Chapter 7
seven
. . .
JEREMY
Harrison sat across from me, cradling his coffee mug, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched the snow through the window. Morning light caught the gold in his hair, the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his lips.
Everything had shifted between us.
In less than twenty-four hours, the anger, hurt, and confusion I’d carried for nearly two decades had burned away, leaving behind something raw and new and terrifying in its potential.
“What?” Harrison asked, catching me staring with a lift of his eyebrow.
“Nothing.” I set down my coffee. “Just … you look different.”
For six months, I’d told myself that Harrison didn’t give a shit.
That maybe he didn’t even remember what we used to be to one another—or worse, that it hadn't mattered to him the way it had to me. Every careful word between us, every guarded look, every time he’d taken my anger without fighting back had convinced me he was made of ice.
Turns out I’d been wrong about that, too.
He’d been keeping himself locked down tight so he wouldn’t rock the boat. So he wouldn’t make things even worse between us.
“Different how?” He set his own mug down, his head tilting to the side.
“Happy,” I answered, wonder creeping into my voice. “You look happy.”
Christ, he’d always been good-looking. That wasn’t news.
But this wasn’t about his pretty face or his perfect body or those blue eyes that had always made my stomach flip.
This was different. Something from the inside out.
Like he was lit up from within, finally letting himself feel something other than guilt and regret.
“That’s because I am,” he said simply.
Fuck. So was I.
With just one look, something passed between us. Recognition, maybe. An understanding.
And just like that, the air between us shifted.
Not like last night when everything had gone to hell and I’d grabbed him because the alternative was putting my fist through his goddamn wall. Not like after either, when I’d convinced myself that letting him fuck me would somehow fix seventeen years of wanting.
This was different.
An awareness that we’d crossed a line we couldn’t uncross, and we’d keep on crossing it. That neither of us wanted to stop.
That there were feelings involved now, even if neither of us was ready to say it out loud.
And the truth was, I wanted him.
Again.
But this time, I wanted to be the one who made him fall apart and put him back together again. Wanted to hear him beg the way he used to.
“Harrison,” I said, my voice dropping low.
His eyes dropped to his mug, then snapped back up to mine, and whatever he saw in my expression made his pupils dilate. “Yeah?”
I stood, rounding the table slowly, my fingers dragging lightly over the wood top. He tracked my movement, his breath quickening as I approached.
“Upstairs, now. Unless you want to get fucked over this table.”
He scraped his chair back and pushed to his feet. “Next time.”
Then he bolted, running through the kitchen and taking the stairs two at a time like we were kids again and racing to see who could get to my room first.
“Cheater!” I called after him, breaking into a run.
His laugh echoed down the stairwell, bright and unguarded and so fucking different from the careful way he’d tiptoed around me for the past six months. It was the laugh I remembered—the one I’d missed without realizing it.
I caught him on the landing, my hand closing around his wrist and spinning him toward me. His momentum carried him into my chest, and I backed him against the wall, both of us breathing hard and grinning like idiots.
“You always were quicker than me,” I said, my eyes flicking down to his mouth.
“Still am.” His eyes were dancing, playful in a way I’d almost forgotten.
“It’s a good thing I’m stronger.”
I kissed him, still smiling against his mouth, and felt his answering grin curve against my lips. But the smile faded as the kiss deepened, as his hands slid into my hair and my body pressed harder against his.
Our playfulness shifted into something heavier. Needier.
I bent my knees, gripped his thighs, and hauled him up.
“Fuck, Jeremy,” he whispered. “I want you so bad.”
“Same,” I growled, bracing him against the wall and rocking into him, our cocks grinding together, so he could feel just how badly.
His teeth dragged along my lower lip, tugging with just enough pressure to make my knees weak.
“Why is this so good?”
“Because it’s us,” he whispered, his head falling back to land with a soft thud against the plaster.
The words hit me harder than they should have. Us. Like we were still an “us” after all this time. Like we could be that again.
I kissed my way down the column of his throat until I reached the curve where his neck met his shoulder, the salt of his skin on my tongue as I bit down. His sharp intake of breath echoed in the hallway.
One of his hands slipped between us, his palm hot through my jeans as he traced the outline of my cock. “I want this inside me so bad.”
I sucked hard enough at his throat to leave a mark, feeling his pulse race beneath my lips. “Mmm, can’t wait.”
“Bedroom. Now,” he said, tugging on my hair.
“Been trying to get us there, but those little sounds you keep making …” I rocked forward so he could feel exactly what they did to me. “Maybe I should just fuck you right here.”
His eyes fluttered closed. “You wouldn’t hear me complain.”
“Lube,” I reminded him, my voice rough with desire. “We need lube.” I pushed off from the wall, carrying him the rest of the way down the hall while he kissed along my jaw, my neck, anywhere he could reach.
The sheets were still rumpled from earlier. I laid him down and caught his mouth again, my palm sliding up to cradle the side of his throat. A shiver ran through him as I held his gaze and traced the flutter of his pulse with my thumb.
I unbuttoned his flannel slow enough to make him swear under his breath, then hauled his T-shirt over his head, revealing those stupid, perfect freckles across his chest and shoulders. The ones I’d once mapped with my lips and tongue until I thought I knew them better than my own face.
I climbed over him, catching his wrists and pinning them above his head with one hand. “Look at you, so pretty and needy.” I leaned down, nipping at his neck.
Harrison arched under me, a soft moan escaping his lips.
I released his wrists and trailed my fingers down his chest, my thumbs brushing over his nipples until they pebbled.
He gasped, squirming as I hooked my fingers into his waistband and yanked the boxers off.
His cock sprang free, thick and leaking at the tip.
I wrapped my hand around it, stroking slowly and watching his face twist in pleasure.
“Jeremy,” he breathed out, his hips bucking into my grip. “I need you.”
No way was I rushing this. “I want to take my time with you.” I pressed a kiss to his hipbone. “Make it last.”
I grabbed the lube from his nightstand and slicked my fingers. “Spread your legs,” I ordered, nudging his thighs apart.
He drew his knees up, exposing his tight, perfect hole.
Of course, he was waxed, I thought, circling it with one slick finger, teasing the rim before pressing in slowly, feeling the ring of muscle give as I pushed inside.
He tensed at first, then relaxed, a low whine building in his throat as I worked my finger deeper, crooking it to brush that sensitive spot deep inside, and he melted.
“That’s it,” I murmured, pumping in and out, watching his cock twitch against his stomach.
I added a second digit, making him gasp. I scissored my fingers, twisting to loosen him up further. His breath came in pants, his chest rising and falling rapidly, sweat beading on his forehead, a deep flush working its way up from his chest.
“Feels so good,” he groaned, rocking back onto my hand.
I leaned in, capturing his mouth in a messy kiss, our tongues tangling as I added a third finger, stretching him wide, the burn making him clench.
“Christ, look at you, Harry.”
Harrison gripped the sheets, his head thrown back, his composure cracking.
I worked him like that for what felt like ages, my fingers thrusting deep and curling against his prostate until he was a writhing mess, pre-cum pooling on his abs.
“Please,” he begged, his voice hoarse, his nails raking down my arms. “Need you inside me.”
I withdrew my fingers with a slick pop, his hole gaping slightly, begging to be filled.
I stood briefly to strip my clothes off. My cock slapped against my stomach, heavy and hard. I slicked it up, my hand gliding over its length as pre-cum beaded at the slit. I groaned in relief at the friction.
I positioned myself between his thighs, hooking one of his legs over my shoulder for better access. “You ready?” I asked, lining up, the head of my cock nudging his entrance.
He nodded frantically.
I pushed in slowly, the tight heat of his ass enveloping me inch by inch. I let out a long, slow exhale when I finally bottomed out, my balls pressed against him.
Harrison cried out as he adjusted to the fullness, his eyes hazy and desperate and locked on mine. For a second, neither of us moved—just stayed there, connected, remembering.
This was us. This was what we’d lost. What we were finding again.
He nodded, and I started moving, shallow thrusts at first, pulling out halfway and sliding back in, building the rhythm. His moans grew louder with each snap of my hips, the bed creaking under us.
“Harder,” he urged, and I gave it to him, pounding deeper, the slap of skin echoing off the walls. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
Sweat dripped down my back, my hands gripping his thighs hard enough to bruise, holding him open as I drove into him. My hand slid up his chest, fingers closing around his throat—not squeezing, just holding. Claiming. His pulse hammered against my palm.
“Fuck, I missed you,” I said as he stroked himself in time with my thrusts, his fist flying, the sight making my thrusts turn erratic. We shifted slightly, him lifting his hips to meet me, the angle making it so that I hit his prostate dead-on.
“Right there, fuck!” he shouted, his whole body trembling.
I felt my own release building, my balls tightening, but I held off, wanting to drag this out.
“Come on, Harry. Let me have it,” I rasped, adding my grip to his dick and squeezing the base before pumping fast.
He shattered with a broken cry, his ass clamping down around me like a vice, as hot spurts of cum painted his chest and my hand.
The sight and sensation pushed me over the edge.
I buried myself deep, groaning as pulse after pulse of my cum filled his hole until it leaked out around my cock.
We collapsed in a tangle of limbs, my weight half on him, half on the mattress. Our breaths mingled as we came down. I stayed inside a bit longer, eventually softening and pulling out with a wet sound.
Harrison winced but smiled lazily, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back, his skin damp with sweat. “That was …” He trailed off, seeming unable to find the words.
“Different?” I supplied.
He nodded, his fingers moving idly over my skin. “Back then, we never … I mean, it was always fast. Quiet. We were so afraid of getting caught that we barely talked during.” His eyes met mine. “This was … you were so …”
“Bossy?” I asked with a slight grin.
“Confident,” he replied, his smile soft. “Like you knew exactly what you wanted and what I needed.”
Something warm settled in my chest. I’d learned a lot in seventeen years—about my body, about what I liked, about how to make it good for both my partner and me. “Not too much then?”
“No.” He turned his head to look at me, his eyes soft and satisfied, and he kissed me quickly before pulling back again. “It was perfect.”
“Yeah. It was.”
Would I have liked it to last longer? Of course. But feeling him under me, his breath hot in my ear as he told me to fuck him harder? I’d lost all control.
We lay there in comfortable silence, neither of us in any hurry to move. Outside, I could hear the steady drip of melting snow, the world slowly returning to normal.
Except nothing felt normal anymore.
Everything had changed.
Eventually, Harrison said, “We should probably talk about what happens now.”
“We will,” I agreed. “But not yet. Not right now.”
“No?” He rolled onto his side and propped his head up, looking down at me.
I reached for him and pulled him down on top of me, pressing a kiss to his neck. “Right now, I just want to lie here with you. We can figure out the rest later.”
He relaxed against me, his body going pliant over mine. “All right.”
And that was the crazy thing. It was all right.
Everything felt good.
Like, for the first time in seventeen years, things really were going to be okay.