I wanted to be inside him again. No—I needed it. Needed to be surrounded that way, accepted that way, embraced that way. Physically, I craved the heat and aggression of it, but some other part of me ached for the connection, to him and to myself.
Mustering my strength, I flipped him onto his back and began to kiss him everywhere, seeking out tender, hidden places on his body. Beneath his jaw. The side of his ribs. Behind his knees. I licked my way up his inner thigh, along his shaft, over his crown. I traced those veins on his lower abs with my tongue like I’d wanted to before.
He rewarded me with soft moans and sharp breaths and his fingers in my hair. He groaned and cursed and growled my name when he came in my mouth. He panted raggedly as I poured warm, slick lubricant into my hand and breathed deeply when I penetrated him with my fingers.
But none of it compared to the way he held me as I buried myself endlessly in his body, the way he took my head in his hands as I dangled over the edge, the way he whispered baby as I fell to pieces inside him.
And it was crazy and backward and illogical—I was a full-grown man, twelve years older than he was—yet nothing had ever felt more true. Because I no longer knew where he stopped and I began, who was moving and who was still, whose breath was on my lips, whose taste was in my mouth, or whose heart beat relentlessly inside my chest.
It was just ours. All of it was ours.
“Don’t go.” My voice sounded needy and desperate, and I hated it, but I didn’t stop. “Don’t go back to your room tonight. Stay with me.”
“Okay,” he whispered, touching his lips to mine. “I’ll stay.”
Twenty-Eight
MAXIM
He fell onto my chest, and I wrapped my arms around him. Neither of us spoke as our breathing slowed, steadied, and synced, both of us inhaling and exhaling at the same time. The moment was peaceful, the calm after a storm.
And it had been a particularly intense storm.
Had he missed me like I’d missed him? Had he thought about me? Our schedules were so opposite, we’d gone days without even seeing each other. When he’d walked into the bar last night, it was like seeing a movie star come through the door. Actually, it was better than that. There was no movie star who excited me the way he did. He’d looked happy to see me too, but I hadn’t missed the careful way he guarded himself around Ellen. He was so afraid of what people would think if they knew about us, about him. I wished he could see himself the way I did.
He kissed my shoulder and lifted himself off me, separating our bodies. “Be right back.”
While he was in the bathroom, I stretched out in his bed, sore and tired but happy. He wants me to sleep next to him tonight. I could count on one hand the number of nights I’d slept in someone else’s bed, and those times had simply been a matter of falling asleep before I remembered to get up and go home. This was different. This was on purpose.
I wondered what had prompted him to ask me, but didn’t want to read too much into it. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe he just wanted to have sex again in the morning. But I was tempted to see it as one more barrier broken.
The bathroom door opened and he joined me in bed again, immediately pulling me close. Surprised but glad, I tucked myself along his side, my head on his shoulder, my arm around his waist.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I feel like I was pretty rough on you.”
“A little sore,” I admitted. “But not too much.”
“Good.” He was silent a moment. “This is nice. I’m not usually a cuddler.”
I smiled. “Me either. And it is nice.”
A minute ticked by, then he spoke again.
“I can’t sleep. Will you sing the Russian song for me?” He couldn’t even get through the question without laughing.
I kicked him gently. “Be nice or I’ll go back to the guest room.”
“No.” He squeezed me. “I like you here. I’ll be nice—for now.”
“You’re always nice.” I kissed his chest.
He sighed. “My sister thinks I’m a grumpy old man.”
“No, she doesn’t, not really. She wants you to be happy. And she thinks you’d be happy if you found someone.”
“She’s talked about me to you?” His tone was slightly defensive.
Careful. “Not too much. She said what you said—that you’d like a family.”
“Oh. Right.”
“She thinks you’ll make a great dad.”
Another sigh. Then, “Do you ever think about having kids?”
“Not really.”
“Yeah. I didn’t either when I was your age. Forty seemed light years away. Fuck, thirty seemed light years away. But time flies. Priorities change. We get old.”
“You’re not old, Derek.”
“I’m older.”
“I like that about you.”
He made a noise. “Why?”
“Because it makes you wiser and more mature and more experienced. You’ve done things. You’ve made mistakes and learned from them. You’re not some stupid twenty-year-old who doesn’t know shit about life and doesn’t care because he just wants to get through the day, get drunk, get laid, whatever.”
“You’re not like that either,” he said.
“No, I’m not. But I don’t think I’m a typical twenty-four-year-old. Another reason I came here was because I felt like I’d outgrown my friends. They didn’t seem to have any ambition. It’s not entirely their fault, because there isn’t opportunity there like there is here, but I found myself bored and restless a lot of the time. I wanted something better.”
“You’re going to get it. It might take some time, but you’ll be a success story here. I know it.”
I gave him a squeeze. “Hush. You’ll jinx me. But thank you.”
We fell asleep just like that.
When I woke up the next morning, Derek was gone. For a moment, I was nervous he regretted asking me to stay the night in his bed and was off somewhere punishing himself for it. But then I saw the note on his nightstand, written in black ink on a white notepad. His handwriting made me smile—perfectly formed, angular letters, all caps. The paper had no lines, but his words didn’t slant in any direction.
At the gym. Didn’t want to wake you. Breakfast when I get back?
P.S. You’re cute when you’re sleeping.
My heart thumped happily, and I smiled as I stretched out in his bed again. The sheets smelled like him, like us, and I loved it. I loved the memory of last night, how passionate and powerful he’d been—and how vulnerable, too. He’d shown me he’d missed me, even if he hadn’t said it. I loved that he’d asked me to stay with him and the way we’d held each other as we’d gone to sleep.
I really hoped he felt the same. At the same time, I also thought it was important to stick to the plan—I would rent my own apartment as soon as possible. In fact, I had appointments to visit two complexes this afternoon before work. The sooner I wasn’t dependent on Derek for things, the better. I wanted to stand on equal footing—well, as equal as possible. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be equal to someone like him. But I had to try.
After a shower, I got dressed and went downstairs as Derek was coming in the back door. In the kitchen, our eyes met, and we both smiled. Relief—he wasn’t sorry. And God, he looked good, even sweaty and windblown.
“Morning,” he said. “How did you sleep?”
“Like a baby. You?”
“Great.”