Chapter 38 #2
He grinds his hips, dragging his cock along mine. Sensation swirls and blooms. It flows through me, sparking through my bloodstream.
He moves again. And again. Thrusting his hips. Frotting us together.
It’s incredible, but it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough.
I surge up and flip us over, so I’m on top and Dylan beneath me. He yelps a little as his back bounces against the mattress. But mostly his eyes remain dark and wide. Smoldering with desire.
This beautiful man wants me. Despite everything, he craves and welcomes my touch. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve him.
Reluctantly, I remove my hands from his glorious ass.
My left hand stretches around both of our cocks, holding them together. Two fingers of my right hand pause by his mouth. His pink lips part and he sucks me in. Hot, wet tongue caressing my fingers.
A deep groan rumbles out of me.
It’s a struggle to remember to move my left hand, but when I do, the reward is mighty. Dylan moans, his eyes roll back, and he sucks on my fingers harder.
My hand slides up and down our joined cocks. I really fucking wish we had lube, but we don’t, so I’ll just have to be slow and gentle.
My wrist works. Dylan sucks. Pleasure blooms and blooms. My cock swells and swells.
We are both leaking precum now. I catch it with a twist of my wrist and smear it down our lengths, merging us completely.
Dylan’s hips buck. His legs spread. Breathy moans escape around my fingers.
I know what he needs.
I pull my fingers out of his mouth. He makes a noise of complaint and tries to chase my hand. But he surrenders when my spit-slicked finger traces his hole.
He makes a pretty noise and lifts up his hips. He knows what he likes and he’s not shy about asking for it.
I keep my hand stroking up and down our cocks while I tease his hole.
He cries out. His head whips from side to side against the pillow.
“Dante!” he pleads.
My cock throbs. My vision whites out. For a moment I think I’ve shot my load, but thankfully I haven’t.
I ease a finger inside Dylan. Quickly followed by a second.
He goes wild. Bucking, writhing. Crying out. It is by far the hottest thing I have ever seen.
Then suddenly he is batting my other hand away, and wrapping his fingers around my cock. He tugs on me. Firm, sure, confident. I grunt and see stars.
I move my hand to his cock. I stroke him while finger fucking him. And while he works my cock with his pale, freckled hand.
Cristo. This feels so fucking good. His ass is hot and tight. His cock is firm and silken, and oh lord, his hand on me feels holy. The perfect pressure. Perfect rhythm. Perfect friction.
I’m leaking profusely now. My orgasm is close. So close that I’m teetering on the very edge. It’s almost painful, but I don’t care. Dylan is going to cum first and that is final.
I grit my teeth and fight to keep my orgasm at bay.
I curl my fingers and find Dylan’s spot. I brush over it and make him scream. I tap it again. Once, twice, three times.
His back arches off the bed. He clenches around my fingers. A gurgling, almost choked sound pours out of his throat as his cock throbs in my hand. I work it hard and fast and watch as ropes of cum spurt out of him and paint his belly.
In the throes of his ecstasy, his hand on my cock has fallen still. But he is still gripping me, and that’s more than enough. The sight of him in rapture like this would be enough on its own.
I shudder my way through my own orgasm. My cum joining his on his belly.
Then I collapse in a sticky mess beside him.
Reality drifts away for a while, while my lungs heave and I see stars. Aftershocks sparking through my veins.
Then slowly, like waking up from a wonderful dream, the world reforms around me.
We are lying tangled together in the enormous bed, the city lights painting patterns on the ceiling.
Dylan is draped across my chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin.
I have one hand in his hair, the other wrapped around his waist, holding him as close as I can.
I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this.
The weight of him against me. The soft sound of his breathing.
The knowledge that he’s here, that he’s safe, that he’s mine.
“What happens now?” Dylan asks quietly, his voice still rough.
I consider the question. A week ago, I wouldn’t have had an answer. My life was the work, the family, the carefully maintained distance from anything resembling normalcy. I didn’t know how to want anything else.
But that was before Dylan. Before everything changed.
“Whatever you want,” I say. “I mean it. Whatever you need to be happy, I’ll make it happen.”
He pauses. Even his lungs stop. “I’m still a loose end.”
My arms tighten around him. “No. You are mine.”
Dylan exhales, his fingers resume brushing against my chest. “I want to go back to the bakery,” he says. “I miss it. I miss baking. I miss Sean and Teagan, I miss the early mornings and the smell of fresh bread and the customers who come in every day for their usual order.”
“Then we’ll go back to the bakery.” The answer is easy. The easiest answer I’ve ever given.
He lifts his head to look at me, something uncertain in his eyes. “And I want you there with me. Not lurking in the shadows, not watching from a distance. Actually there. Part of my life, my real life, the one I had before all of this.”
My chest tightens. The bakery. Early mornings and flour dust and ordinary people living ordinary lives. It’s so far from anything I’ve ever known.
“I’m not sure I know how to be part of a normal life,” I admit. “I’ve never had one. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
Dylan smiles, soft and fond. “Neither did I, when I first came to London. I had to figure it out as I went along.” He reaches up to touch my face. “We’ll figure it out together.”
Together. The word settles into my heart and makes itself at home.
I think about what that would look like. Waking up next to Dylan every morning. Walking to the bakery together, learning the rhythms of his world. Being known not as Dante the butcher, Dante the monster, but as Dylan’s partner. Dylan’s person.
It terrifies me. And it’s everything I want.
“Together,” I agree. “I’d like that.”
Dylan’s smile widens into something radiant. He leans up to kiss me, soft and sweet and full of promise.
“I should warn you,” he murmurs against my lips, “I’m going to make you learn to bake. You can’t be part of a bakery and not know how to make a decent loaf of bread.”
“I’ll try my best, but you’ll probably regret that rule.”
“More than likely!” he agrees.
He’s laughing now, that bright sound I thought I might never hear again. “But I love you anyway.”
“I love you too.” I pull him closer, tucking him against my chest. “Get some sleep. We have the rest of our lives to figure out the details.”
Dylan settles against me with a contented sigh. Within minutes, his breathing evens out, his body going slack with exhaustion.
I stay awake a while longer, watching the city lights and listening to Dylan breathe. Thinking about everything that’s happened and everything that’s still to come.
A month ago, I was a monster. A weapon. A man who had never loved anyone and never expected to.
Now I’m lying in a penthouse with a baker in my arms, planning a future I never imagined I could have.
It’s terrifying. It’s wonderful. It’s far more than I deserve.
But I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of it.