AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Then don't. But you're the one turning your cock against you. He and I have the same idea for how this should go."
He nods and slides onto the bed next to me. He takes his time pulling off his t-shirt, kicking off his shoes. Then it's his socks. His jeans.
There's a casual intimacy to it, like he's undressing before bed, like we're old lovers.
I lay on my side. He lies behind me, nuzzling his head into the crook of my neck. His breath sends shivers down my spine.
I bite my tongue to keep from begging.
"Lay with me." He runs his fingertips over my shoulders.
I melt into his touch. Whatever he wants, I want him doing it to me.
His chest is pressed against my back, his crotch against my ass. "My uncle. He had cancer. In his pancreas. I didn't take it well. I ran off. Got into fights. Drank too much. Fucked a bunch of women without exchanging first names." He pulls the comforter over us. "I spun out of control. Worse than I ever had before."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I fucked up, and I wasn't there for him. The guy was dying and I was stewing in self-pity over it. Same problems I'd refused to deal with for years."
He pulls me closer, his palm flat against my stomach. His heartbeat pounds against my back, his breath warms my neck.
There's something missing from his words. Something he isn't saying.
He presses his lips against my cheek. "I know it hurts. I know you miss her. I know it feels like it will never stop hurting. But you need to realize it's not your fault."
"How do you know?"
"'Cause I know." His voice waivers. "Trust me."
"How? Tell me how. I want to trust you, Miles. I really do. Tell me what it is you're hiding and I will."
"I can't."
His lips brush my neck. He drags his fingertips over my hips like he's doodling lyrics on a piece of paper.
My racing heart slows. One by one, my muscles relax. I'm a puddle again, melting into him.
The world disappears. It's nothing but us in this bed, our bodies perfectly tangled.
"You sure you don't want to talk about it?" His voice is soft and sweet. It's like he cares, like he's the sensitive Miles who sings all those songs.
I shake my head.
"You might as well," he says. "Since you're not going to get laid."
I let out a growl.
He laughs. "You'll feel better."
"I'll feel better with your cock inside me."
He groans.
Maybe I can convince him. "That's how I need your help. I don't care how you do it, but I need to stop thinking."
"You need to get this off your chest."
My chest does feel heavy. Maybe he's right. "If I do and I still feel like shit, will you admit I'm right?"
