The sight of his naked body, even blurry through the wet glass, ratcheted up the tension inside me. And the hunger—I felt almost predatory as he turned in surprise and saw me there.
I opened the shower door and stepped in beside him. Without waiting for him to say a word, I grabbed him and crushed my mouth to his, pushing him back against the tiles and pressing myself against his hot, wet body. He didn’t fight me, but I was rough with him, fisting my hands tight in his hair, shoving my tongue inside his mouth, thrusting my cock against his hip. I felt the need to subdue something or someone, to dominate. To take control and impose my will. I wasn’t a fucking idiot, I knew it was myself I wanted to overpower, but I was a failure there. And Maxim, with his unsettling ability to show me who I really was, to make me feel as if I couldn’t extricate myself from him, to reflect back at me everything I desired, was the perfect substitute.
I tore my mouth from his and shoved down on his shoulders. “Get on your knees.”
He dropped willingly, and it pleased me. Hot water sprayed my back as the steam rose around us. I braced myself against the wall as he took my cock in his hand and brought the tip to his mouth.
“Yes,” I hissed through clenched teeth. The muscles in my legs tightened as he licked and sucked and stroked. He didn’t tease me, wasn’t coy or playful, didn’t try to wrest control away and make my orgasm his toy. It was as if he knew what I needed and wanted to give it to me. His fingers slid between my legs and rubbed with steady, firm pressure as he took me to the back of his throat again and again. My lower body began to tremble, like the earth quaking and shuddering before a volcanic eruption. I grabbed the back of his neck with one hand and held his head still, plunging into his sleek, hot mouth with hard, deep thrusts. “Fuck!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the tiles as I exploded inside him without even giving a warning.
He didn’t care. He kept stroking and sucking and swallowing until I was empty and shaking and tingling all over. Oh God, he’s perfect. He’s perfect and beautiful and brave and so full of life and why can’t this feeling be mine forever? Why can’t he be mine forever?
I dropped to my knees in front of him. Took his head in my hands. Kissed him passionately, protectively, possessively. Mine. Mine. Mine. His arms came around me and I was melting at his feet. At that moment, there was nothing I wouldn’t have done for him.
“Stand up,” I said, sliding my lips down the warm, wet arc of his neck. “Let me.”
“Let you what?” His voice was low, a little playful.
Let me make your heart beat faster. Let me make you come. Let me make you feel so good you never want to leave me. Because I don’t want you to go, but I can’t ask you to stay. “Let me do what I want.”
He rose to his feet and tipped my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “I’m all yours.”
Thirty
MAXIM
Whatever had been bothering Derek the afternoon he co-signed the lease at my new apartment appeared to have worked itself out. We spent the next five nights together in his bed, and every morning, he kissed me goodbye before leaving for work. Twice he came to eat dinner at the bar, and Thursday night he even stayed until closing so he’d be able to drive me home, even though he had to get up early the next morning. We didn’t have sex that night because he was so tired, but I didn’t care. Falling asleep with his body curled around mine felt as good as an orgasm in a way—a softer, more tender intimacy that made me feel closer to him than ever before.
My notebook, which had turned into more of a journal than a place for ideas, was full of page after page of my feelings for him, which were growing deeper by the day. We didn’t talk about them, but I wanted to. I wanted to tell him I was falling for him. I wanted to hear him say the same to me. I wanted to know if he saw anything more than hiding at home in our future. We’d sort of left things open-ended when we’d agreed to see where things went, but on Monday, I was moving into my apartment, and we wouldn’t be able to see each other in the middle of the night anymore. What would happen to us? What did he want? I was dying to know all the answers, but I was too nervous to ask the questions. Derek wasn’t someone who liked being pushed. And maybe he didn’t even know what he wanted yet.
I knew what I wanted—more. I’d gotten to the point where I wanted to be with Derek, not only at home, but out in the open. I wanted to make him happy, make him proud of me, make him see we had nothing to be ashamed of. I wanted him to include me in his life. Openly gay relationships were possible here—I saw them all the time. I knew how hard it would be for him, and I didn’t for one second think I deserved it enough to ask for it, but some part of me had begun to hope he might offer.
Another part of me said don’t be ridiculous, he told you flat out he wants a family, not a boyfriend. Even if he accepted me, I couldn’t give him that. I couldn’t work here legally, and if I overstayed my visa and got caught, I could be deported. Who in his right mind would look at a guy like me and see solid parenting material? Certainly not Derek. Half the time, I had no idea what he was doing with me.
But it was the best time I’d ever had, an unexpected gift. I didn’t want it to end.
On Friday morning, I woke to find a series of texts from Derek on my phone.
You work too hard. You deserve a break.
I’m taking you away this weekend. Pack a bag with your swimsuit, a nice outfit for a dinner, and something cool for today and tomorrow. We’ll get you sunglasses on the way. (I don’t know how you’re living without them in L.A.) Be ready by 3:00.
And yes, I talked to Ellen and she gave you the weekend off. Consider it a paid vacation.
Yes, a paid vacation. Welcome to America.
I sat down on the guest room bed in a daze, my thoughts jumbled, my heart racing. Was this for real? He was taking me on a trip this weekend? Out in public? Where people would see us together? Where were we going?
And he’d told Ellen about it! What was she thinking? How had he described it? Did she suspect anything?
And what was this about a paid vacation? Was there really such a thing?
Confusion swirled, but more than anything, I was happy. Going away together seemed like a big step. He wouldn’t be doing it if he didn’t want things to continue, would he?
Maybe this weekend would be a turning point for us.
Packing a bag didn’t take long, and I was ready long before three. Not that I didn’t trust Derek, but I sent a quick message to Ellen making sure it was okay to take three days off. I didn’t want anything to jeopardize my job.
Her reply put my mind at ease. Yes, of course!! I’m so happy Derek is doing this. Don’t let him work while you’re gone. He needs a break too!
He does, I wrote back. He’s too hard on himself.