He came to me.
Steven was here.
I had been tossing and turning, unable to make myself fall asleep, even though I was tired. I was ready to give up and go back to Steven’s place, just so I could rest. In a short amount of time, I’d become dependent on him, his company, his body, his voice—to the point that being alone was intolerable.
But I hadn’t wanted to make him uncomfortable. I’d been a mess the past few days. Angry, anxious, morose. I saw the looks he’d given me, the questions in his eyes and I knew it wasn’t fair that I subjected him to it. I could have confided in him—knew that if I did, he’d make me feel better about the situation. But I didn’t want to ever hurt him, and I was sure that telling him about my conversation with my sister would be hurtful. I needed to shoulder this alone.
I also needed to get over it. That’s what I’d been telling myself for the past two days. On Tuesday, I’d hear Steven tell a joke or say something sweet and instead of feeling happy or laughing, I’d think, they don’t deserve to know him, and I’d feel worse.
I thought being alone would help me get some clarity about this. In a way it had. It had become crystal clear that I hated being away from Steven. Clear that I was in love with him, and clear that if I wanted to get any sleep, I needed his body next to mine.
But no clarity regarding Kari. It didn’t matter, though, because he was here.
Naked.
In my bed.
Screw Kari and screw her wedding.
Only Steven mattered.
“Are you going to get in here, DKM, or are you going to stare at me all night?” he asked with a cheeky smirk. He was also squinting, trying to see me without his glasses, which he’d abandoned next to the lamp. I knew I was such a freak for thinking his blindness was cute.
I’d been standing at the threshold of my bedroom watching him settle his beautifully naked self into my rumpled bed, and my chest constricted.
He was mine.
He was perfect and amazing, and I took a moment to recognize that I was staring at the rest of my life—took a long, reverential look at the man who owned me.
When I didn’t move, Steven’s smirk slipped, his gaze filling with unease.
“I just wanted to burn the sight of you and this moment into my brain,” I said, my voice cracking, betraying my emotion. I cleared my throat and walked to the bed.
I stared down at him and rubbed my thumb along the coarse stubble of his jaw. “And I want to be as perfect for you as you are for me,” I whispered.
Steven’s brow furrowed and he rose up on his knees to meet on my level. “God, Ken, you are. You don’t even have to try.”
We kissed roughly for long moments until Steven pulled me down onto the bed. He spread his legs and I settled my hips against his. He yanked my shirt over my head, and I groaned over the heated skin-to-skin contact. I loved his heat. He was like a furnace, soothing all the frozen, aching bits of me.
I looked into his eyes as I pumped my hips, rubbing my flannel-covered cock against his. I loved watching his expressive face change with each new sensation. Pausing briefly, I freed myself to allow the slide to resume with more skin contact.
Steven seemed to be onboard with more skin, because he pushed my pants down my ass and massaged firmly. His hands felt so good, so sure and strong. I needed more, so I made quick work of removing the pants and socks the rest of the way and brought myself back to his warm hardness.
Propping up on one forearm, I leaned so that we could see our cocks sliding together, so that I could stroke and squeeze. This went on for a few moments, until Steven, shaking and sweating, demanded I stop.
“I’m about to come, Babe, but not yet, not yet, not yet.”
At his words, I scrambled to the nightstand to grab a condom and lube. Steven chuckled at my haste. “Your enthusiasm makes me feel ten feet tall.”
I rubbed my hands along the outside of his hairy thighs and said, “I feel ten feet tall whenever you look at me.”
“God, Ken.” He said this like my earnestness was painful. Maybe it was, but I warned him. This is what he was getting. I didn’t think I could give less than all anymore.
I reached for him, fondled and stroked for several minutes before I brought my lubricated fingers to his entry. We’d done this before. I knew how much pressure he liked, how many fingers he could take, knew just where to rub and how fast to rub to get him off. But this time, I wasn’t going to finger him into oblivion—I was preparing him for me, for us to ride into oblivion together.
I wanted to take it slow, use more care and draw it out, so I slid to my belly and laved his balls and the underside of his dick slowly as I pumped one finger in and out. I kissed the crease of his leg, the inside of his thigh, I lifted his sac and rubbed my tongue firmly along his taint until he was trying to fuck himself with my finger.
“More, please, God. Give me more,” he panted.
I slowly added another finger and gave him a deep thrust. He moaned long and loud, grasping his cock in his hand.
“Yeah, Ken, that’s it, that’s what I need.” He pulled on himself and watched me through hooded, pleasure-drunk eyes.
“Is it?” I asked gruffly. “Or do you want something else?”
“I want all of you,” he choked out as I sped up my thrusting.
With a hiss, he let go of his dick and demanded, “Now. Fuck me now, no more playing.”
I separated from him slowly and made short work of the condom, lubricating myself generously. I wanted this to feel incredible for him.
Steven spread his legs wide and raised them a bit to give me better access. It was another view, another scene I wanted burned into my memory—more lurid, filthy, and desperate than the last, but just as significant. His hair was mussed, his eyes were full of tenderness, his pale, hair-dusted skin aglow in the lamplight, and his most private and vulnerable parts laid out on display, offered to me so trustingly, so eagerly. He was everything I wanted.
I poised my head at his opening and gave a slow push, testing the give of his muscles. There was little resistance and as I continued, I watched Steven’s face morph from intense concentration to rapturous pleasure.
I tried to stay mindful of him and his reactions, but as soon as I saw his bliss, I let myself get caught up in the act. He was so tight and the slide of my body into his was more delicious than I ever thought it could be. Our bodies moved instinctively, it seemed like both a beautiful dance and a rude, inelegant race.
Breathing roughly, we held gazes for long moments, communicating wordlessly all the lust and reverence we had for the act and each other.
Long before I wanted, I felt my pleasure spiking—my hips began to pound wildly. I finally spoke, huffing, “Steven, I need you to come, I want to see it all over you.”
He reached down to pull furiously on himself. “I’m there, I’m there, I’m there,” he chanted as his neck arched and his seed spurted.
The sight of him quaking with completion, the feel of his ass clenching me impossibly tight, tore my own hovering ejaculation from me.
It took long moments for us to come back to reality. I felt like my bones were liquid, like my heart was galloping from my chest. Steven’s grip on my shoulder relaxed, as did his legs. I felt him become soft and slack under me as he recovered.
Once I cleaned up and disposed of the condom, I rejoined him in my bed. His sleepiness reminded me of my own exhaustion. The orgasm combined with several nights of poor sleep made me tired. I knew I’d sleep well tonight, because I was next to Steven. My lover, my furnace, my comfort.
My everything.