I positioned myself over him, my cock at his hole and gently pressed into him. He was so warm and tight, so slick and welcoming. His shoulder muscles bulged as he fisted the bedcovers, but he kept his arse high and his head down. “Fuuuuuuuuck,” he groaned the word.
I pushed in slowly, all the way, and gave him time to adjust. And for me to calm down. I’d never felt this connection. More emotional than physical, the need to show him how I felt was more important than fucking.
And in that moment, I understood what it meant to make love. I’d always thought of it as fucking or sex. The physical need for release, the primal urge to claim and own, to give and receive pleasure.
But this was so different. Each movement was tender, timed with his breaths. Each thrust was in sync with my heart, and I held him. I slid my hands under his shoulders and held him as I filled him. I kissed the back of his neck, scraping my teeth against his skin, and when I couldn’t hold the tide of pleasure back any longer, I simply let it go.
When my world came back to me, I was still inside him.
My heart beat in time with his, our pulses united.
I slowly pulled out but stayed where I was. I kissed the back of his neck again and murmured his name. “Andrew.”
“You okay?” he asked.
I’d just had a huge, monumental moment in my life. Not just the acknowledgment that I was in love with him, but the realisation I was capable of such a powerful emotion, such an all-encompassing, soul-rendering emotion. And, that I was deserving of it too. Something years of therapy hadn’t quite managed to convince me of, Andrew did it in a matter of weeks. Not that I could tell him that. Not yet, anyway.
“I’m more than okay,” I answered. I rolled off him but kept him in my arms. “Can we go back to sleep now?”
He chuckled but shook his head against my chest. “Nope.” Then he sidled up, fully against me, letting me feel his still-hard cock. “Your work isn’t done.”
I laughed. “I was selfish, sorry.”
“You were so hot,” he said. “Don’t apologise because that was pretty damn amazing.”
“But you didn’t come.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
“I’d like you to.”
He ground his hips against me. “Where?”
“Wherever you want.”
Andrew groaned, and peeling himself away from me, he got to his knees on the bed beside me. “Open your mouth.”
Smiling, I shoved a pillow under my neck, opened my mouth, and flattened my tongue, ready for his cock. He certainly didn’t waste his time, and I didn’t waste a drop.
We slept some more, we showered, we ate, we laughed. We listened to the piano concerto album he bought me the other day, and Andrew spent a good while trying to figure out how we could possibly have sex in the papasan chair. He changed his Facebook status to “In a relationship” and we added a selfie of us laughing on the couch and he got a gazillion likes and questions, but he turned his phone off and slid it onto the coffee table. I spoke to Peter Hannikov, my prospective new client, and arranged to see him Monday. After which, my phone joined Andrew’s on the coffee table. Andrew pulled me back onto the sofa and kissed the side of my head. We watched A Clockwork Orange, all cuddled up, which inevitably led to more sex.
He was insatiable.
And wonderful.
We eventually made an appearance downstairs in the shop at dinner time, only staying long enough for a few crude jokes at our just-had-sex expense, and to offer to get anyone something to eat. Then, still laughing, Andrew took my hand and pulled me out into the warm LA night.
We walked hand in hand down the street, and it was truly the happiest and freest I could remember being. Andrew led the way to the Moroccan restaurant and held the door open for me. Zineb greeted us with a clap of her hands and a huge smile, like we were her two prodigal sons. “Oh, I not see you in so long,” she cried. “Come sit, let me get you tea.”
She disappeared, and not a moment later, she came back with a pot of green tea and two cups. One for me, one for Andrew. “Oh, I don’t drink that—” Andrew started to say.
Zineb put her hand up, stopping him. “You drink it.”
“Okay,” he said quickly.
I laughed and Zineb looked at me fondly. “Oh, my Spencer. Look at you. There is happiness in your eyes.” She looked up to the ceiling as if in prayer. “Finally.” Then she leaned down, and taking a hold of Andrew’s face, she kissed the top of his head. “Thank you, thank you.”
Andrew blushed and shrank back in his chair, but all I could do was smile. I poured him a tea, then one for myself. I held my cup and waited for him to do the same so I could clink my cup to his. I sighed happily. “I’d like to buy you something tonight, when we leave here,” I told him.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” He sipped the tea and considered it thoughtfully for a moment. “I’m not sure what you can possibly get me that will beat the record player or albums or the coolest book ever written.”
“It’s better than all those things.”