33. Nico #3
So I gripped his hips and moved. Slow at first—deliberate, controlled—angling myself to drag across his prostate on every stroke. I wanted him to feel this. Wanted to make him feel as good as he had made me feel.
I found the angle that made him cry out and stayed there. Hitting it over and over, watching his face, cataloguing every reaction. The way his mouth fell open. The way his hands fisted in the sheets. The way his half hard cock twitched against his stomach every time I drove home.
“Right there—Nicky, right there, don't stop—”
I wasn't going to stop. I was going to take him apart piece by piece until he was so blissed out he couldn’t remember his own name.
Pink hair splayed across the white pillow. Lips parted, silver rings catching the low light. Eyes half closed and glazed with pleasure. He looked like something out of a fever dream. Something I'd conjured in the dark on all those nights I'd told myself I wasn't thinking about him.
He reached up, found my hand where it gripped his hip, and pulled it to his throat.
Pressed my fingers against his pulse point.
Oh.
I squeezed—gentle, testing—and felt his whole body shudder beneath me. His cock twitched, impossibly, already hardening again against his stomach.
“More,” he breathed.
I squeezed harder. Felt his pulse hammering against my palm. Watched his eyes roll back as his airway narrowed just enough. His hips rolled up to meet mine, matching me thrust for thrust.
He was so beautiful like this. Wild and untamed—nothing like the swaggering, smirking version the world got. This was the Adrian underneath. The one who said I trust you and meant it with his whole body.
I couldn't resist. I leaned down and kissed him—deep and slow, the opposite of how I was moving inside him—and the contrast broke him apart.
He made a muffled, desperate noise against my mouth and then he was coming again. Less this time, but his whole body was shaking with it, clenching around me so tightly it was almost painful.
That was what pushed me over.
I buried myself deep and came with his throat in my hand and his name on my lips and Paris glowing through the window behind us.
We lay there afterward. Breathing hard. Neither of us moving. His cum was cooling on his chest. I was still inside him. The room smelled like sex and sweat.
“Holy shit,” Adrian said eventually.
“Yeah.”
“That was…”
“Yeah.”
He laughed—weak, wrecked—and I felt it everywhere we were still connected.
“You’ve been holding out on me, Nicky.”
“I could say the same about you.” I pulled out carefully, tossed the condom in the little trash can in the bathroom, and collapsed beside him on the destroyed sheets. “Big fan of the hand necklace?”
“I like diamonds and pearls as much as the next guy but those hands?” He reached over and picked up my right hand, turning it over, studying it like it was something valuable.
“Watching you do an Ina Bauer, these long pretty fingers all stretched out… does things to me.” He traced a line down my palm. “Is it too much?”
“No.” I turned my head to look at him. “Not too much.”
“Good to know.” He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed the inside of my wrist, right where my pulse was still hammering, and the gesture was so unexpectedly tender that it made my chest ache.
I turned onto my side and let my fingers drift from his grip to trace the script along his collarbone. The ink I knew best by now. Fall seven times, get up eight.
“I like this tattoo,” I said. “When’d you get this one?”
“It’s an oldie but goodie.” His eyes stayed on the ceiling. “I’d just bombed Junior Worlds. Fell on my ass twice then underrotated a quad. I finished seventh. I was fifteen and dramatic, so obviously I thought my life was over.”
“Obviously.”
“Coach Allen told me falling didn't matter. What mattered was what I did after.” He shrugged against the pillow. “I came back the next year and won Canadian Juniors.”
“I remember.”
His eyes flicked to me.
“You beat me by 13 points. Then you shook my hand on the podium and told me my program was pretty good.” I paused. “For second place.”
“I said that?”
“Word for word. I cried in the car.”
He covered his face with both hands and groaned. “God, I was such a little shit.”
“You were.”
“In my defence, I was 16, had just won my first major title, and thought I was the coolest person alive.” He dropped his hands.
“Also, that was the first time I'd seen you in person.
And I couldn't stop staring at you and I had no idea why and it really pissed me off.” A pause.
“So naturally I decided to be a dick about it.”
“You were mean to me because you liked me?”
“That's basically the only move in the playbook when you’re a dumb kid.”
“I hated you a little.” I traced the ink again.
“Fair.”
“But I was jealous too. Not of the gold. You had this… fire. This fearlessness. Like you didn't care what anyone thought. Not even the judges. I'd never seen anyone do that. I didn't know it was an option.”
He pulled me closer by the back of my neck and kissed me—slow, unhurried.
“It's always an option with me, Nicky.” His thumb traced my jaw. “I'll teach you how to fall without being afraid of it.”