Chapter 21 #2
I’ve pictured this moment a hundred different ways, but none of them compare to now.
The way he looks at me, unguarded, the quiet gravity that draws us together—it’s everything.
I don’t want to chase or rush. I just want to see him.
To let him know that whatever happens after tonight, he’s not alone in this. Not anymore.
Because no matter what the world says, that’s what he is—mine in all the ways that count.
“I’m good,” he says, and blows my mind further by lifting his legs and holding his thighs. He’s wide open, hole on display, almost every inch of skin flushed.
“Holy fuck, Ollie.”
His skin glows in the low light, every breath painting color across him. There’s nothing shy about the way he looks at me; it’s raw, open, certain. All want and no hesitation. And that’s what undoes me.
When Ollie gives himself over to something, he doesn’t halfway anything. He dives in like he’s made for the fall, and I’ve never wanted to catch someone so badly in my life.
I drag in a breath, trying to steady the rush. He’s waiting, gaze fixed on me, every line of him a challenge and a plea all at once.
“Rafe,” he says, voice rough with need, “you’re driving me crazy.”
My eyes lift to his. “Tell me what you need.”
His throat works before he answers, quiet but certain. “You. Just you.”
His words nearly break my composure. I move closer, slow enough to feel the weight of every heartbeat, the tension between us strung so tight it hums.
I want to give him everything he’s asking for. And more, so much fucking more.
“Then breathe,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”
With the city burning beyond the glass and the night holding its breath, he does.
It’s a long, shaky exhale as I coat three of my fingers before circling his hole with one. He shudders and moans and spreads himself further.
“You’re so fucking sexy, baby,” I praise, breaching him with one of my fingers. He sighs at the intrusion, the sound breathy and full of relief. This isn’t the first time I’ve explored his body, but I want him to be loose and desperate by the time I finally slide into him.
I press in two fingers, then finally three. “Your body was made for me,” I whisper. I bounce my attention between his eyes, the need I see there, and how fucking perfectly his ass is taking my fingers.
“It was. I am. But fuck, Rafe, I’m ready.” He draws his bottom lip into his mouth as he drives himself harder onto my fingers. He’s so tight and hot. I can’t wait to get inside him.
“Yeah?” I keep studying him, even as I curl my fingers and drag them deliberately against his prostate.
A wrecked moan tumbles out of him.
“Fuck, I need you.” I can’t hold back anymore. My dick needs to be planted inside his tight channel. Stat.
I ease away and slather lube directly on his loose hole, then my aching dick. A few quick strokes later and my breaths turn choppy, as do Ollie’s.
“Rafe… please.”
It’s his tone that unravels me. It hits like a spark to dry tinder—sudden and unstoppable. His body loosens beneath me, a long exhale leaving him boneless and trusting.
I lean in until our foreheads touch, his breath skating across my lips. My pulse roars. Every inch of restraint I’ve built threatens to snap. “Look at me,” I murmur. “I need to see you.”
He does. And in that look—that intense, unguarded look—I find every reason I’ve ever had to make this work. To fight. To love him like it’s the only thing keeping the world from falling apart.
I grip my cock and position myself at his entrance. With one final check of his expression, I nudge against his hole, the tip immediately entering.
“Fuck.” The word is a desperate punch, but he bobs his head. “All of it, Rafe. Fuck, all of it.”
Pushing forward, I shake, holding his waist and his hip as I slowly sink inside him. The most incredible heat encompasses my cock, and a fresh shudder racks my body. “So fucking perfect, Ollie.” His gaze snaps to mine, and I continue, “Seriously fucking perfect, baby.”
I push deeper, trying to go slow, but fuck if he’ll let me. He feels too good, too perfect, too everything. A slow thrust is impossible, made more so when he jerks his ass toward me. His tight ring gives, and a breathy moan flies from his kiss-bruised lips.
Immediately, I pause, a shaky breath punching from my lungs. “Fuck, baby. You okay?”
“Yeah.” His eyes remain closed, but he nods. “Give me a second.”
I want to lean down and kiss the frown between his eyebrows, but I don’t want to hurt him by moving. Plus, I’m pretty fucking terrified that if I move right now, I’m gonna shoot my load. He feels that fucking incredible wrapped around my cock.
Beneath me, Ollie releases a throaty groan when my dick pulses inside him. “Shit, baby, I’m sor—”
“No.” His eyes fly open, and a wry, sexy-as-fuck smile paints his lips. “It feels good. I’m okay.”
“Yeah?” My heart tumbles in my chest. I swear he’s never looked as fucking happy, so absolutely mine than in this moment.
“Yeah. I need you to move, Rafe. Fuck me.”
Jesus H. Christ.
I slam my lips against his, kissing him messily, frantically as I pull out of him before pushing right back inside.
A fierce bolt of pleasure crashes through me as I push deeper into him and ease out of the kiss.
“Fuck, Ollie.” Another hard stroke, and his mouth falls open. “I love you so fucking much.”
The moment I speak, he contracts around my rock-hard cock, and his hold on my ass tightens. Christ, I hope he’s leaving marks. He doesn’t spur me forward, but his unwavering grip is another thread tying us together.
“You’re taking every inch so fucking good.” I thrust hard.
My breath comes uneven, overwhelmed by how amazing he feels. Hands down, marrying Ollie is my best decision in the history of fucking ever.
No way will I ever let this man go. He’s mine. End of story. And as I push into him again, my synapses firing with indiscernible pleasure, I know this is it. Ollie will be mine forever.
“You’re mine, baby. Fucking always mine.”
His eyes blaze, and he pulls me down, capturing my mouth with his.
I give in completely—kissing, savoring, claiming—until air and memory blur and only Ollie remains.
I pull back just enough to see him beneath me, sinking as far into him as I can before going still.
He starts to speak, but whatever flickers across my face stops him cold.
“I mean it, Ollie. Always.” I search his eyes with something close to desperation.
His whispered “Fucking always” flips my entire world. Want and emotion surge through me, but love eclipses all of it.
“That makes me yours as well.”
A faint, cocky curve lifts his mouth, and my heart surges at the sight. I can’t help the grin that breaks over my own lips.
I kiss him again, letting it turn deeper, hungrier. The second I do, a shiver ripples through him, his body answering without hesitation. Pulling back, I thrust deeper, harder, tucking my arms behind his back and clasping his shoulders.
We’re so damn close, his breath fans across my skin. And this right here is how close I always want to be to Ollie. Fucking him, hugging him, making him mine—I want it all. But for now, I chase his grunts and cries. Chase the whimpers that spill from his lips along with “Rafe, fuck, Rafe.”
My dick pulses, throbs as I continue to drive into him. He squeezes around me, twitching and gasping, and fuck, I need him to release. Need him to blow. Need to be coated in his cum.
I pull out without warning. While my dick is pissed off and Ollie’s cry of “What the fuck?” means he’s equally as annoyed, I need to see him unravel too damn badly.
His next protest of “Rafe” is cut off the moment I wrap my lips around his cock. He grunts and cusses, but the sigh that follows and the way he fucks into my throat is everything.
I suck even as he drives his cock past my lips, and as he hits the back of my throat again and again, I feel the shift, the moment, the tell.
Before he can shoot down my throat, I pull away, replacing my mouth with my hand, and then I’m there, jacking him off, my dick ready to catch his cum.
The swell of his dick happens a fraction before Ollie lifts his head, his eyes snapping to my hand and his cock shooting his jizz onto my dick.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants.
I keep stroking, mesmerized by the white splatters covering my cock, my hand. When my skin is thoroughly painted, I reposition at his hole, and as his gaze shifts to mine, I thrust inside. “This,” I say, fucking into him, “is how it’s always going to be between us.”
I lose his eyes for a moment as they all but roll inside his skull before he drops his head back.
“You and me, Ollie.”
His head lolls on the pillow as he repositions himself to make eye contact. Heat flares in his gaze, and he bites down on his bottom lip, nodding.
“Our cum in your ass… in mine—” I thrust again and again. “—in our mouths, throats, stomach—” I reach for his half-hard cock, and he hisses, but I don’t let go as I stroke him back to life. “—on our skin… it’s the only cum we’ll ever share, ever allow….”
Fuck if I know where the words are coming from, but Ollie gasps and grunts and pushes against me, so I’m sure as hell he’s in this, loving my words. They’re possessive as fuck, which makes sense since the moment I witnessed his first flush, my obsession became a need to possess.
“Just us, baby. No one fucking else.” I slam into him once, twice.
“Fuck, yes, Rafe. No one fucking else.” His shout splits on a croak as he comes again, clamping around me, and I’m done for. Gone.
Burying myself as deeply as possible inside him, I still, my body locking up. Spots fill my vision as I shoot my load. Cum pulses out of me. I swear to fucking God, buckets of the damn stuff fill him until my toes cramp, my balls empty, and I can’t hold myself up anymore.
I collapse on top of him, sure he can handle my weight and the sensation of my flagging cock up his ass. I can’t move. Don’t want to. Right here is where lyrics were bred from: a wish to die just like this—ideally seventy years from now.
Ollie clamps his strong arms around me, enveloping me in their warmth. His heavy pants fill my ear, barely audible over my own sawing breaths.
The air in the room hums, slow and thick, the kind of silence that comes after a song hits its final chord.
Sweat cools between us. The smell of skin and salt and something like ozone hangs in the air.
Ollie’s chest rises under my cheek, finally steadying as every breath syncs with mine until it’s impossible to tell who’s leading.
He shifts, just enough to thread his fingers into my hair, which also dislodges my soft cock from his ass. He shudders and I grunt, but I have no plan to move anytime soon.
“You okay?” he murmurs, voice hoarse and half-gone.
“Yeah,” I whisper back. “You?”
He hums, a sound more felt than heard. “Never better.”
We stay this way, tangled and quiet, until the adrenaline fades into something softer.
I lift my head just enough to look at him.
His eyes are still blown, hair’s a mess, his lips wrecked and swollen.
He’s unfairly beautiful like this, ruined and sure.
When he smiles at me, it’s the smallest, realest thing I’ve ever seen.
“I love you,” he says again, quieter now, like a promise instead of a rush.
I press my forehead to his, the words echoing in my chest until I can’t hold them anymore. “I love you too,” I breathe. “More than I know what to do with.”
He laughs softly, eyes slipping closed. “We’ll figure it out.”
And somehow, I believe him.
Tomorrow is waiting—his early flight to Phoenix, my meeting with the man who could change everything. Contracts, cameras, pressure. Worlds that don’t fit together easily. But lying here with him, skin to skin, I can almost see how they might.
We can make it work. Even in secret. Even if it means stolen nights, whispered calls, and songs no one else will ever know are about him.
Ollie drifts first after we wash up, his hand curled in mine. I stare at the ceiling, heart too full to sleep, and think that maybe this—this impossible, reckless, perfect night—isn’t an ending at all.
It’s the start of something that might just survive the rest of our lives.