Perfection #2
His hands hover at my sides, trembling slightly, like he’s afraid to touch me, or not sure where he could. I take them in mine, place them on my lower back, where it’s safe and innocuous. He keeps them there, stiff as stone.
“You nervous?” I ask quietly, voice as steady as I can make it.
His answer is a pained whimper, so raw and honest I can’t help but chuckle.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders with more intention, with more normalcy than a full nude should allow, and pull him close.
He returns the embrace, his arms circling my back, encasing me completely.
He hides his face against my neck, nuzzling it softly.
I let him, as long as he needs, running my fingers through his amazing hair.
“Been a while,” he admits, voice rough, before raising his head. “And you look like a Greek god.”
I laugh softly. Yeah, that kinda backfired on me. Creating heart attacks was never my intention—though that’s top-level bragging rights, not gonna lie.
Except I don’t wanna brag. Don’t want anyone else in on this. Don’t want anyone else existing on the same earth as him and me.
And we don’t. When we’re together, it feels like there’s no earth at all.
“You look like heaven,” I whisper. His eyes fall closed. We kiss.
I’m careful, brushing his lips with mine, teasing them softly with my tongue.
I reach for the buttons of his shirt, work them open as his hands venture off my back to my waist to my thighs, still trembling but not as afraid anymore.
When I’m done, he shrugs off his shirt as I move to his belt buckle.
Before I can finish, he pulls me tight against him, lifting me like I weigh nothing.
I gasp, cradling his face in my hands as he lays me down on the mattress with so much care, so much tenderness.
His eyes don’t leave mine for so much as a blink as he settles between my legs, and I wrap them around his hips.
He kisses me deeply, then moves to my jaw, then down my neck as he kicks off his jeans and anything else between us.
His skin is fire, his tongue amazing, tracing my jugular—teeth too, scratching, just enough.
His hand slides beneath me, cups my ass, presses it closer, against him, against his cock. So hard, scorching hot.
I moan through my breaths. My nails rake down his back, through his hair. Can’t he get closer?
“Condoms?” I need him. Closer.
His eyes meet mine and stay there, taking a long moment to process why he’s not at my neck anymore. Then he utters such an adorable, “Huh?” I can’t help but giggle like an idiot.
“You got condoms?” I repeat, tracing a thumb over his cheek.
Another moment and he’s back to semi-lucid. He nods, trying to access the memory of their location.
But then his eyes widen. Full alarm. Dead awake.
“Wait. Do condoms expire?”
He stretches off me to the bedside drawer and pulls out a box. Then he holds it over my head, squinting at the small print.
And I just lay there. Naked. Fully hard. Under this sweet dork of a man as he reads the instructions on a box of condoms.
And when someone asks, I’ll lie. This is not how it happened, not when it clicked for me .
Not how I knew.
I love him.
God, so much.
A tear slips down my cheek. I barely notice it.
Eli does, immediately. He abandons the box, wipes it away, cradling my face, worry weighing his brow. And making my chest ache that much harder.
“No. What’s wrong?” His voice is so tender. His eyes too, searching mine for a reason I can’t give him.
Nothing’s wrong. Can’t a guy just cry because the world fits right, for once?
Because mine crashed into his and it's a different shape now, forever. Mine and his.
And now it’s him and me. Us.
Finally.
I shake my head as an answer. Then reach up, bring his head down to mine.
We kiss again, a lot. Slow and sweet at first, until he’s sure I’m really okay.
Then more. More. With urgency, with no restraint.
When he goes for the lube, he hauls my body with him, so he reaches into the drawer without letting me go.
And this same guy, this same trembling mess of just a minute ago, now stretches me out like a damn pro.
Meticulous. Fast. Incredible. Five-star service.
Blindly, I reach for the condom box, splay them all out over the comforter. He takes one, rips it open with his teeth—fuck, that’s so hot on him. He rolls it down. Lifts my hips, slides a pillow beneath. Aligns himself, and then…
Yes.
Yes, that’s it.
I can’t tell him, but he knows—he must. We’re both gasping, both silent, both digging our fingers into each other’s flesh, just for an anchor .
I curl around him. Arms, legs, pulling him deeper. He does the same. Wrapped around my body, my back doesn’t even touch the mattress, just his arms, just his hands.
When he moves, it’s not gentle. When he grunts, it’s raw, powerful, empowering. When his teeth scratch my skin, it’s hunger, despair, and a need that he bites, that he takes a chunk of me.
He robs my air before it’s a breath. Takes my mind before it gets thoughts. With each thrust. With each shove inside me.
It’s not an event when we come. Just something natural that occurs—like rain, like dawn. Like a mountain that wasn’t hard to climb, so all that’s left is enjoying the view.
And keep breathing, keep touching. Just like always.
I lie there, in his arms. Eyes closed, grinning at the ceiling, catching my breath.
He does the same, face buried in my neck, hot puffs of air against my collarbone.
After a moment, he slips out of me and lifts his head, peppering my face with little kisses—my lips, my cheeks, my eyelids. I just grin harder.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. And I snort at the absurdity.
“Hey Sorry, I’m Cassian.” I giggle at my own terrible joke. “No, that’s not it.”
He huffs out a chuckle. “Was hoping I lasted more than two minutes.”
I laugh, full and loud, from down deep in my belly. “I didn’t last two minutes either. What the fuck are you saying?”
He laughs too. Because I’m ridiculous or because he’s happy or because there’s no blood in his brain—don’t care, still perfect. For sure, it’s what a cigarette after sex feels like.
We’re still laughing when we kiss again, when our dicks get hard again, ready for more like horny teenagers.
I grab another condom as he disposes of the used one, then flip us over so I’m straddling him.
He settles against the pillow, his hands warm on my thighs as I take my time rolling the new condom on him.
And looking, taking note of all the details .
What right has he, calling me a god? As if there’s anything god-like about an anatomical model, stony muscles under minimal fat like mine.
Any ethereal power is the one he owns, under that real, natural flesh that adjusts to the press of my hands as I slide them up his stomach, over his chest. Muscles I can lean my head on and sigh.
Can nuzzle and sink into and actually sleep.
He’s so beautiful. When did I get this lucky?
His chest heaves up and drops fast, with so much want. His eyes are hooded, flaming from the soft red embers of his ruddy cheeks, right on mine. A palm on his chest, I lift myself up, reach back, and guide him inside me. And I close my eyes, sinking slowly, back into paradise.
His hands take my hips, follow the motion down, all the way. Then up, and when I plunge down again, he drives into me, our skins meeting halfway with a soft, incredible slap.
I take my time, moving slowly. He matches my tempo, lets me lead without hurrying it, without letting his passion pull on mine and rush us into something full-out pornographic. No, I want it simpler. R-rated but lovely. I want it to last forever.
It does even as it doesn’t. Gradually, the forever tightens along my spine, builds up, tears me down. I lift and drop faster. His grip tightens, pulling me harder into his thrusts, pounding sounds out of my lungs I didn’t know I could make.
The way he grunts is almost enough to carry me over the edge, all by itself. The way his lips are almost a snarl, fucking animalistic, taking what’s his. God, yes. Take it.
The sting, the pressure, the tension.
That’s it.
Almost—
Right at the peak, he sits up, not missing a beat of our rhythm. Pulls me against his chest, eyes on mine, breaths messed up. My moans pitchy, swallowed by his groans .
My body cracks with one last thrust. My soul too, maybe. The feelings stay. The rest… What rest?
We collapse back onto the mattress, his arms still tight around me.
My entire physical body is so numb I don’t even feel him slipping out of me—not with conscious thought, at least. I still whine, though, still wiggle in hopes of catching it and bringing it back inside me. No luck. I pout into his chest.
When our breathing steadies, he gently rolls me beside him, onto the cold, horrible mattress.
He leans away, ties off the condom, and reaches into the nightstand again.
I want to touch the muscles on his back, the pretty ones playing through his shoulders.
Want to trace the full line of his spine, feel every bump of every vertebrae.
Can barely move, right now, but one day, for sure.
I close my eyes. There’s a soft ripping sound as the bed wavers with his movement.
The scent… It’s baby powder, followed by the cool stroke of a wet wipe over my stomach.
My eyes open, just a crack, caught on the gentleness of his smile, the softness with which he touches me, between my legs, along my crotch.
Didn’t even know…not all wipes smell like jasmine.