Chapter 34 Tex #3
"You mean all that work we did on the rebuild was just so you could flex your muscles in front of me?"
"Yeah, it was my way of flirting."
His hands keep going. Lower now. The small of my back.
The curve where back becomes ass. His fingers trace the line of my waist, the dip above my hips, and I feel the shift in his touch.
He's not massaging anymore; he's exploring.
His hands move slower, lighter, fingers spreading wide to feel the shape of me, the way the muscle gives under his palms.
He reaches my ass. His hands stop and rest there. I can feel the hesitation, the slight tension in his fingers, the moment of decision.
"Keep going," I say softly. "I'm all yours, baby."
His breath catches. His palms flatten and he kneads the muscle the way he kneaded my shoulders, slow and deep, thumbs digging into the thick flesh. The pressure sends warmth spreading through me, my cock twitching against the sheets, already hard and leaking.
His own cock is fully hard now, thick and hot against the cleft of my ass, the slick head brushing sensitive skin with every small shift of his hips. He doesn't grind deliberately, but the involuntary roll of his pelvis tells me how much he's feeling this, how much he wants.
"You're so—" he starts, voice rough.
"If you say big, I'm going to start charging a royalty every time you use that word in reference to my body. I'll be rich by Tuesday."
"I was going to say beautiful."
I go still. That word, in his voice, from this man who has seen the worst of what bodies can do to each other and is choosing to call mine beautiful while his hands are on it. That word matters more than he knows.
"Oh, damn, thank you," I say, voice thick.
His hands keep moving. Down the back of my thighs, then back up.
I lie there and let him touch me the way he wants to, every stroke building the heat between us.
I can feel him against the small of my back now—his cock fully hard, thick and heavy, the head slick with precum that smears against my skin as he shifts.
He lets out a soft, shaky breath, hips rocking once, instinctively, before he catches himself.
"Tex?" he says, voice trembling slightly.
"Yeah?"
"Can we do it tonight?"
"I'll need to check my schedule. I might be able to work you in."
"I need the day to think about it," he says. "To get my head right. But tonight. I want to."
"Then tonight it is." I turn my head on the pillow and look at him over my shoulder. He's flushed from chest to hairline, his eyes dark, his lips parted, his hands still on my body, cock throbbing visibly against my skin.
"I'll be ready," I say. "I'll shower again before bed because I'm a gentleman and because you deserve a freshly washed canvas for your artistic debut. I'll set the mood. Candles maybe. Soft music. I'll put on Barry White."
"Tex."
"Luther Vandross? Is that more your speed? I can do Luther. I can definitely do Luther."
He leans forward and kisses the back of my neck to shut me up and it works instantly because his mouth on my neck turns my brain to static. He rests his forehead between my shoulder blades and I feel him breathe me in.
"Tonight," he says against my skin.
"It's a date then."
He rolls off me and lies beside me. His hand finds mine on the mattress and our fingers lace together and we lie there in the morning light, naked, warm, planning. His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand.
"Tex?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you for thinking about this. About me. About what I need. Nobody's ever done that before."
"You're the most important thing in my world. I always think about what you need, baby. Ready to get up?"
We go downstairs to start the day. He makes the coffee because he's started doing that, learning my coffee maker the way he learned the bar. He hands me a mug and our fingers brush on the handle and the look he gives me over the rim of his cup is a promise.
Tonight.
I've got all day to think about it. All day to anticipate it. The best kind of waiting. The kind where you know what's coming. And what's coming is everything
The bar closes at eleven. Sheila counts the register, tells us goodnight and leaves. Stormy locks the front door, turns around and looks at me across the empty bar.
He's been looking at me like that all day. Hopefully, getting his head right.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey."
"Good night tonight," I say. "Solid crowd."
Stormy frowns at me. "Are we really going to stand here and talk about the crowd?"
"No. I was stalling. I'm a little nervous."
His eyebrows go up. "You're nervous? Why?"
"I'm a man who is about to have a new experience with the person he loves most in the world. Yes. I'm nervous. I know this is shocking because I project an aura of unshakable confidence at all times, but underneath this exterior is a man who is slightly terrified."
The smile starts slow. "Don't be scared, Tex. I'll take care of you."
"I like the sound of that, I really do." I hold out my hand. "Shower first?"
He takes my hand. We go upstairs. The shower is our place now. It's where this started, the first night, skin to skin under warm water. It's where we learned about each other. It makes sense that we come back to it tonight.
The water comes on warm. We step in together and for a few minutes we just stand there, his back against my chest, the water running over both of us, my arms around his waist. No rush.
No urgency. Just the feeling of his body against mine and the steam rising around us and the particular intimacy of being clean and naked.
I wash him. His shoulders first, hands sliding over the lean muscle, thumbs pressing into the knots he's carried all day.
He sighs, head tipping forward under the spray, and I work lower.
Down his spine, palms flat, feeling every ridge of bone, every shift of muscle under skin.
I soap his lower back, fingers tracing the dimples above his ass, then cupping the firm curves, kneading gently.
He lets out a soft groan, hips rocking back into my touch just slightly.
He turns in my arms. Washes me with the same care.
Hands on my chest, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they tighten, then down my stomach, fingers following the trail of dark hair.
He takes his time with my cock, soaping it slowly, stroking once, twice, not trying to arouse but simply caring for me.
The touch is tender, and it makes my chest ache with how much he sees me, how much he wants to take care of me.
We dry off. We don't get dressed. We walk to the bedroom and the sheets are clean because I changed them this afternoon while he was doing inventory, which is the most romantic thing I've ever done. I will accept my award at a later date.
I lie down on the bed. On my back first, looking up at him standing beside the bed, backlit by the lamp on the nightstand.
The light catches the edges of him, the line of his jaw, the sharp collarbones, the flat stomach.
His chest rises and falls with breaths that are controlled, the breathing of a man managing his own nervous system.
"Lube is in the nightstand," I say. "Whenever you're ready."
He opens the drawer and takes out the lube. Holds it in his hand and starts reading the directions. I'm trying not to laugh, but damn Stormy. Yeah, he's freaking out again.
"Hey," I say. He glances at me. "We go slow. As slow as you want. And if at any point you want to stop, we stop. No questions. No disappointment. No whining. Just stop. Got it?"
"Yeah."
"Now here's the logistics discussion I mentioned earlier. Are you ready for the logistics discussion? It's brief."
A look of panic crosses his face. "Oh God."
"As we have well established, I am a large man.
My legs are the size of oak trees. I'm not a gymnast or an acrobat.
I cannot lie on my back and put my ankles behind my ears.
It's not going to happen. I tried once in college for unrelated reasons and pulled a hamstring that didn't heal for three weeks. "
He's laughing. Good. That was the point.
"Here's my suggestion. I'll be on my stomach. You can move me where you want me. Arrange me like furniture. I'm very movable furniture."
"You're two hundred and forty pounds."
"I'm movable for my size. I'm like a sectional sofa on wheels. Heavy but cooperative."
He rubs a hand down his face. "Jesus Christ, I can't believe this is happening."
"Believe it. It's happening. One more thing.
" I reach out and take his hand. I pull him toward the bed.
He comes, climbing onto the mattress, kneeling beside me.
"I need you to hear this. I'm not doing this as a favor.
I'm not sacrificing myself on the altar of your healing or whatever dramatic language you're running through your head right now. "
He quickly glances at me. Ha! Caught him red-handed. Knew I was right about that.
"I want this," I say. "I want to feel you inside me.
I want to know what that's like. I want you on top of me and I want to hear what you sound like when you're in control.
I want to lie facedown in this bed and trust you the way you've been trusting me.
This isn't charity. This is desire. Mine. For you. Are we clear about that?"
"Yes," he whispers.
"Fantastic. Now roll me over because I'm a cooperative sectional sofa and I'm ready for my new adventure."
He puts his hand on my shoulder and pushes. I roll onto my stomach, settle my arms under the pillow, turn my face to the side. The sheets are cool against my skin. My back is exposed, broad and bare, and I can feel his eyes on it.
He straddles me. The same position as this morning. Thighs on either side of my waist, his weight settling onto me. His hands land on my shoulders and he starts the way he started this morning. A massage. Working the tension out of muscles that have been carrying anticipation all day.