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Using his free hand, Chris spooned up some dessert and held it up to me. I took the small bite, and yeah, it was one of my best ones. Probably because of how much love I’d poured into it.
“Thank you for telling me.” Then, he slid out from his seat, and I had the horrible thought he was leaving, until he stood and took my hand. I scrambled up, slipped my hand into his, and he pulled me into a hug. “Thank you for telling me,” he repeated, and then, he leaned on the table, captured my face in his strong hands and held me still. “I’m here for you,” he promised.
And I believed him.
When we kissed this time, me plastered against him, but cautious of allowing myself to rest on him fully, he cursed into the kiss. “Privacy,” he said.
I got with the plan straight away, grabbing his hand, thinking on my feet, and finally heading into the pantry. It was cooler in here, but with the door closed, it would be only the two of us. I had a second thought.
“Stay here,” I instructed, then headed back out to pick up a stool at the counter and drag it in there, setting it down as far from any actual food as I could, then shut the door, and encouraged him back until his ass rested on the stool. I didn’t know if I’d done the right thing, but it didn’t matter because he wanted kisses, I needed them, and so that is what we did.
The close quarters felt intimate, a world away from everything else, and as I settled to stand between his legs again, we broke the kiss and our eyes locked. There was a silent understanding, a shared anticipation. I wanted him so much.
I placed my hands on his upper thighs, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his jeans. I leaned in, and as our lips met, a rush of emotions flooded me. This kiss differed from any I had shared with Briggs. With him, things had always felt rushed, almost transactional, but with Chris, there was a tender unhurried exploration, and it was pure sex.
Our kiss deepened, and I could feel Chris responding, tugging me close. There was a vulnerability in being this close to someone again, and it scared me and thrilled me in equal amounts. His touch slid down my back, resting on my ass, pulling me closer, holding me, and I could feel how hard he was, and god, I wanted him so bad.
“When I said somewhere private, I didn’t mean the pantry.” Chris chuckled against my lips, but that chuckle turned to a groan when I reached between us for the button of his jeans.
“Can I?” I asked, even as I slipped the button open.
“Please.”
I unzipped him, and he let go of me just long enough to lift his shirt out of the way, tucking it up and holding it with one hand so I could get a better look. I wished we were in bed, in a room with bright light, where I could stare at my heart’s content, and catalogue every bit of him, but for now it was touch alone as we kissed, andfinally,I had my hand on him.
He pulled back from our embrace and cursed under his breath. “Me,” he whispered, and desperately shoved my shirt and reached for the button on my loose slacks, pushing his hand inside and circling my cock. “This.” It seemed as if he could only utter words of one syllable.
I’d done that to him.
It was powerful.
It was new.
We pressed and touched, moved our hands in gentle movements, the erotic feeling of his fingers on me and the rush of my orgasm slowed as we kissed, exchanging nothing more than air between us. He came first, stiffening, kissing desperate and deep as I followed soon after, the slide of his cum on my hand, and all of the emotions blocked inside me rushed out in a flood.
Tears pricked my eyes as I burrowed my face into his neck, and he grasped me so hard I had nowhere to go.
“This is going to mean something,” he murmured. “I could fall in love with you as easily as breathing,” he added.
I burrowed deeper.
At last, we made it out, all stupid giggles and stolen kisses, to finish the crème brûlée, and the wine, talking about everything and nothing, but I felt lighter than I had in years.
“So.” He sipped at his wine—he’d been drinking most of it. I never wanted to be in a situation where I couldn’t drive if Fox needed me. I set the glass down, tracing the lace pattern on the base. “It’s my turn.”
“Your turn to do what?”
We’d never gotten to the milkshakes, but it was snowing outside and hot drinks seemed a far better idea.
“To be honest with you and tell you about the accident.”
“You don’t have to.” We were already raw from what we’d done in the pantry, not to mention the Briggs situation and chatting about Fox.
“No, it’s like part of the safe sex thing, you know, PrEP, tested, vers, also here’s why I have scars and why part of my leg is missing.” He was joking, but somehow it wasn’t funny, although the whole versatile thing filled me with sudden thoughts of him buried inside me, and my thoughts rampaged into a whole side quest until he started talking.
“Chris—”
“Let me do this in one go?” I nodded and waited. “So, I was in Daniel’s car, with my two best friends, messing about like kids do, and we hit a bridge wrong and crashed into the wall of it. Long story short, I was trapped. There was fire. Micah pulled me out, saved my life, but the surgeons couldn’t save my leg, and they tried to pretty this up, but couldn’t.” He gestured to his face and the scars. It was weird how I’d even forgotten they were there, as if they were only a small part of the whole picture and were inconsequential. “I could go back and get more work, but pretty isn’t worth all the pain and the mess in my head.”
