“You need to see someone, man,” he says, his hand sliding up from my shoulder to my neck, curling around it, warm and callused. “Talk about this. It will help.”
“I can’t.” The refusal is automatic. I fucking can’t.
“At least to me. Talk to me.”
“You don’t get it, Nate.” I push harder at his chest, the restless energy and fear inside me needing an outlet, and he stumbles back a step. “I’m… broken machinery. A song on repeat. Nothing is ever right. It needs fixing, everything needs fixing. I need fixing. All the goddamn time.”
He puts his hand over mine, over his thumping heart, his eyes meeting mine, determined. “I need fixing, too, but that’s how we are. That’s who we are. It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not the same.”
“Listen to me. You’ve always been there for me. Always. You’re not any more damaged than I am. And you’re strong, West. So strong. In here.” He taps his hand over my chest. “But even the strongest among us need help sometimes.”
Something is choking me. It’s worse than ever, cutting off my airways.
Nate curses viciously, then his hold on me changes and he’s hauling me to the bedroom, flicking on the light as we enter. He pushes me down on the bed, then climbs on after me. Puts an arm around me, like we’ve always done, just holding me against him.
Letting me breathe. Letting me think. Turn over his words in my mind, allow them to sink in, take on meaning while his arm anchors me to him, keeping me from going under.
Then he lies back, pulling me on top of him and kissing the hell out of me. I dunno what we’re doing, but it’s good, and I kiss him back. His dick is hardening in his jeans, and mine responds, filling out, a mounting ache in my groin that’s taking my mind out of the maddening eddy it’s caught in, freeing it.
I’ve never done this with a guy—with Nate. We kissed before, jerked off together in the shower, but this feels more intimate, more real. Like he is turned on by me, not jacking off to a fantasy, not kissing me as an experiment.
Just me and him, rutting together and kissing hard enough to bruise. His arms around me are crushing my ribs, my hand on his neck is probably cutting off his air.
He thrusts his hard-on against mine, and I buck, caught in the fire building in my gut. We move faster, thrust harder, and one of us is groaning—or maybe both?—the sounds lost in the violent clash of lips and tongues and teeth.
His dick jumps, twitches, and he’s moaning, so low I feel it in my bones. Fuck, he’s coming, pressed to me, warm seeping through his jeans and into my flesh.
And it tightens the knot of arousal in my belly more, so much more that I can’t take it anymore. I break the kiss, and pant, my hips rolling, my hair falling in my eyes, dripping sweat. I’m almost there, the promise of relief just out of reach.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “That’s it, West.”
My balls tighten, my cock pulses and jerks. The pleasure is sharp and wrenching, drawing a gasp from my throat. I spill inside my pants, thrusting against Nate’s taut stomach, and I can’t seem to fucking stop.
He gathers me up against his side, his arm around me once more, and I slump, trying to catch my breath, my thoughts a messy sca
tter.
Sydney finds us like that when she enters sometime later. I’m half-dozing, my mind drifting, body lax, almost sprawled over Nate.
When I blink up at her, I see her brows go up in surprise as she takes us in. We probably have wet spots on the front of our pants. The air smells of cum.
Then her expression softens. “Got your message,” she tells Nate.
Message? What message?
“He’s better now,” Nate says quietly, and that’s when I notice the phone lying on the bed beside him. I was so zoned out, I didn’t even notice him texting.
“I’m okay,” I offer, my voice scratchy. Where I was a mass of nerves before, I’m boneless now.
“Miss me?” she asks sweetly, and a smile pulls at my mouth, out of my conscious control.
“Always,” I whisper.
“Sorry I was late. Gigi called, and we had coffee. She’s going through a tough time. But if I’d known you needed me…”
“Hey, I was here all this time,” Nate grumbles, but there’s a smile in his growly voice. “What am I, chopped liver?”