Chapter 21 #2
The word had never fit a man’s body for me—not until now. I looked up at him and caught him watching me, his mouth open, cheeks flushed, pupils blown so wide that the green was nearly ringed out to nothing.
He stroked himself, slowly, from root to tip, then let go and offered himself to me, a gesture so brave and so open that I felt it everywhere.
I took him in hand, thumb grazing the slit, collecting the wetness there.
Arek’s eyes fluttered closed, and his head tipped back, exposing the long line of his neck.
He was trembling from restraint, from holding himself back so I could catch up.
I stroked, slow, an experimental motion. His hips jerked, the motion involuntary, his hand clamping down on my shoulder so hard I’d probably have a bruise later. I’d treasure it. I wanted every mark, every proof that this was real.
His hands sank into my hair. I stroked him again, taking a second to learn the feel—the satiny skin, the move and flex of it, the weight and heat, the tactile proof that this was real and solid and here. His eyes fluttered shut, chin tilted back again, neck arched in an offering.
A single bead of precum welled at the tip. I bent and licked it away.
Arek inhaled, the sharp, shuddering intake of a man surprised by his own body.
If I’d expected him to play it cool, to have some urbane performance, I was wrong.
He was pure response, every muscle telling the truth of what I was doing to him.
“If you keep doing that, I’m going to embarrass myself.
And my refractory period isn’t what it used to be. ”
A laugh bubbled out of me, so unexpected that I shocked myself as much as Arek. We stared at each other for a few seconds, and then his face broke open in a smile that made my whole body go weak.
He leaned into me, his hands bracketing my head, and with one smooth motion, he shifted his knees apart until he was straddling my thighs again, his cock pressed against mine, a wet line sliding between us.
Our cocks lined up, and for one unsteady moment, the urgency vanished, and all that remained was the slow, steady press of our bodies together.
I needed friction. Needed him. The heat of his skin, the hard length of his cock sliding against mine—different and yet so right, so intensely, crazily right that my mind went white around the edges.
Arek thrust his hips, not hard, just enough to rub us together. The sensation shot up my spine, pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. He buried his face in my neck and gripped my shoulders, laugh-breathing and gasping, and I matched his rhythm, rolling my hips up to meet him.
The sensation of our cocks together—hard, slick, sliding—was so new that it stunned every thought from my head.
I felt the precise moment Arek lost his restraint: his hips rolled, and the sound he yielded was savage and soft at once, need transformed into nerve-ending music.
He was so much more than I’d ever let myself imagine—stronger, warmer, needing as much as I did.
My hands spanned his back, running down his spine to the curve of his ass, squeezing there because I could, because he was here, all mine.
The sense of permission, of rightness, flooded me.
His body was leaner than mine, but his thighs gripped my hips with strength, and his cock was a rigid, hot line getting slicker with every grind of his pelvis.
We kissed again, deeper, more frantic, not a single ounce of patience left.
I gripped his ass in both hands, loving the way it flexed under my palms, the way he squirmed and rocked his hips, fucking against me like this was the only kind of contact that mattered. Flesh to flesh, no barrier, no hiding.
My own body was wound so tight I thought I’d burst. Arek ground against me with single-minded hunger, both our cocks trapped and gliding between our bellies, so wet it felt like a revelation.
I didn’t want to let go—not of him, not of the moment, not of the knowledge that this was mine, this man, this heat, this hurricane.
“Jesus, Mac,” he groaned, voice gone to gravel. All the polish, all the controlled warmth burned off in the furnace of it—just raw want now, shaking in his hands and his voice. His mouth found my ear, teeth grazed the lobe, and I lost it.
I came with a violence that startled even me, my body snapping forward as if I could crawl inside him, wrap myself in his heat, mark him as mine.
Arek’s hands clamped onto my shoulders, and he groaned through his teeth as his own orgasm spilled between us, hot and slick, coating our stomachs and cocks.
He sagged against me, sweating and shivering, his breath a wild, beautiful mess against my neck.
We stayed that way, pressed together and shaking, for a long, perfect moment. His weight on me, his arms around my back, the slowing beat of his heart still pounding through both our chests.
Somewhere in the haze, I realized my hands were still gripping his ass. I didn’t let go. He didn’t move to break contact either, so we sat together, slowly coming back to ourselves, sweat cooling, skin sticky, our bodies refusing to unravel.
Eventually, Arek shifted, kissed my jaw, and rested his forehead on my shoulder. “Holy shit,” he said, and then laughed—sharp, sweet, totally unguarded.
I matched him, the sound of it ringing in my own ears with a note of wonder I’d thought I’d lost. Hell, I couldn’t even remember the last time I had laughed like that. If I had ever.
“God. I—I wanted to make it last,” he said, voice hoarse. “That was not what happened.”
“You did fine,” I managed, and he snorted, making a little laugh against my skin.
Eventually, we untangled, and I felt the distance between us in my bones. We cleaned up in the bathroom, both of us naked, the sense of wonder still tangible between us like spun glass.
Arek reached for his underwear. “Do you want me to—”
“Stay. I want you to stay.”
“Okay.”
We crawled into bed, wearing underwear only, and our bodies found each other again like magnets.
My arm was around him, my hand on the curve of his back, and the weight of him against my side was one of the most profound things I’d ever felt.
Like the first time I jumped out of a plane.
Like holding Boden in the delivery room. Different, but equal in magnitude.
I wanted to tell Arek. Needed to, even if I wasn’t sure how to put something this big into words.
“This bed… I’ve slept in it every night for eighteen months.
Same position, left side, facing the door.
Military habit. The right side is always cold.
I don’t even roll over onto it. It’s like there’s a line down the middle and my body knows not to cross it. ”
Arek waited, listening with his whole self.
“But you’re on the right side now, and it’s not cold. It’s…perfect.”
His hand pressed flatter over my heart. I felt him smile against my chest even though I couldn’t see it. The shape of it against my skin, the curve of his lips, the warmth of his breath.
“It feels right with you here,” I whispered. “I don’t have more words than that.”
“That’s more than enough for me.” Arek swallowed thickly. “Mac,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“I’m happy. I’m really, genuinely happy. I don’t think I’ve said that and meant it in years.”
My throat constricted. I pulled him up, both arms, until his face was level with mine on the pillow. Kissed him once, soft, brief. Tasted salt and realized one of us had been crying, but I wasn’t sure which.
It didn’t matter.
He put his head back on my chest. I pulled the quilt over both of us.
“Mac?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t sleep somewhere else.”
“I’m afraid I’ll—”
“I’m not. Please, stay.”
I stayed. Whether it was because I truly agreed with him or was simply too content to argue, I wasn’t sure, but I stayed nonetheless. The mountain was quiet outside, the creek running its constant conversation with the rocks, the stars doing what they did whether anyone watched or not.
I closed my eyes, and for the second night in less than a month, I slept without dreaming.