“Spread,” I said.
He did, and the movement exposed everything—balls pulled tight, cock hanging down, ass already slick from the last round.
I stepped back, just enough to get a good look, and let the satisfaction roll through me.
“You like this,” I said, not a question.
He nodded, cheek pressed to the wall.
I reached down and slid two inside him without warning. He gasped, whole body tensing, but he took it, pushing back onto my hand.
I worked him, slow at first, then faster, twisting my fingers, scissoring them to open him wider. He moaned, the sound echoing off the drywall, and I could see his arms shaking with the effort to hold himself up.
“Fuck,” he said, voice gone raw.
I pulled my fingers out and then lined up, the head of my cock pressing against his hole. I pushed in, slow at first, just the tip, then farther, then all the way. The stretch was perfect, tight and hot, and I held him there, both hands gripping his hips, fingers digging in so hard I knew he’d feel it for days.
He made a noise, a high, desperate sound, and I started to move, pulling out and slamming back in, each thrust rougher than the last. He took it, every inch, every impact. He pushedback against me, meeting my rhythm, his cock bobbing with every movement.
I reached around and grabbed it, jerking him in time with my hips. He moaned again, louder, and the sound of it went straight to my spine.
I fucked him like I meant it, like I could drive away every bad thing that had ever happened to him with just the force of my body. The wall shook with the impact, and the slap of skin on skin was loud enough I worried for a second about the baby, but then I remembered the monitor was set to mute, and Emilio could sleep through a tornado if he wanted to.
I angled my thrusts, aiming for the spot that made him go weak, and when I found it, he shouted, a sound so sharp and honest it made my heart stop for a beat.
I kept going, not letting up, fucking him through it, and he started to come, the first jet hitting the wall, the rest splattering down his thigh and my hand.
His ass clenched around me, and the sensation was too much. I grabbed him tighter, slammed in as deep as I could, and came, hips stuttering, cock buried to the root.
I stayed like that, holding him up, both of us panting and slick with sweat and come.
After a minute, I eased out, and he nearly collapsed, but I caught him, lifted him, and carried him back to the bed. I dropped him onto the mattress, then flopped down beside him, the two of us a mess of limbs and heat and the fading echo of something neither of us would ever have words for.
We lay there, side by side, breathing in sync.
After a long while, I said, “Stay.”
He turned his head, looked at me, and smiled.
“I already told you. I’m not going anywhere.”
Down the hall, the world kept spinning. But in that room, in that moment, it was enough.
And this time, when the silence settled in, I let it.
Chapter Seventeen
~ Liam ~
Emilio was a furnace against my side, radiating more heat than seemed physically possible for a person who weighed about as much as a supermarket turkey.
I had him slotted on my hip the way Hooper had shown me, arm locked under the crook of his knees, one palm bracing the small of his back. The position left my right hand free for whatever else needed doing, which at the moment was nothing—except watching out the kitchen window as Hooper crossed the yard in his shirtsleeves, the wind chewing his jacket open and making no impression whatsoever on the man inside.
The morning had the kind of blue-white sharpness that only happened after a storm, when the world was new and flat and even the air felt like it could split your teeth.
I watched Hooper crunch through the snowdrift by the barn, boots vanishing up to the shank every third step, until he reached the far side and disappeared behind the equipment shed.
A few seconds later, a single, unmistakable clang—pipe hitting pipe, or maybe a wrench bounced off a tractor housing—cracked through the air and faded into the distance.
