of where the line was or how close I was to crossing it. Just the feel of him. The unfiltered need for him.
I exhaled slowly, moving my hand absently against his back, grounding myself in the familiar feel of his skin.
What unsettled me wasn’t what had happened—it was how easily it had happened, how naturally, as if that version of me had been there all along, unobserved, unacknowledged.
Until now.
Until him.
That was the part I couldn’t ignore. Not the loss of control or the context of it, but that it had been him. What I couldn’t get past was how much I’d wanted it. Even now, the pair of us spent and clarity returning, I could still feel it. More than that, I wanted to experience it again.
I’d chosen not to walk away from whatever this was between us. That had been a deliberate decision.
This was not, and now I was beginning to understand the cost of that choice.
I opened my eyes and gazed at him, at the ease in his expression, the absence of tension, the quiet certainty of someone who trusted me without question.
I traced the line of his back, and he stirred, soft noises leaving him before he slipped deeper into whatever velvet blackness had finally taken him.
I stilled.
That trust was not something I could take lightly, not something I could engage with halfway.
I’m in way too deep.
What shocked me was I wasn’t sure if I wanted to extricate myself, or go deeper still.