Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hunter on losing at poker but winning anyway
My old room was tiny, the slanted ceiling closing in on our heads, but the bed was full size and comfortable. I stripped as soon as I closed my bedroom door, flicking the lock with an emphatic click. Regge followed suit and we both fell onto the bed, a tangle of emotions and hormones.
Regge’s chin was unshaven and prickly. I rubbed my short beard across it. Nipping at his earlobe, I smiled as he chuckled. It was an awesome sound.
His hands were everywhere, skimming my skin like a surfer, hitching and turning at crests and valleys, sensitive places at the small of my back, between my legs.
Regge’s mouth followed his fingers. I babbled as heat closed over me.
Running my fingers through his hair, I cried out and gripped him hard.
Too hard. I sputtered out an apology as he licked me like I was melting ice cream.
I was. Regge took me to the back of his throat.
I clamped a hand over my mouth to muffle a shout. I wasn’t going to last long.
He pulled off and looked at me. “Did I…”
“No. No. It’s all good, but I want you up here.” I pulled at his shoulders. “I want you. God, I’ve waited forever it seems. Life is short, Regge. Let’s fuck already.”
A laugh tumbled out of him. “Ever the romantic.”
“What? You want me to light a candle? I want to have you, be inside you and… what?”
He sat back on his knees, a hand over his eyes. “I can’t. Bloody fucking hell. I—”
I stilled, remembering his confession about his childhood. “Look, it’s okay. I never, ever want to make you feel uncomfortable. Ever. So this—” I gestured between us. “This is perfect.”
Regge rarely talked about his brutal childhood. I wanted to soothe him, make him feel safe and unashamed. I held back more words, even the reassuring ones, because I knew him. He needed space to gather his thoughts.
Speaking modern English, adapting to everything modern and unfamiliar can’t have been an easy transition, and he’d done it beautifully. Still there was that stoicism, that stiff upper lip ingrained in him that held him back.
His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I can’t do that. I’ve never. Charlie was always the one to… receive. The thought of— I want to, Hunter. With you. I want you. To do everything. To feel you, but—” He closed his eyes.
I kissed his eyelids. “Babe, it’s okay. We don’t have to do anything more than we have. I can be the one to, as you say, receive. I’m versatile. I like that. I’d love it with you.”
At my words, Regge looked at me, his eyes burning bright. Those bottomless jade pools I lost myself in so many times.
I nodded. “I want you to fuck me, Reg.”
His pupils dilated, leaving only a slim green circle surrounding them. He blew out a heated breath. “Oh gods, yes.”
We scrambled around for a moment. “Wait… I… ah. I’ll be right back.
” I left the bedroom, thanking every deity I knew that my mom had renovated and added an en suite bathroom.
I did what I needed to do and came back to see Regge sprawled on his side, elbow crooked to prop up his head. I groaned softly at the sight of him.
I shivered and joined him, nerves thrumming. We faced each other, my fingers tracing lightly over a pale hip, his muscular thigh, seeking. Regge kissed me, and I lost all thought except for the taste of him.
He pulled away, urging me onto my front, yanking a pillow down to lift my hips. I groaned at the feel of cotton sheets on my dick. Regge’s lips traced down my back, his fingers so light they almost tickled.
His touch grew substantial as he moved me around.
“I’m going to make it so good for you. So good.
” His voice was hushed and emotional enough for a wedding vow.
His breath was hot against my skin, and I dragged my eyes open when he spoke again.
“I found this. Is this good to use?” He held out a small bottle of lube.
“Yes,” I squeaked out. “Do you want a condom? I’m negative so—”
Regge’s tone rasped as he spoke. “Negative? Ah, yes, testing. I haven’t done anything since the seventeenth century. When I first arrived in this time, Mistress Jane drew enough blood from me to float a boat. Declared me fit as fine.”
My chuckle disappeared into a gasp as Regge’s fingers worked their magic. “I, ah, I haven’t done this in a while, so…”
“Shush. I’ll go as slow as you need, love. I would never hurt you.”
I forgot about words as Regge’s infinite patience and tenderness was put into play. I forgot everything—how to breathe, how to move, everything. “Please, Reg, now. I need—”
The heat and pressure of him was almost unbearable. But I was flying by this time, desperate to soar.
“You feel so bloody good, HB. So bloody perfect.”
I forced myself to relax. It really had been a while, and I’d forgotten the initial pain of it. But this was Regge. His touch was whisper soft, lips tender, breathing strained as he struggled for control.
“Okay?” he asked. I nodded, unable to speak.
His forehead dipped to the nape of my neck, his lips ghosting my skin. I throbbed inside and out as I let my mind go and my body took over. I loved this. I wanted this all the time. If only Regge would—oh. Oh yeah, that.
The world narrowed to a focal point. The apex of our connection.
A snap of his hips, and we were off. The burn was gone, replaced by fire and need.
Deftly the angle changed and I saw stars.
Sensation mounted until I lost myself in him.
I felt his hand on me and time stopped. A high keening noise buzzed through me.
I buried my shout into a pillow, only vaguely aware of being in my mother’s house.
Regge’s elegant dance fell into desperate plunges until he too had to stifle his moan against my shoulder.
After a few moments of catching our breath, I rolled away to grab a towel.
I half expected him to be up and halfway dressed when I came back, but he was lying peacefully on the far side of the bed.
I tossed the stained pillow to the ground and climbed into bed.
Regge hummed and rolled to his side, snuggling up to my front.
“You good?” I asked, my hand settling over his heart, feeling the steady beat.
“I’m happy.” Before long, his breaths lengthened into sleep.
Hours later, I woke as he thrashed next to me. Before I could sit up, his forearm was pressed across my throat. Regge leaned over me, a growl erupting from him. His eyes were wide with terror and unseeing, because he clearly had no idea who I was.
“Regge. Hey, stop,” I croaked out, grabbing at his arms. I managed to shift and slide away, turning him to the side. I blocked a fist. “Wake up, Reg, it’s me. It’s okay. You’re safe.” I caught his fist, moving my hand to hold him as gently as I could.
“Hunter?” He sagged, falling back on the bed. His eyes blinked up at the ceiling. He sounded like an out-of-shape marathon runner, and in between pants, he moaned something pitiful and hurt.
“Yes. It’s me. Hunter. You’re okay. It was just a bad dream. You’re here in New York. My mom’s house. Remember?”
“Yes. Yes, of course I remember.” He sat up.
“Let me get you some water.” I found a glass in the bathroom and filled it, bringing it back to bed. “You okay now?”
He sipped the tepid water and handed the glass back, peering at me. “Oh shit. Did I hurt you? Did I do something?”
“No. I’m fine.” I didn’t lie. I wasn’t hurt physically, but he’d scared the crap out of me. “I didn’t know you were back to the nightmares.”
When Regge first came to live with me, there was rarely a night without him sitting up in terror, sweating over some unknown threat. Gradually the nightmares subsided.
“I haven’t had one in a long time.”
I set the glass down and slid into bed, pulling him into my arms. “Do you want the light on?”
He shook his head and hunkered down, the top of his head coming under my chin. I gazed across the room at the Bowie poster on the wall. The shadows grew long and dark across Bowie’s cut cheekbones. I fell into a vision.
It was the usual graying to black and then light as I could focus again. This one hadn’t gone far, but it was of Regge, which was unusual. I momentarily wondered if this was present or future.
We were still in my bed, Regge was crying—deep hitching sobs that scratched at my heart with every gasp.
He was talking, babbling, really. Words spilling out in a rush—his nightmare, his memory, and it was painful, so painful, but cathartic too, and I knew in my soul this had to happen.
The vision faded, and I felt the familiar jolt of being in real time. Just like that, we were back. Regge hadn’t moved, and I stroked his head, brushing the hair across his forehead.
“Do you want to talk? I think you need to tell me.”
“No. No, it’s fine.”
I wasn’t a therapist. I had no idea what to say, how to get him to open up. But my visions were rarely wrong. I knew he would never trust a stranger with his trauma. And what therapist would understand Regge’s past?
“Remember when you said you wanted to be better? I think this is it. A start anyway. It will be hard, painful even, but I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. Please? Trust me with this?”
“No. Please. Let’s just sleep.” His voice was plaintive.
But I didn’t give up. I simply held him and petted his hair, whispering encouraging words. After a few moments, he began to talk.
“I’ve told you my past—my brief sex for food summer. That fall, the sickness had eased and pickings at the market were good. I’d learned to stash away some coin for emergencies.” He adjusted in my arms. I kissed his slightly sweaty temple.
“I kept my stash in a tin box in a livery where I found occasional work. There was a loose board in the far stall. I had just added to the box and put it away when two men came in, having followed me from the market. One of them had recognized me from the brothels that summer.” He paused. I waited, not wanting to interrupt.