Chapter 10 #4
"Can't wait that long." His hands were already under my coat, pushing it off my shoulders, then finding the hem of my shirt. Palms hot against my skin, sliding up my ribs. "Need you now. Been dying for this."
We stumbled further into the living room, shedding coats and shoes. My cottage was small—living room with the garage sale couch and mismatched chair, small TV on a bookshelf, everything comfortable and lived-in.
Brent pulled my shirt over my head and immediately bent to taste my collarbone, my chest, working his way down while his hands worked my belt open. His mouth was hot, his stubble rough against my skin, and I couldn't stop the sounds escaping my throat.
"Brent—wait—" I gasped, even as my hips pushed forward into his touch. "The couch—"
"Perfect." He guided me backward until my legs hit the cushions—worn corduroy, soft from years of use—and I sat heavily.
He dropped to his knees between my thighs on the hardwood floor, and the sight of him there—coat discarded, hair mussed, eyes dark and focused entirely on me—made my brain short-circuit.
"I've been dreaming about this," he said, working my jeans open with steady hands. "About getting my mouth on you again. Tasting you. Making you fall apart."
He freed me from my boxers, and I groaned at the first touch of his hand—hot and confident. Then his mouth followed and I nearly came apart right there.
"God—Brent—" My hands found his hair, needing something to anchor myself to as he took me deeper. The heat, the pressure, the wet slide of his tongue—it was too much and not enough all at once. The room was warm from the heater clicking on, but my skin felt fever-hot.
He pulled off long enough to look up at me, and the sight of him—lips swollen and slick, eyes heavy-lidded, completely focused on my pleasure—made me groan. "You taste even better than I remembered. Missed this so much."
Then he was back on me, one hand wrapped around what he couldn't fit in his mouth, the other gripping my thigh hard enough to bruise.
I could feel every detail—the suction, the way his tongue traced the vein on the underside, the obscene wet sounds filling my small living room.
The pressure was building fast, coiling tight at the base of my spine.
"I'm close," I gasped, my grip tightening in his hair. "Brent, I'm—"
He hummed around me, the vibration pushing me right to the edge, and then he hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard and I came with a cry, my whole body tensing as pleasure rolled through me. He worked me through it, swallowing, not pulling away until I was gasping and oversensitive.
When he finally sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his smile was wicked.
"Fuck," I breathed, boneless against the cushions. My heart was still racing, skin flushed and damp. "That was—"
"Not nearly enough." He stood and pulled his own shirt over his head. I watched through half-lidded eyes as he worked his jeans open—the flush spreading across his chest, muscles shifting under skin as he moved. "I need you, Jason. Need to be inside you. Need to feel you."
My breath caught. We hadn't gone this far at the retreat. The idea of him filling me, of giving him everything, made me shiver despite the warmth of the room.
"Yeah," I said, sitting up on shaky legs. "Yeah, I want that too. But—bedroom. More space. And supplies."
He pulled me to my feet and kissed me hard, and I could taste myself on his tongue. "Lead the way."
We made it down the short hallway to my bedroom in a tangle of limbs and stolen kisses. I kicked the door shut behind us and we stumbled to my bed together.
We fell onto the bed and Brent braced himself above me. For a moment we just looked at each other. His hair was completely mussed now, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. A flush spread down his neck, disappearing under his open jeans. He was beautiful.
"Hi," I said softly, reaching up to trace his jaw.
"Hi yourself." He kissed me slowly, thoroughly, like we had all the time in the world. "You sure about this?"
"Completely sure." I reached for my nightstand, fumbling past books to find the bottle of lube and condoms I'd optimistically purchased two days ago.
His eyes darkened. "Jason—"
"Please," I said, already breathless. "I've been thinking about this for days. Want you inside me. Want to be yours."
"You already are mine." But his hands were shaking slightly as he helped me out of my jeans and boxers, as he shed his own remaining clothes. "And I'm yours. Completely."
What followed was slow and thorough despite our earlier desperation. Brent took his time preparing me, his slick fingers working me open while his mouth found every sensitive spot on my body. He kissed my throat, my chest, traced his tongue down my ribs while his fingers pressed deeper, searching.
When he found that spot inside me, my back arched off the bed. "There—god, right there—"
"I've got you." His free hand wrapped around me, stroking slowly, and the dual sensation made stars burst behind my eyelids. "God, you feel incredible. One more?"
"Yes—please—" I was already pushing back against his hand, needing more.
He added a third finger and the stretch burned in the best way. He worked me open carefully, thoroughly, watching my face the entire time like he was memorizing every expression. When I was gasping and writhing and begging, he finally pulled out.
"Ready?" he asked, rolling on the condom with shaking hands.
"So ready. Please, Brent, I need—"
He positioned himself and pushed inside slowly, so slowly, and we both went still, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it. The stretch was intense, almost too much, but he paused to let me adjust, pressing kisses to my face, my jaw, my neck.
"God," he groaned against my skin, his control fraying. "You're so tight. So perfect."
I breathed through the initial stretch, and the burn quickly faded into something else. Fullness. Connection. Right.
"Move," I gasped, rolling my hips. "Brent, please—"
He did, slow and careful at first, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in. The drag of him inside me, the pressure, the way he filled me completely—it was overwhelming in the best way.
"Jason," he breathed, his forehead pressed to mine, our glasses clicking together. "You feel—god, you feel incredible. So good. So perfect."
"More," I gasped, my legs wrapping around his hips to pull him deeper. "Please, Brent, I need more—"
He gave me more. His hips snapped forward, finding a rhythm that had us both gasping. His hands gripped my hips, angling me just right, and when he hit that spot inside me I saw stars.
"There," I cried out, my fingers digging into his shoulders. "Right there—don't stop—"
He didn't stop. He drove into me with perfect precision, one hand wrapping around me, stroking in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming—the fullness of him inside me, the friction of his hand, the heat of his body pressed against mine.
"God," he groaned, his rhythm starting to falter. "You feel so good. I'm not going to last—"
"Close," I managed, every nerve ending on fire. "Brent, I'm so close—"
"Me too." His thrusts were getting erratic, harder, deeper. His hand tightened around me, and that was all it took—
He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and thrust deep while his hand tightened around me, and that was it. I came hard, shaking apart in his arms, his name torn from my throat as pleasure rolled through me in waves.
The feeling of me clenching around him pushed him over the edge. He thrust deep one more time and came with my name on his lips, his whole body shuddering against mine.
For a long moment we just lay there, breathing hard, hearts pounding against each other. Sweat cooled on my skin. The Christmas lights from the window cast patterns across the ceiling.
I couldn't form words. Didn't need to. Brent collapsed beside me, pulling me against his chest, both of us still breathing hard.
He pulled out carefully, both of us wincing, and rolled to the side. I immediately felt the loss of him, but he pulled me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me like he couldn't stand to not be touching.
"Give me a second," he murmured against my hair. "I'll get something to clean us up."
"In a minute," I said, burrowing closer. "Just want to feel you."
He held me tighter. "I'm here. Not going anywhere."
Eventually he did get up, padding naked to my bathroom and returning with a warm washcloth. He cleaned us both up with gentle efficiency, then climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over us. I immediately plastered myself to his side, one leg thrown over his hip, my face pressed into his neck.
"So," I said after a moment, splaying my fingers on his chest. "Welcome to Juniper Bluff."
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Best welcome I've ever had."
"My friends want to meet you tomorrow. At The Perch."
His fingers trailed up and down my spine. "I want to meet them. I want to see your library, your town, all of it. I want to know everything about your life here."
"It's not as exciting as New York."
"It's better than New York. It has you." He kissed my forehead. "And it feels like home already. Or at least—the potential for home."
My throat went tight. "You could stay, you know. Not just for a visit. You could stay and write from here. Figure out what you want to do next."
"I was hoping you'd say that." He tipped my chin up to kiss me properly. "I don't know what I'm going to write yet. Don't know how to make this work long-term. But I know I want to try. Here. With you."
"We'll figure it out," I said, meaning it completely. "You walked away from your old life. Now we get to build something new."
"Together," he agreed.
We lay there in comfortable silence, just breathing together. My bedroom was warm, the sheets were soft, and Brent was solid and real beside me.
"Brent?" I said sleepily.
"Yeah?"
"I'm really glad you're here."
"Me too." He kissed the top of my head, his arms tightening around me. "Get some sleep, Jason. We have plenty of time to figure everything else out."
I fell asleep like that—tangled up in Brent, in my bed, in my cottage, in my town. Home. He was home, and we were home, and tomorrow we'd start figuring out what that meant.
But tonight, this was enough. More than enough.
This was everything.