He’s telling me he loves me, that he’s always loved me, and his thrusts are becoming more erratic, and there’s this fire in my stomach, and it’s burning. I start to jerk myself off, but he bats my hand away and does it himself. He fucks into me once, twice more before I’m coming with a shout between us, spunk warm and sticky on his chest and my chest.
The cords in his neck are standing out as he groans, “Bear,” and his hips still, pressed firmly against me, his shoulders shaking, breathing, breathing, breathing harshly near my ear.
And then he collapses on top of me, sweaty and sated.
We’re both panting, unable to speak, but I’m rubbing his back, and he’s kissing my neck again and again.
Finally, he says, “My good boy,” and I pinch his sides, and he’s laughing again, bright and vibrant and mine.
LATER, WE toss the comforter on the floor, and I’m feeling a little bad for the cleaning staff because it’s gross, but it’s probably not the worst thing they’ve ever had to deal with. Otter’s gotten a cloth from the bathroom, and it’s warm as he’s washing my ass. I sigh at the soft touch, and then he throws it on the comforter and collapses at my side, a thick thigh resting on top of my legs, his arm thrown over my stomach. His face is on my pillow, and as I turn my head, our noses brush together. The light is low in the room, but I can make out his face, his heavy-lidded eyes.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey, yourself,” I say back.
And that’s it, at least for a little while. We’re content to just be. It’s quiet aside from the air-conditioning switching on and off and the sounds of the waves through the open sliding door. I’m tired but not ready to sleep. I ache, but it’s pleasant. My mind is calm for the most part.
Then, “Valentino Valentine? Really, Bear?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re just jealous because the best you could come up with was John Smith.”
“I don’t think jealous is the right word. Try appalled.”
“You were a space cowboy. You don’t have any room to talk, John.”
“That’s Commander John to you, I’ll have you know.”
He laughs as I pull his arm from my chest to my mouth and bite his wrist. I let him go after a moment, and his hand is on my face with a strong grip, turning me toward him. He kisses me, long and sweet, and I sigh against his mouth.
He settles again, his weight heavy and comforting.
“We didn’t have to do this,” he s
ays. “I would have been fine at home.”
“I know.”
“But I’m glad we did.”
“Yeah?”
He shrugs. “S’nice. Just being with you. You know that.”
“Helps to hear.”
He frowns. “Don’t I tell you that enough?”
“Hey, hey, now. That’s not—I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—an idea I got in my head, that we hadn’t been just us for a long time. And I… I wanted to do something. For me and you. Not for anyone else. It’s not anything you did. It’s on me, if anything.”
“We’re not Anna and Creed,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
“But even if a problem did come up, we’d work through it. Just like we always do.”
“I know that too.”
“Good.”