Chapter 30 Jason #3
Joe’s eyes drifted shut, lips parted, these slow syrupy breaths escaping as I turned his hair into a foamy mess so I could prolong scratching his scalp. He loved that. Practically putty in my hands as I rubbed across his temples, behind his ears, up to the top of his head.
This was a first for him.
Just like it was a first for me.
“Forward, sweetheart,” I murmured. “Eyes closed. We’re going to rinse.”
He did as instructed, stepping forward, his head dipping down into the spray. Suds rained down his body, over his face. I brought my hands up to protect his eyes. Joe smiled. It was a small, private thing. So small I wasn’t sure it was even meant for me.
It was Joe’s.
Joe’s happiness.
“Conditioner,” I murmured, just loud enough to be heard over the pour of the shower head. “Then I’m going to take you to bed.”
“Okay,” Joe breathed.
I massaged his scalp again when I conditioned it. Took my time. Enjoyed every hitch of his breath, every flutter of his lashes. Every single second. My skin felt the right size again as I cared for him. And I…
God.
I’d never loved anyone like this before.
With my whole being.
Because I did love him.
Loved every single little thing about him. Everything. Loved how grouchy he could be—how soft. Loved that he’d taught me not to be scared of the quiet the way I’d been before. Loved that Joe was Joe—in the Joe-est way possible.
I hurried through washing myself.
Joe didn’t complain, just watched me through damp lashes as I worked suds over my own body. He’d tried to help, but I’d grabbed his wrists, squeezed them and put his hands on his thighs.
“No,” I said softly. “You just relax.”
So he had.
When we were both clean, I towel-dried him.
Scrubbed every inch of his body, from head to toe.
Kissed his hands, his feet, his knees. Kissed his hipbones, his tummy, and each delightful pec.
Kissed his throat, and then his mouth, too—because how could I not?
When he was swaying toward me, begging for it.
Silently.
Dark eyes trained on mine.
When I made love to him, it was slow. The kind of slow that felt like forever. Joe’s knees were bunched over my elbows, his head tossed back. The wet squelch of my cock pushing inside him was as filthy as ever. Hole giving beneath every pointed thrust.
Clinging to me.
Clinging the same way his hands did. Digging into my shoulders, kneading like a cat, his head tossed back as he took every thrust because he was made to take them. Because he was made for me.
In a way, it made me sure that what I’d told him about us being soulmates was true.
Maybe sometimes it was possible to find someone who just fit. The kind of person who was just as interesting unraveled as they were tangled in knots. Someone who accepted you—not because of what you could do for them—but because sometimes love was just a feeling.
A feeling of ease.
Rightness.
Comfort.
Confidence.
Joe was the stability I’d always craved. Apples and sunshine. A promise that life could be good. He was the home I’d never had. The family I’d always wanted. The person who needed me just as fiercely as I needed him.
We fit.
Two mirrors reflecting each other back. Growing together. Tangling roots.
When we came, it was in tandem. Joe clenched around me, and I lost myself. Painted him inside as my head tossed back and everything I felt exploded. Only it wasn’t a supernova. Wasn’t violent. Wasn’t scary.
Every atom in my body had been replaced. The Jason I had become was the same shape yes, but surer. Calmer. The ache of loneliness was gone.
“I love you,” I told Joe as I took his mouth with my own. “I love you, Joe.”
“Love you,” Joe replied back, hoarse and sweet.
His hands moved then. Cupping my face. Cradling, not holding. Hands the size of dinner plates cupped so still, so calmly, he might as well have been a statue. Eyes regarding me with warmth I never knew could be aimed my way.
They mirrored me.
And because of that, I couldn’t help but reflect.
My dad had taught me that my worth was determined by how much I gave. My mom had taught me to stop expecting people to love me the way I needed. Chauncey had taught me that my money would always affect my relationships with people. And Joe?
Well…
Joe had taught me the greatest lesson of all.
That all of those other lessons were bullshit.
That love wasn’t something that had to be earned, nor could it be measured.
Sometimes it was a feeling, something too strong to be put into words.
Something easy. Something soft. Love could be compromise.
Could be vulnerable. Could mean letting my walls down.
Letting someone in and trusting them to keep my secrets safe.
Love was made up of a thousand tiny choices.
Love was finding peace in silence when you were with the right person.
Love was growing with them. Mirrored effort.
Learning that I could try.
That I could be happy.
That flaws and all, I could love and be loved, the way I’d always wanted.
And sometimes…only sometimes…love was standing inside a grocery store alley mid-June, peeping at a man cradling a magpie, and letting him change me irrevocably.