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I lifted to my hands and knees, arching my back for him.

“You have to stop,” he warned me, hands on my hips, holding tight. “You’re way too much of a temptation, and I want to go slow and show you I’m serious in this, and I don’t care what anyone⁠—”

“Tell me later. Fuck me now.”

Instantly, he was reaching for the lube he’d dropped on the bed, and then his hands were on my ass, grabbing me roughly, spreading my cheeks before his cock pressed against me.

“Duncan,” he said, his voice low and husky, “I have things to say after.”

“Yes. After.”

His breath caught, and it was nice that I was doing that to him. Then the push, the breach, left me the same way, holding, not moving, frozen there on the bed as I felt him, thick and hot, inside me.

Sex wasn’t supposed to fix anything. It was an act, a primal one. There was no emotion tied to it, and I had always been able to separate the act from any feelings.

“Fuck,” Aaron moaned as he pulled out, only to drive back in, harder, faster, the lube allowing for the slide, but not lessening the pressure, the clenching of my muscles around him.

His hips against my ass, his thighs pressed to mine, his hands digging into my shoulders as he held on—all of it was so needed and craved. I knew whatever he wanted or asked, I would do.

“You should see your hole stretch around my cock, baby,” he groaned. “It’s so beautiful.”

The words, his words. No one else’s had ever mattered in bed, but his flushed me with prickly heat as my balls tightened, the first throb of orgasm rippling through me.

“Duncan,” he uttered.

His hand slid between my shoulder blades, pressing me down, his cock grazing my prostate with the new angle as I fisted my hands in the blankets. The pounding was endless; he pistoned relentlessly, and I could hear him panting, rough and hoarse.

“I don’t want anyone else to see you like this,” he almost snarled. “Just thinking about it … swear!”

I had to think? He wanted me to form words and make promises?

“It would kill me,” he let slip, taking hold of my cock at the same instant.

It was too soon, too fast, but I had been dreaming about him, missing him, wanting him, and trying to be rational about moving on and practical about the reasons. But always, in my heart, there’d been hope, because I couldn’t let go of Aaron Sutter. And now he was there, in my bed, with me, saying the best things, making promises because he felt all the same things I did. He was my reward for living and not giving up and holding out for what was real.

Heart, head, and body were all aligned––finally––at once.

He annihilated me.

I spurted into his hand seconds later, my body giving me no warning, just the rush of euphoria, the release, my world washing white for a moment, the pleasure too much not to shout his name through.

I came apart.

“Duncan!” he cried out and then emptied inside me.

My muscles spasmed around him as he kept up his hammering rhythm, not stopping, wanting it to last.

“Here,” I soothed him, dropping down onto the bed, carrying him with me, his weight driving him deep again.

He didn’t move, just stayed there, buried to the balls in my ass, covering me, and I was still under him, sated, lying in my own spend.

“You’re all used up,” he said before he kissed my shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“I’m crushing you.”

I snorted out a laugh. “I’m bigger than you. No way you’re crushing me.”