20. Thane
TWENTY
THANE
I woke up before Kieran did.
The sheets had slipped down around his waist, baring the pale curve of his shoulder, the scatter of freckles across his collarbone.
The morning light caught the fine hairs on his arm, turning them to gold.
He looked peaceful in a way that awakened a fierce tenderness inside me.
His mouth was slightly parted, his breathing slow and even, a faint flush lingering on his cheeks from the night before.
For a few seconds, I simply lay there staring at him.
I glanced toward the window. The sky beyond the glass still carried the pale light of early morning. A smile tugged at my mouth.
It was Christmas morning.
Outside, I could hear the muffled sounds of a small town waking up on Christmas morning: a car starting somewhere, a dog barking in the distance. But here, in this bed, there was only him.
It didn't make sense. We met a week ago, and already I felt like I'd been looking for him my whole life.
I'd never been the type to fall fast. I'd dated, sure, but always kept a distance, never let anyone get too close. But Kieran had slipped past every defense, and I hadn't even put up a fight.
I reached out, barely brushing my fingertips along his jaw.
His skin was warm, smooth, a little rough where his stubble was starting to come in.
He stirred slightly, a soft sound catching in his throat, but didn't wake.
His lips parted a fraction more, and I watched the flutter of his eyelashes, the way his brow relaxed again.
I wanted him to wake. I wanted him to open his eyes and look at me first thing, wanted to see that sleepy, disoriented smile that I'd already memorized. But I also wanted to treasure this moment—just him, just me, nothing else. The world outside could wait.
So, I did it again, slower, tracing the line of his jaw to his chin, then up across his cheekbone.
I leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, letting my lips linger.
The skin there was soft, warm, and I breathed him in.
The faint scent of soap, the warmth of sleep, something clean and young and wholly him.
Then another kiss to the corner of his mouth, featherlight.
"Kieran," I whispered.
His eyelids fluttered. A crease appeared between his brows, and then he blinked up at me, unfocused, heavy-lidded. For a second, he looked confused, lost in the fog of sleep, and then recognition dawned. His eyes softened, brightened.
"Mm?" His voice was rough, barely audible.
"Hey." I smiled, brushed a strand of hair from his face. "You awake?"
He blinked again, then his lips curved into that slow, dazed smile I'd been waiting for. "'I’m awake now." He stretched a little, a full-body catlike curl, and the sheet slipped further, revealing the plane of his chest, the dip of his waist. My breath caught.
I kissed him, soft and slow, tasting the morning on his mouth. His lips were dry, a little chapped, but they parted easily under mine, and he made that sleepy, contented sound that sent a jolt straight to my groin.
His hand found its way to my chest, fingers splaying over my heart, and I felt the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric of my boxers.
"What time is it?" he murmured against my lips.
"Early still. Sun's just up." I pulled back enough to look at him. "I wanted to see you first. Before anything else." The words came out more earnest than I'd intended, and I felt a flush creep up my neck.
His cheeks flushed warm, that pretty pink that spread across his nose and down to his chest. He hid his face in the pillow for a second, then turned back, eyes bright. "That's… really sweet."
I grinned and kissed him again, deeper this time.
His lips parted, and I slid my tongue inside, slow and deliberate.
His hand slid up from my chest to the back of my neck, pulling me closer.
The kiss grew heavier, wetter, and I felt him shift against me—felt his leg slide between mine, felt the press of his hips, the warmth of his half-hard cock against my thigh.
A shudder ran through me. The heat between us was immediate, electric. I wanted more.
I wanted to feel every inch of him, to taste every part of his skin. I broke the kiss and trailed my lips down his jaw, his throat, feeling his pulse flutter under my tongue. He let out a shaky breath and tilted his head back, giving me more access.
"God, you smell good," I murmured into the hollow of his collarbone.
"It's you," he whispered back, and his voice cracked. "It's your smell. I love it."
I lifted my head and looked at him. His eyes were dark now, pupils blown, and he was biting his lower lip, a nervous habit I'd already learned. The trust in his gaze left me unexpectedly emotional. He was so open, so unguarded, and I wanted to be worthy of that.
"Good morning," I said, and my voice was low, rough with want.
He laughed, breathless. "Good morning." He pulled me down for another kiss, and this time his tongue swept into my mouth, bold and sweet. I groaned and pressed him into the mattress, feeling the soft give of his body under mine.
The kiss deepened, became more frantic. My hand slid down his side, over the dip of his waist, the flare of his hip. The sheet was in the way. I tugged at it, frustrated, and he laughed against my mouth, a sound that vibrated through my whole body.
"Off," he said, pulling at the hem of my boxers. "I want everything off."
I pushed myself up on my elbows and looked down at him. I reached for the waistband of his boxers, sliding them down his legs slowly, deliberately.
He lifted his hips to help me, and the fabric came away, exposing his cock, already fully hard, curving up against his stomach. The sight of him—so beautiful, so eager—made my mouth water.
I hooked my fingers into my own boxers and pushed them down, then kicked them off.
The air hit my skin, raised goosebumps, but the heat between us was immediate, a furnace that consumed everything.
He pulled me toward him, wrapped his legs around my hips, and then we were skin to skin, chest to chest, and the length of his cock pressed against mine.
I stilled, just feeling it. The weight. The warmth. The way his breath hitched when I rolled my hips, sliding my shaft along his. The friction was perfect. Not too much, not too little, and every small movement sent waves of heat through me.
"Oh," he breathed. "That's—yeah."
I did it again, slower, watching his face.
His eyes fell half-closed, his lips parted, and a flush crept down his chest. Our cocks slid together, slick with the precum already beading at both our tips.
I could feel every ridge, every vein, every twitch of his body against mine.
It was intimate in a way I hadn't expected, a slow, deliberate dance of skin and heat.
"You like that, baby?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
He nodded, mouth open, and pushed his hips up to meet mine. I braced myself on my forearms, one hand cradling the back of his head, and I rocked into him.
Our bodies moved together in a slow, languid rhythm, the head of my cock rubbing against his, the heavy, wet slide of skin on skin. The sounds we made—soft grunts, gasps, the slick whisper of our movements—filled the quiet room.
I let my weight settle on him, pressing him deeper into the mattress, and he wrapped his arms around my neck, his legs tightening around my hips.
The angle shifted, and suddenly the head of his cock caught against the slit of mine, a sensation that made us both gasp.
"Thane," he said, his voice a plea.
I didn't answer with words. I shifted, aligning myself more carefully, and took us both in hand, and that was when I noticed the soft give of him, the way his foreskin slid loose and unhurried over the flushed head beneath.
Something about it undid me. I drew my own length up against his, slow, until the tip of me nudged at that softness, at the place where his skin gathered.
"I want to try something," I breathed, easing forward, coaxing the head of my cock just under the warm hood of him until we were sheathed together, joined in a way I'd never been with anyone.
The heat was unbelievable—close, wet, impossibly intimate. His eyes flew open.
"Oh my God," he whispered, staring down at where we were joined. "Is that—are we—?"
"Shh. Just feel it," I whispered, holding still, holding him. "I've got you."
He nodded, breathless, and I began to move. Not thrusting now, but rocking, small and careful, the head of me cradled inside the snug heat of his skin. There was nowhere for either of us to go, and that was the point.
We were held together, sealed, every minute shift sending a slick pulse of sensation through us both.
The friction was different now—deeper, more contained, almost unbearably tender.
I could feel every twitch and throb of him against the most sensitive part of me, and the way his body answered mine made me dizzy with want.
The room filled with the sound of our breathing, the soft creak of the bed, the whisper of the sheets.
Kieran's hands roamed my back, my shoulders, gripping, releasing.
His legs opened wider, inviting me deeper into the cradle of his hips, and I sank into him, pressing my whole body against his, my mouth finding his throat.
"Tell me what you need," I murmured against his pulse.
"This," he said, voice cracking. "Just this. I want to feel you—all of you—like this." He arched beneath me, and I felt his cock pulse against mine, a sign that he was close. I wanted to push him over, but I also wanted to savor every second.
Gently, reluctantly, I drew back, easing free of him. He made a small, bereft sound at the loss, and wrapped my hand around both our cocks, gripping them together.
The sensation was overwhelming. The heat, the wetness, the way our bodies fit together. He gasped, bucked, his fingers digging into my shoulders. I stroked us in a slow, steady rhythm, the glide becoming smoother, wetter, our mixed precum coating our shafts.
"God, Thane—" He was trembling now, his eyes squeezed shut.
"Look at me, Kieran."
He forced them open. I saw vulnerability and desire, and something deeper. Something that looked a lot like–could it be love? My heart hammered against my ribs.
"You're beautiful," I said. "You're so fucking beautiful."
He let out a shuddering breath, and I felt him tighten around me. His cock throbbed against mine, and I knew he was on the edge. I slowed my stroke, letting him feel every inch of the slide, and I leaned in to kiss him, soft and deep.
"Come for me," I said against his lips.
He did, with a cry that was half sob, his release spilling hot between us, coating my hand, my stomach, his.
The sight of him coming undone. The way his body arched, the way his mouth formed a perfect O, the way his eyes fluttered shut.
Pushed me over the edge. I buried my face in his neck and came, harsh and deep, my own cum mixing with his, our bodies slick and sticky and utterly spent.
I didn't pull away. I stayed inside the circle of his arms, my weight heavy on him, his legs still wrapped around me. His hand found the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, stroking. The soft rhythm of his touch soothed the aftershocks, and I felt the tension drain from my muscles.
After a long moment, I lifted my head and pressed my forehead to his. His eyes were still closed, his breath coming in soft, slow puffs. I could feel his heartbeat, still fast, echoing against my chest.
"Merry Christmas," I said, my voice rough.
He laughed, soft, breathless. "Merry Christmas." He opened his eyes, and they were bright, a little watery. "That was… I don't have words."
I kissed the tip of his nose, then each of his eyelids. "You don't need words."
Reluctantly, I eased away from him and sat up. The room felt cooler without Kieran pressed against me.
"I'll be right back," I murmured.
He made a sleepy sound that might have been agreement.
I crossed to the bathroom, cleaned up quickly, then dampened a washcloth with warm water before returning to the bedroom. Kieran hadn't moved much. He was sprawled across the bed, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.
A faint smile touched his mouth when he saw me. "Hey."
"Hey, yourself." I sat beside him and brushed a hand through his hair. Then I gently cleaned across his stomach and chest.
He shivered at the first touch.
"Sorry."
"It's warm," he mumbled.
I smiled and continued, taking my time. When I finished, I set the cloth aside. Kieran stretched and glanced toward the bedroom door. A suspicious look appeared on his face.
"What?"
His gaze returned to mine. "Are we doing presents before breakfast?"
The question made me smile.
Somehow, I'd forgotten about breakfast entirely. "I think that's probably how Christmas works."
"I was making sure."
"Making sure of what?"
His expression turned innocent. The fact that I immediately distrusted it was probably a bad sign. “That you weren't planning to make me wait all day."
I laughed. "You've been awake for approximately twenty minutes."
"And yet somehow it feels much longer."
I shook my head. "You're impossible."
"That's not an answer." The excitement in his voice was impossible to miss.
For some reason, hearing it made me even more eager to give him his gift.