Tell Me Our Story

“There are no compulsory steps to this dance,” Jonathan said softly.

“I . . . want it to be good for you.”

Sometimes it feels like . . . he wants to prove his worth.

When Nash had said that, Jonathan’s thoughts had immediately jumped to Mr O’Hara.

But . . .

His dad wasn’t the real reason he left. That’s not why he’d done any of this.

All he wanted was to study philosophy and Greek history. All he wanted to do was please you.

This whole time, David was trying to prove himself to him. For him. Even now, he still wanted to please him.

Wait until it means something.

Jonathan had told him it didn’t mean anything. That David wasn’t enough.

He touched their lips together. “You being you pleases me most.”

“Even if I’m wild?” He laughed. “Impatient.”

“David.” Jonathan kissed that teasing dimple. “I’ve always liked that about you.”

David rumbled with a nervous laugh under him, taut with tension. His eyes closed briefly. Anticipation boiled between them as they rocked together.

Each nip Jonathan gave to his neck relaxed his limbs a little further, until that wild need began to take over.

It stole Jonathan’s breath; made him giddy. The way David gave in to shiver after shiver; flung his arms and legs around him, dug his nails into his back, huffed raggedly in his ear . . .

He squirmed when Jonathan applied a slick finger to him, when he circled and breached with the tip. David clamped on his seeking fingers and hissed a short breath, then rocked back, lifted his head to chase Jonathan’s mouth for a deep kiss. Hot and hard, they bumped and slid together.

Their eyes locked, and Jonathan stretched his fingers deep inside David. And again. And again, until David gasped and bit Jonathan’s lip, sending a sharp, erotic shiver through him.

That David had never let anyone so close to him before . . . that he wanted Jonathan to be the only one. That he’d imagined for years what this moment between them might be like . . .

It made his heart race, made his skin more sensitive; made him swallow a flutter of his own nerves.

Darkened forest eyes beheld his, beseeching. “Will you, now?”

Jonathan’s breath caught. He wanted to give him everything. Wanted to touch him here, inside. And touch him here, inside.

He dropped his head, kissed David’s pounding chest, and opened the condom packet.

The air shifted again; new tension strummed between them, tight and ticklish. David flushed harder as he watched Jonathan roll it on, pulled him down into a fierce kiss that lashed into his mouth, inexpert eagerness to mask his anxiety.

Jonathan kissed him just as hard through it and spoke at his ear. “I would like to share this intimacy with you.”

Trembling arms knotted around Jonathan’s neck, the kiss of the watch strap, and David spread his legs, a churring slide against cool sheets. The sound of trust. It made Jonathan ache.

The heat where they pressed tightly together scattered goosebumps up his flank, to his back, pooling where David’s fingers rested between his shoulder blades.

“Kiss me when you . . .”

Jonathan kissed him. Softly, this time. A flutter of their lips, his heavy breath becoming David’s, David’s becoming his.

This was happening. He and David were locking together. The sensation of falling rushed through him; dreams he’d supressed for years roared to the surface at the first press against slick, yielding heat.

David bit down on a cry, arms tensing around him.

Jonathan held himself still, but he couldn’t help a gasp. The tight, hot intensity . . . Something changed. David loosened his hold, shifted to kiss him, spread his legs wider. A whisper rolled down his neck. “Keep going.”

Jonathan pushed in slowly with a groan.

David’s breath hitched and he let out a trembling breath. “You’re in me. Finally inside me.”

Jonathan rocked gently, giving him time to get used to this new intrusion. David’s cock had flagged; Jonathan touched him, flicked his thumb where David loved it best and nibbled along his jaw. “Stroke.”

David grasped his hardening length and pulled. The flash of his watch on David’s wrist intensified every sense; Jonathan allowed himself a few moments to close his eyes and give in to the need to move—long, slow slides in and out of his David, pleasure mounting with every torturously careful glide.

This was the beginning of something he would work to protect the rest of his life.

He ached to push harder and faster, but David was still getting used to this, and . . . and he didn’t want it to end too soon. Didn’t want to help David pack and drive him to the airport. Didn’t want to say goodbye. Even though there would be a next time. Even though that next time might be moving in together.

He just . . . didn’t want to miss David, even for a week.