Chapter 28 Taylen
TAYLEN
Bastian’s body trembles beneath my hands as I reach for my wallet, my fingers fumbling to get to the packet of lube I’ve had in there since god knows when. The air in the hotel room feels thick with anticipation as Bastian watches me with his eyes gone dark and hungry.
My hands shake slightly as I add some lube to his hole and then use the rest to lather my cock.
“Please,” he whispers again, with an edge of desperation that sends fresh heat through my system. His body arches slightly as I position myself. “Tay, please. Need you.”
The initial push draws out a groan from both of us. “You’re so fucking tight, Bastian.”
“I can handle it.”
“I have no doubt you can. It’s me I’m worried about. I’m about to blow. Embarrassingly fast.”
He laughs, which has the effect of helping me ease farther into him.
“It’s a good thing you’re younger than me. How’s your refractory period, baby?”
I groan. “Keep doing that squeezy thing with your butt and you’ll find out soon enough.”
I pause when I’m fully seated, giving us both a moment to adjust. His hands find my biceps, gripping tight.
“Move,” he commands. “Please, Tay. Need to feel you.”
“Such a bossy bottom,” I say between gritted teeth.
I pull out a little and then my hips snap forward with more force than intended, but his responding moan suggests he doesn’t mind the intensity. Finding our rhythm takes no time at all. Each thrust draws fresh sounds from his throat, noises I want to record and keep forever.
He wraps his legs around my waist, changing the angle and making me go deeper.
“Fuck, Bastian. You feel so fucking good.” I pull one of his legs over my shoulder and speed up my thrusts. His cock is hard between us, leaking beads of precum onto his tight stomach.
“Hmm, Tay, fuck…” He snaps his head back, closing his eyes. I lower myself onto him, letting go of his leg and latching onto the skin of his neck.
“You’re mine,” I growl, sucking his skin. Each word is punched out of me by my deep thrusts. “You’re mine, Bastian. All mine.”
He shudders as I keep sucking and thrusting until I’m no longer in charge of anything. My body has taken over and will tell me when it’s over.
“I’m yours, Taylen.” His words come between harsh breaths and broken moans. “Have been for a long time. Always will be.”
The admission hits me hard, making my rhythm falter briefly before I pick up with renewed intensity. Sweat makes our skin slide together as our movements become more urgent, more desperate. His hands clutch at my shoulders while mine maintain a bruising grip on his hips.
“I’m so close,” he warns. “Almost there, Tay. Please.” His cock is trapped between our bodies and is leaking steadily, providing evidence of how much this affects him. I release my hand from his hip to wrap around his length, wanting to feel him fall apart completely.
He cries out my name, his body clenching around me and throwing me over the precipice. If this is what it’s like to fall with Bastian, I never want to get up.
His arms wrap around my shoulders as we come down together, holding me close as aftershocks run through both our systems.
We stay joined for long minutes until my cock slips out of him, soft and spent. He strokes my back in gentle patterns with so much tenderness that it makes my throat tight.
We stand together and grab the quickest shower in the world before coming back to bed and snuggling under the blankets. I love that Bastian loves to do this. Even our first time, if I hadn’t run, we’d have had a moment like this, when the rest of the world ceases to exist and it’s just us.
“I really do love you,” he says, his words clear and certain. “I know you’ve said it, but you don’t have to just because I did,” he continues quickly, his hands never stopping their gentle movement across my skin. “I just needed you to know. Needed to finally say it aloud.”
I laugh. “You’re such an idiot saying that after mind-blowing sex when my brain isn’t working properly. And I do love you too. When I said it earlier, it wasn’t because I felt obliged to.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest, vibrating against my ear.
“My timing might not be perfect,” he admits, his fingers finding a particularly sensitive spot behind my ear.
“But I can’t take it back. I think I’ve loved you for longer than I probably should admit.
I stayed away because I was afraid of it. ”
The confession draws a reluctant smile from my lips, though I maintain my position that lets me hide my expression against his skin. “Yeah, well,” I mutter, my words muffled slightly by his chest, “likewise. Even if you are ridiculous and dramatic and way too good at making me feel things.”
“Say it again,” he requests quietly.
I lift my head enough to meet his eyes. “I love you,” I tell him. “I've loved you for a long time.”
"Do you remember when Jackson threw my surprise birthday party when I turned thirty-two?"
I nod.
“That’s when everything changed for me. The moment I saw you, I saw you. You were Jackson's little brother, but that night…” He shakes his head.
I chuckle. “Does our age gap bother you?”
He shakes his head. “Not now. You?”
“Sebastian, I’ve just had sex with my teenage crush. You could be sixty for all I care.”
He wraps his arms around me and flips us around so he’s on top of me. “Sixty, my ass. You have fifteen years of putting up with my old ass before we get there.”
The weight of his heavier body on me wakes up my cock. “What did you say about testing that refractory period?” I tease.
He gives me the sexiest wink known to humankind and then kisses his way down my body.
When I scream his name as I come into his mouth minutes later, I am more than thankful for being twelve years younger.
I will never get tired of sleeping with Bastian. He’s like a cozy blanket that keeps me warm all night. He doesn’t snore, and when he talks in his sleep, it’s to tell me that he loves me again and again.
Bastian’s eyes flutter open gradually, a smile spreading across his face when he sees me watching him. “Morning,” he mumbles, his voice rough with sleep.
“Morning,” I reply. “You snore.”
“I do not.”
“And you talk in your sleep.”
He narrows his eyes and then opens them wide when he realizes I’m not lying. “But I do not snore.”
“Hmm, it’s these tiny cute snores. Usually followed by ‘Oh, Taylen, you’re so beautiful and smart. Definitely the best farmer I’ve ever met, not to mention amazing in be—’ Oof.” I find myself under his body again, which seems like a win-win situation for me.
“What time is your appointment?” he asks, and all of a sudden, the reminder of what I’m in Burlington to do takes the air out of my lungs.
“Ten,” I manage.
“Hey, baby. It’s okay. I asked only to see if we have time for a shower together.”
I nod, and he kisses me gently. “Come on, let me wash you. If you’re lucky, I’ll blow you too.”
One long shower and a rushed breakfast later, we’re walking toward Church Street.
Remy looks exactly like he has every year since I started this tradition.
Heavily tattooed arms visible beneath rolled sleeves, gray beard neatly trimmed, eyes carrying warmth that makes everyone feel welcome.
His smile widens when he spots me, and then his mouth falls open when he sees Bastian.
“Fuck me. Jack will die when I tell him.”
I laugh. “Don’t. Bastian already has a big head as it is. Just treat him like you would the guys who play at your local bar.”
“What? With disdain? They really aren’t that good. It’s like a car crash every Friday night, but you can’t help watching it happen.”
I laugh. “Anyway, this is Bastian,” I say. “He’s…” I trail off, suddenly unsure how to categorize what we are, at least in public.
“I’m his,” Bastian supplies simply, reaching his hand out to shake Remy’s. The declaration makes something warm bloom in my chest. Remy’s smile grows.
“About time someone took you off the market,” he says. “Shall we get started? What do you have in mind?”
I look at Bastian, knowing that the moment I get it out, I can’t undo it. “Actually,” I manage, “thought we’d do something different this time.” I take the paper from my bag and unfold it. “This is traced from the initials that were carved in a tree between our farms.”
I was going to take a photo, but I liked the pattern of the bark and wanted the initials to look exactly like how we carved them. Remy looks at the paper. “I can certainly do this for you if you give me a moment to trace it onto the transfer paper. Can I get you a drink while you wait?”
“I’m good. Thanks,” I say, and Bastian shakes his head.
I turn to him. “Do you mind?”
“Do I mind you tattooing my initials onto your skin? Baby, short of us getting married, this is the most significant thing you could do.”
Could I blush any harder? Fuck my life.
“I want to get it too,” Bastian says suddenly. “If that’s okay,” he adds quickly, reading the shock in my expression. “I know it’s your tradition, but…”
“You want…?” I trail off. Bastian is offering to share something I’ve kept private for years. He wants to carry the same marks on his skin that I use to remember what we’ve lost. “You’d do that?”
His hand cups my face, thumb brushing away a stray tear from my eye. “Of course I would,” he says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I want to share everything with you, even the hard stuff. Especially the hard stuff.”
Remy clears his throat gently, reminding us we’re not alone in the room. “I can do both if you want,” he offers. “I don’t have any bookings until this afternoon.”
The familiar buzz of the tattoo gun fills the air as Remy prepares the equipment.
“You first,” I tell him, needing to watch him go through this before I can handle my own turn.
Watching the initials take shape on his bicep feels so perfectly right, like something I never knew I needed until this exact moment. His hand maintains a grip on mine throughout the process.
When it’s my turn, his presence beside my chair feels like an anchor against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. The familiar sting of the needle carries a different weight this time. Less lonely somehow.
“You okay?” he asks quietly as Remy does his amazing work.
“Better than okay,” I tell him, squeezing his hand gently.
Remy works with efficiency, completing both pieces fairly quickly.
When we leave the shop, everything feels lighter, brighter, even as the air bites at my skin.
Church Street spreads before us like a picture from a holiday card, every storefront dressed in its holiday finest. Bastian’s hand remains steady in mine as we walk.
We’ve managed maybe a block of peaceful wandering before the first recognition hits.
“Oh my god,” the woman says, a phone already appearing in her hand like a magic trick. “You’re Sebastian Hall. From Hall of Fame.” The words come out slightly breathless, making her sound younger than she probably is. “Could I…? Would it be okay if…?”
“Of course,” Bastian says before she can finish the request, his smile transforming his face into the public persona I sometimes forget he maintains.
My hand slips from his as he steps toward her, giving them space for a selfie that will probably be on social media within minutes. More phones appear as the word spreads, each new fan handled with the same grace as the first.
When the fans are finally gone, he makes his way back to me with an apologetic smile that I wave away before he can voice it. “Don’t,” I tell him quietly as we resume walking toward the hotel. “Never apologize for making your fans happy.”
“Does it bother you?” he asks suddenly, sounding vulnerable. “The attention, the fans, the public side of things?”
The question makes me pause, and I consider my answer carefully.
“No,” I tell him in earnest. “How could it? It’s part of who you are, what you’ve built. Besides, I’m proud of you. Of everything you’ve accomplished, of how you treat your fans, of the way you balance both worlds.”
His kiss catches me slightly off guard, though I respond automatically to the gentle pressure of his lips against mine. The contact remains brief, conscious of the public setting, but it’s no less impactful.
“I want to go home,” he says when we break apart. “Hide out in my cabin for the rest of the day. Just us.”
“Yes.”
We walk the final blocks to the hotel holding hands, neither caring if anyone notices or photographs a simple gesture of affection. Because some things matter more than public opinion, like the way his thumb rubs softly against the back of my hand.
“I didn’t think this through,” he says, looking at both our vehicles and pouting. “Race you there?”
My answer comes as a quick kiss before heading toward my truck, with the certainty that whatever speed we travel, we’re both finally heading toward the same destination.