Jagged Edge

“So what are you up to this time?” I tease, and stop in my tracks at the kitchen door, because the scene that greets me isn’t the one I expected. “Raine?”

Normally I’d find him in the midst of total chaos, with the smell of cooking and occasionally burnt food in the air.

But the kitchen is pristine, and he’s naked, perched on the table, legs spread, his hand on his dick, stroking.

Whoa baby. I lean against the doorframe, my knees going weak, my cock hardening. “What the hell’s going on?”

He licks his lips, and I have to reach down and adjust my pants. “We never got to break in the kitchen,” he says.

Yeah well, after I got shot and almost died here, I never felt the need—but now, seeing him like that… Holy fuck, that’s hot.

“I’ve been thinking,” Raine says.

Damn, I can’t take my eyes off his hand, on his hard dick. “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”

“Very funny.”

“I do what I can.”

“There’s something else you can do. Get your fine ass over here.”

Chuckling softly, I push off the doorframe and limp over to him. Between my aching leg and the tent I’m pitching in my pants, it’s a miracle I can still walk at all.

Then again, miracles tend to happen around Raine all the time, it seems. After all, I’m here. Alive. Mostly sane.

With the one man I’ve ever wanted.

“So…” He grabs my hips and slides his hands under my sweater, skimming them over my chest. “Like I said… I was thinking that once, you asked me what else being my boyfriend means.”

“Huh.” I’m too distracted by the feel of his hands stroking my sides, then finding my nipples and twisting them. “Okay. You replied something about hugging, right?”

He grins. “Yeah. I said I’d hug you every day.”

“And you have.” Another small miracle. I’ve gotten used to those hugs, and all the gestures of affection he showers me with. Truth is, I dunno how to live without them anymore.

“But you asked me if it means you get to fuck me, too.”

I blink, waiting for his words to make sense, and when they do, hell… my dick goes from interested to rock hard.

“You want me to fuck you?” My voice is breathless. I am breathless.

“Yeah.” He pulls me between his legs, rubbing his hard-on against my clothed, aching cock. “I want it. Do you?”

“Hmf.” Am I supposed to speak, using actual fucking words right now? Seriously asking here. Instead, I slip my arms around his neck and kiss him. Tongue and teeth and lips, and he groans in my mouth, dragging me flush against him, our chests pressed together.

So good. But the thought of getting inside him has now taken hold of my mind, and I can’t think of anything else.

I break the kiss. “How? I mean, here? We need lube—”

He looks away, his hands gripping my hips. “I’m ready,” he says, and I stare at the blush staining his cheekbones, his words an echo from older times.

“Ready as in…?”

“I prepared myself. With lube. For you.”

Holy fuck. The twinge of unease at the memory this digs up—myself, readying myself for the johns every day—fades in the surge of heat in my balls and dick. Now I understand why he thought it hot.

The images, man. Raine on all fours, fingerfucking himself to spread the lube inside him, opening himself up for me.