Strong Enough

“Bye.” I watched her go and looked at Maxim again. “Think she heard?”

He looked blank. “Heard what?”

“Me saying the thing about waking me up.”

“Oh. No, I don’t think she did.” He looked like he might say something else, but didn’t.

“What?” I prodded. If there were thoughts about me in his head, I wanted to hear them. Actually, I wanted to hear all the thoughts in his

head, whether they were about me or not.

“Nothing.” He dropped his eyes to my plate. “I was just thinking that if you ever wanted to talk to a family member about…things, Ellen would be a good choice. I think she would understand.”

I considered it for less than a second. “Impossible. It would be way too weird. And she’d never keep it a secret. She has the biggest mouth in the world.”

“Okay. You know her better than I do. I should get back to work.” He gave me a look that heated my insides. “I’ll see you later.”

I nodded and lowered my face in case anyone was close enough to see it flush. But I couldn’t resist peeking at him as he walked away. His butt looked so good in the new jeans.

It would look even better naked in my bed tonight.

The creak of the stairs woke me. He’s home. Immediately, I started to get hard. Jesus, give him a minute.

I’d left my bedroom door open tonight, and I waited for him to walk through it, to shed his clothes and climb in beside me. To offer himself.

A couple minutes went by, and I began to get worried he wasn’t coming. Had he changed his mind? Fallen asleep? Did he think I hadn’t meant what I said?

A moment later, I heard the bathroom door close and the shower come on. Aha. I tried to relax and be patient. Brought a hand to my aching cock and stroked myself slowly. I didn’t want to go off like a canon the second he walked in here. But every second was an eternity, and the more I thought about him in the shower, naked and wet and maybe even hard like me, the more agitated I became.

Every sound I heard made the tension in me pull tighter—the water going off, the shower door closing, the bathroom door opening.

Footsteps in the hall.

The creak of my bedroom door.

Hey. A whisper in the dark.

Come here. My own voice, low and commanding.

He slid under the covers and we reached for each other, our bodies coming together like fingers clasped in prayer, arms and legs and tongues intertwined. We lay on our sides, kissing and stroking and clinging, until Maxim pushed me onto my back. He buried his face in my neck and inhaled deeply. “God, I missed you.”

I missed you, too. I wanted to tell him, but he was kissing his way down my chest, licking my nipples, sucking them, teasing them with the tip of his tongue, and it felt so good I couldn’t speak. My hips thrust beneath him, my cock grinding against his torso. Oh, fuck. I’m too close. Too close. If he kept doing that, I was going to come all over us within seconds. I could feel it starting already.

I wanted to be inside him again. No—I needed it. Needed to be surrounded that way, accepted that way, embraced that way. Physically, I craved the heat and aggression of it, but some other part of me ached for the connection, to him and to myself.

Mustering my strength, I flipped him onto his back and began to kiss him everywhere, seeking out tender, hidden places on his body. Beneath his jaw. The side of his ribs. Behind his knees. I licked my way up his inner thigh, along his shaft, over his crown. I traced those veins on his lower abs with my tongue like I’d wanted to before.

He rewarded me with soft moans and sharp breaths and his fingers in my hair. He groaned and cursed and growled my name when he came in my mouth. He panted raggedly as I poured warm, slick lubricant into my hand and breathed deeply when I penetrated him with my fingers.

But none of it compared to the way he held me as I buried myself endlessly in his body, the way he took my head in his hands as I dangled over the edge, the way he whispered baby as I fell to pieces inside him.

And it was crazy and backward and illogical—I was a full-grown man, twelve years older than he was—yet nothing had ever felt more true. Because I no longer knew where he stopped and I began, who was moving and who was still, whose breath was on my lips, whose taste was in my mouth, or whose heart beat relentlessly inside my chest.

It was just ours. All of it was ours.

“Don’t go.” My voice sounded needy and desperate, and I hated it, but I didn’t stop. “Don’t go back to your room tonight. Stay with me.”

“Okay,” he whispered, touching his lips to mine. “I’ll stay.”