42. Graham
GRAHAM
NOW
A cloud of steam surrounds us. Miguel’s head hangs low under the water, exhaustion weighing him down as the suds glide from his neck to his feet, disappearing into the drain. Once his hair is clean, I pour his favorite berry-scented body wash on a sponge and get to work.
“How long were you at the beach?” I ask, running the sponge across his chest and stomach.
“Since six a.m. Ms. Darcy’s walking group gets an early start.”
Twelve hours, by my calculation. He put in all that time and effort, walking away with a broken shell, a sunburn, and the tiny scrape on his shin. I’ll doctor it for him later.
Using the handheld sprayer, I rinse off the sand and suds as I go. “We’ll find another shell.”
The cascading water drowns out his sniffles, but only just. “I tried. For you, I tried.”
“And you’ll keep trying. For you, not for me.”
He lifts his head, and more tears flood his tired eyes. “You’re too sweet for this world. Can I keep you forever, baby?”
“There’s nothing I could want more.”
I press in closer and rest my forehead on his, needing a second to simply be. And there’s nowhere in the universe I’d rather be than right here, with Miguel.
“Turn and spread your feet apart,” I say.
The shower is more than a cleansing. It’s a rejoining, a reinstatement of the promises we spoke out loud in the light of day and whispered in the dark of night. We’ll take care of each other, trust one another, and no matter what happens next, we’ll face it together.
By the time I set the sponge aside and shut off the water, we’re both aroused and breathing hard. Miguel’s back is to the wall, one hand splayed on my stomach while the other cups my jaw, his thumb grazing my two-day stubble.
“Kiss me,” he whispers. His gaze puts off so much heat, it dries out my lips.
Wetting them with my tongue, I place my hands on either side of his head, caging him against the tile. “I might actually die if we can’t do more than kiss, Miguel.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“You, in any way I can have you.”
He surges forward, claiming my lips before my eyes close. I sink into the kiss, slow it down and savor it. We’re in no rush this time. We have all night.
As I cradle his head in my hands, our tongues stoke the fire building between us. Miguel claws at my back, nails digging into my flesh like he wants to become part of me. He should know by now that he’s the most vital part, the one I can’t live without.
When we come up for air, he drops his head to the wall again, lips parted to make way for his panting breaths. God, he’s so beautiful, stripped of everything but his radiance and the love in his eyes when he looks at me.
Sliding a hand down his chest and stomach, I coax a shiver from him before gripping his cock. “Swear to me you haven’t shared this body with anyone else.”
“I could never. My heart won’t allow it.” His throat bobs, but the possession in his eyes is unwavering. “What about you?”
I smirk, remembering my infidelity. “I’ve had a year-long affair with my hand and a photo of you in a tux.”
His teeth scrape his bottom lip—a slow, teasing drag—before those dimples deepen with a stunning smile. “You’re obsessed with me.”
“Guilty. So fucking guilty.”
Inferno is the only word that comes close to describing the flurry of movement that follows. Our kiss is messy and chaotic as we tug at each other’s dicks while stumbling out of the shower, hair dripping wet and skin slippery.
We make it to the shag rug by the vanity, where he lays a plea on my lips. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Only in our bed.”
Without argument or hesitation, Miguel takes my hand and drags me to the bedroom. He crawls onto the bed, back arched and ass poised in the air, an offering I can’t refuse.
I kneel behind him, running my hands along his thighs, hips, and back. “Always so good for me when you want to be spoiled.”
His growl of frustration turns into a breathy moan when I reach between his legs and grab his dick, stroking our cocks simultaneously. He writhes, elbows denting the mattress while he pushes his ass toward me.
“Baby,” he begs.
Right when his squirming crescendos, I spread his ass cheeks and dive in. A symphony of pleasure fills the room, spurring me on while I feast on him, ruin him, rob him of his senses until his body trembles.
He flings an arm out and digs in the nightstand before dropping a packet of lube on the bed. Rising on my knees again, I rip the packet open with my teeth and kiss my way up his spine while coating my dick. He groans, low and deep, as my slick fingers stretch him.
Riding my hand, he jerks his cock at a punishing pace, arching his back even more. “Fuck me. Please, baby. I need it.”
I’ve never seen Miguel this eager, but I relate to the feeling. Need rushes through my veins with the same intensity after waiting over a year to have him like this—in our house, our bed, and my arms, where he belongs.
Withdrawing my fingers, I grip my cock in one hand and his hip in the other. While I push forward, he pushes back. Our moans match in grit and volume, and he curses when I breach his tight hole. I hiss, going still with my teeth clenched as hard as he’s squeezing my dick.
Head lowered, his voice is a distant croak. “I’m good. Don’t stop.”
I thrust, slow and careful at first. But neither of us have the patience to go slow. As our tempo increases, he meets me halfway, giving as good as he takes until he’s taking all of me with his head thrown back and “baby, baby, yes, baby” flowing from his peachy lips.
I’m in awe of his ability to turn something raw into something beautiful. Scraps of fabric become fine clothes. Lines on paper become someone’s home. Sex becomes a profound connection between two people who shouldn’t make sense but complete each other in all the ways that count.
Pulling out, I tap his hip and say, “Turn over, darling.”
Miguel twists and lands on his back, and our mouths seal together when I cover his body and push in again. I devour his whimpers that taste like salt and the sweetest memories ever made.
When we break the kiss, I don’t have to beg for what I want next. He’s already looking into my eyes, his gaze as wet and devoted as my own.
I graze a thumb over his dimple, back and forth, and confess the true meaning of the touch he’s grown used to over the years. “I love you, Miguel. From our first sunrise, I’ve loved you. And I’ll keep loving you, long after our last. My shiny prince.”
He sobs against my mouth, legs locking around my thighs. In the middle of our bed, with all the lights on, we worship each other. Among the grunts and groans and carnal sounds of flesh on flesh, truths are told. Whispers of fate, apology, and forever.
Dropping soft, lingering kisses along his neck and shoulder, I say, “You’re mine. You were made for me.”
“And you for me.” He slides a hand into my hair. “Now remind me who you belong to.”
My stiff arms support Miguel’s legs when I fold his body in half. And I remind him, very thoroughly, that we belong to each other. Always have, always will.
He squeezes my wrists and groans. “Yes. Right there. Fuck yes.”
With each drag of my cock against his prostate, he gasps, head tipped back and face turning red. When I look down at his pretty hole stretched around me, my steady strokes and fragile restraint nearly falter.
Love stings my eyes as they drift up his gorgeous body and find his flushed face again. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
He whimpers, a ragged and strained sound. “Graham, I’m coming.”
Miguel lifts his head, and we watch together as his cum paints his stomach, cock untouched. I move faster, thrusting quick and erratic while chasing down my release. Shoving deep inside him, I find it with a growl in my throat, a strong pulse in my dick, and explosions in my head.
For glorious seconds, I pump Miguel full of my cum, so much that it makes a mess of us and the sheets when I pull out and collapse on top of him. I press my forehead to his shoulder and catch my breath while he lays kisses on my face, wherever his lips can reach.
“I’ve missed this,” he says on a sigh.
“Which part?”
“Us.”
With a quick smooch on his jaw, I fall to my back beside him, mind racing. Tomorrow, we’ll go our separate ways again, because I have business to wrap up in Texas. Our separation will be a week, at most, but it’s a week too long.
“We need another shower,” he says, stopping my brain its tracks.
I turn my head toward his. “And you need to eat.”
“Both can wait.”
Miguel rolls to his side, and we stare at each other for a long time. My hands rest on my sticky stomach while he runs his fingers through my hair, around my ear, and down my neck.
Over and over, he repeats the hypnotic path before speaking in a soothing hush. “I love you so much, Graham. Don’t ever doubt it, even when I’m at my worst.”
“Believe in me. Believe I’ll hold you through whatever comes next and won’t let go, especially on your worst days. Tell me when you’re feeling scared or anxious. Let me love you in return, and don’t ever leave me again.”
Scooting closer, he lays the sweetest, softest kiss on my lips. “I promise. And you have to promise you’ll never stop being so wonderfully you.”