Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CALDER
The part of him between his legs—his shaft—was no longer at rest. It was firm, extended, visibly affected by what I was doing, by what I had already done. There was a sheen to it, subtle but present, and I recognized that this was not neutral.
That this was response.
That this was—“I did this,” I observed.
Milo huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t been so uneven. “Yeah,” he said, voice low and breathless. He shuffled from foot to foot. “You definitely did that.”
I glanced down briefly. “I do not fully understand this reaction,” I admitted.
“Yeah, welcome to the club.” One corner of his mouth lifted slightly despite everything else, his tone lighter even as his breathing remained unsteady. “It’s not exactly logical.”
My attention lowered again instinctively. I understood cause and effect, touch and response, witnessing this directly felt different somehow. More immediate.
Then I became aware of something else: I was experiencing the same response. Different in structure, but not in meaning.
The awareness settled in slowly, then all at once, and I stilled for a fraction of a second, recalibrating around it.
“I am experiencing the same change,” I stated.
Milo’s gaze dropped, following the line of my body to the organ protruding between my thighs. “Yeah. I noticed.”
“I do not understand all of it,” I continued. “But I do not want it to stop.” There was no reason to hide this fact from him.
Something softened in Milo’s expression. I could feel the care in the slow movement of his hand across my chest as it settled lightly over my heartbeat.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Then we go slow.”
There was no mockery in his tone, no hesitation in his movements.
Every gesture and every look showed that he was entirely focused on me.
Being treated with that kind of care was… overwhelming.
His hands came to my shoulders, firm, deliberate in a way that shifted the dynamic between us without breaking it. He nudged—just enough to guide my body—and I allowed it, adjusting without resistance as he shifted our positions until I was the one lying on the bed instead.
The change in perspective was immediate.
Different.
“Let me show you something.” His hand drifted to my shaft and wrapped around it.
The touch was careful but confident in a way that sent the breath flying from my lungs.
Human skin amplified everything. Every movement registered too clearly, every shift in pressure traveling directly through me before I could distance myself from it. “Milo Hart—”
My voice broke around his name.
His eyes lifted to mine. “There you go,” he murmured softly, watching me with impossible focus. “You’ll be okay.”
“Okay.”
The word should not have mattered so much.
He moved his hand up and down. All the while, his eyes were on me and mine on his.
Warmth lingered openly across his face, but there was no embarrassment sharp enough to pull him away from me. If anything, he leaned closer beneath the weight of my attention.
“You are not uncomfortable,” I realized aloud.
His expression softened immediately at that. “No,” he murmured. “Not with you.”
The force of his response jolted something in my chest. Milo’s hand slid slowly along my thigh before his attention lowered between us.
The change in focus pulled tension through me immediately, though it was not fear. Awareness felt closer to the truth.
I watched him while he knelt between my knees, one warm hand settling briefly against my stomach as though grounding me there before anything else happened.
“Hey. You’re doing great.”
Before I had time to recover from his words, he bent his head, stuck out his tongue, and licked a hot path up my stiff length.
The first brush of warmth nearly stopped my breathing outright.
My hands clenched the blankets beneath me, a positive sensation surging through my body all at once, immediate and overwhelming in ways I had not prepared for.
He sucked in my organ with his warm, wet mouth. His tongue moved over it, over and over again. “Milo Har—”
Milo looked up immediately, watching me carefully even while keeping me close, adjusting instinctively the moment my breathing lost rhythm.
“There you go,” he murmured softly. “Don’t think so hard.”
Impossible, not when every sensation felt magnified beyond reason.
Warmth.
Pressure.
The careful movement of his mouth.
The soft sound of his breathing between touches.
Human skin had already made everything feel too immediate.
This destroyed what remained of distance entirely.
My fingers locked into his hair as another wave of sensation rippled through me.
Milo did not rush, and that only seemed to power more desire into my core.
He paid attention constantly, learning me the same way I had learned him earlier—watching every reaction, every broken breath, every involuntary movement I failed to control quickly enough.
And through all of it, his eyes kept lifting back to mine.
Present.
Focused.
Wanting this with me instead of merely performing for me.
The realization hit with devastating force: he wanted my reactions, wanted my pleasure.
Wanted me.
Not the legend.
Not the monster.
Me.
The thought stole the breath right out of my lungs.
I could no longer organize thought around sensation. Each movement unraveled another piece of control until all that remained was warmth and pressure and the impossible awareness of someone handling me with care instead of fear. “You’re doing so well,” Milo whispered softly.
The praise nearly destroyed me.
No one had ever said those words to me before.
My grip tightened in his hair before loosening again just as quickly when I realized what I was doing.
Milo only leaned closer in response. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
And somehow, I believed him entirely.
The sensation built too quickly after that, overwhelming in intensity. My thoughts lost coherence, every breath rougher than the last while Milo stayed, his head bobbing up and down through all of it, watching me carefully like he refused to miss any part of this with me.
The all-consuming pleasure undid me; the realization that he wanted this with me, wanted to witness my undoing.
Release hit hard, my entire body clenching in the middle, one broken sound escaping me before I could contain it while sensation moved through me hard enough to erase thought completely for several long seconds.
My hands searched for Milo immediately afterward, needing something grounding beneath the force of the swirling emotions inside of me.
One of Milo’s hands slid slowly up my side while I fought to recover enough breath to think again, his forehead briefly resting against my stomach as though he was giving me time instead of demanding anything from me. The tenderness was unbearable.
Slowly, he looked back up at me.
His own breathing had become uneven now, warmth visible across his face and want still written openly across every expression he failed to hide.
Then my attention shifted lower.
His own body still ached visibly with unfinished desire.
Understanding arrived instantly.
“You still require—”
Milo laughed weakly before dropping his forehead briefly against my shoulder. “Oh my God,” he muttered. “Please do not phrase it like medical research.”
“I was attempting accuracy.”
“You are unfortunately extremely accurate.”
The warmth of his laughter softened the last lingering tension in me immediately, and then I understood something else–his attention had never left me and every reaction I gave him had affected him too.
“You—” My voice roughened again. “You enjoy this.”
Milo laughed softly, still a little breathless. “Calder,” he said warmly, fingers brushing slowly through my hair again, “I promise you there’s nothing unclear about that.”
The affection in his voice nearly ruined me all over again. I watched him while his own hand wrapped around his shaft. His hand moved up and down much faster than when it was on me. I tracked every single moment.
Beautiful.
The word arrived instantly and with complete certainty.
Not because he was flawless.
Because he was open with me.
Trusting me, and wanting me enough to let me witness all of this too.
I could not stop watching him.
The tension in his stomach.
The hitch in his breaths.
The quiet sounds he failed to suppress when pleasure overtook composure entirely and when he found release too, my attention remained fixed completely on his face, on the relief, the vulnerability–the warmth that was all him.
Afterward he sagged forward with a quiet groan that dissolved into breathless laughter, his forehead resting against my shoulder while both of us struggled to recover. “Okay,” he murmured. “Yeah. That was… wow.”
I understood the failure of language.
I was still struggling with it myself.
For a long moment, neither of us moved.
We simply stayed there together, touching, breathing, close enough that I could still feel the rhythm of his heartbeat where his body rested against mine.
My hands remained on him.
His remained on me.
Neither of us seemed interested in creating distance.
Finally, quietly, I said, “You are very responsive.”
Milo chuckled against my shoulder. “That is one way to put it.”
I considered that carefully before answering. “You are also very good at this.”
That startled another laugh out of him. “Well,” he said, still slightly breathless, “that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me while naked.”
I did not fully understand the joke, but I understood the warmth beneath it.
And as my hands moved slowly along his back, holding him there while the last waves of pleasure faded, I understood something with devastating clarity.
I understood something far more important than desire.
I had not understood connection before Milo Hart.
Now—I did not think I could survive losing it.