Chapter 38 Trust #2
Maybe because it recalls the more innocent time that first stirred me onto the pole tonight—when I used to perform for just him, taking joy in the limber strength of my youthful body and the way it quickened under the glow of his gaze.
Because my Rocket never cared about technical difficulty or the complexity of my skills. He saw the uncommon in everything I did, and I don’t just want that back—I want to bring him into the magic with me.
Where he belongs.
I hang in the catcher’s lock with outstretched arms, holding my breath.
He puts his hands in mine.
“I’ve got you,” I promise, fervent through a shaky exhale. “I won’t let go.”
“I know.” Without further hesitation, he gives me his weight and straddles up to wrap his legs around my hips.
He’s not an aerialist, and his form is clumsy as hell, but no one spends eleven years around a circus without trying a trick or two.
His heart thrums against my chest, and he’s crushing my ribs with his thighs, but his mouth is finally close enough to capture, and I feed him my earnest gratitude with every sweep of my tongue.
I will never stop striving to be worthy of this gift.
“Now,” I say, breathless and giddy against his lips. “See if you can get a knee over mine and climb up onto the pole.”
“And what? Stand on your crotch?”
“Or my thigh or my ass. Or you could use the rope and those muscles of yours to hold your weight. You’ve been watching Echo and me do this all night.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then you haven’t been paying attention. If it doesn’t hurt at least a little, you’re not doing it right.”
“I’m convinced all aerialists are masochists,” Josha mutters.
“You can rough me up anytime, if that’s what you’re asking. Or we could switch, and you could bottom. I mean base.”
“Jesus, you guys,” Echo says, barking a laugh. “That’s it. I’m out. I’m gonna go have phone sex with my fiancé now.”
“TMI, shithead,” Josha replies, then knocks his forehead gently against mine. “Can I get down now?”
“Sure, but he’s gonna notice that boner as soon as it’s not digging into my abs.”
He groans but releases my ribs to let himself down. With an uncharacteristic display of tact, Echo pretends not to notice when Josha quickly adjusts himself before turning around to say goodnight.
I offer my goodbyes from the catcher’s lock and make no apologies for the bulge straining between the rope wrapped over my hips.
“You had fun tonight,” Josha observes, perched on the chair with his elbows on his knees while he watches me finish tying back the rope.
“Mm-hmm. Are you surprised because I got along with Echo or because I did it sober?”
“I’m happy. I like seeing you enjoy yourself. Does it have to be more complicated than that?”
“Not if it’s not.” I walk over, unbuttoning my shirt with slow, deliberate flicks of my fingers. “And I like seeing you happy.”
He leans back, and I throw a leg over to straddle his lap. His hands come up to skim my abs and trace along my sides.
“How’s the rib after all that fancy flying?”
“Not sore enough to make me regret it.” I slide my arms around his neck, then thread my fingers into the short hair at the base of his skull and tug. “Not sore enough to stop me from wanting another kind of workout.”
His head tips back, and a low hum rumbles in his throat as his thumbs find my nipples. Goosebumps erupt and ripple down my spine.
“Whaddya think, Rocket?” I roll my hips in a leisurely grind so he can feel my growing erection. “You drunk enough to let me take advantage of you tonight?”
His hands go still. “I had two beers. Hours ago.”
Fuck. Why do I keep making stupid junkie jokes?
“Don’t listen to me.” I shake my head. “I don’t know why I say shit like that.”
His gaze softens, and his thumbs resume their slow circles.
“You’re still figuring things out,” he says. “We both are. There’s no rule that says you have to be serious all the time just because you’re getting sober. I shouldn’t be so fucking sensitive.”
“You have good reason to be. I don’t want to ignore that.”
“And I don’t want to let it ruin the mood. Can we go back to the lap dance?”
My fingers tremble as I bring them around to trace his jaw. “Why do you put up with me?” I whisper.
“Stop it.” Catching my wrist, he flicks his tongue against my palm before bringing it to his chest. “We’re done with that shit, remember? You were flirting. You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything right tonight, in fact, and you deserve anything you want.”
Why, I want to beg. What do you see when you look at me that no one else does? How can I preserve those pieces—coat myself in them like amber so they never crack or fade?
But his mouth is sucking at my throat, and his other hand is down the back of my jeans, fingers dipping into my crack to spread me open.
My insecurities scatter. He’s not looking for questions right now, and anyway, the answers are written in the scrape of teeth over stubble and the insistent length of his cock against my own and the low vibration rumbling in his chest.
They’re written in the covenant of his hands in mine, locked together in the air above the stage.
Whatever he sees is already part of me, and it’s enough.
“Anything I want?” A slow grin spreads across my face as the ache in my heart explodes into fireflies. “Does that mean you’re finally gonna let me tap that ass?”
“Don’t give me that ‘finally’ crap,” he murmurs, nipping at the juncture where my shoulder meets my neck. “I offered it up weeks ago. You’re the one who keeps climbing my cock whenever we have more than five minutes alone.”
That’s…totally fair.
“Well, tonight, we’re gonna change that,” I tell him, using our linked fingers to drag him up from the chair. “Time to fulfill your final horny adolescent fantasy, Rocket. I think we’ve both waited long enough.”