“I know.”
“Take your shirt off too.”
He took his shirt off and put it on the chair on top of mine. They looked good together. I reached out and put my hand on his chest the way he had put his on mine. He moved us to the bed. I sat on the edge first. He knelt between my knees and put his hands on my thighs, over my jeans, and he waited.
“Pants,” I said.
“Yours or mine.”
“Both. In whatever order makes sense to you.”
He did mine first because mine had a button and a zipper, and he could undo them with one hand without me having to stand. I had not realized I would appreciate that until I appreciated it. Then he stood up and did his own, put them on the chair too, and came back. We were both in our underwear. He was beautiful. Lines and a stomach and a soft trail of dark hair below his navel.
“Tell me you’re with me,” he said.
“I’m with you.”
“Russell.”
“Dane.”
“Pulse?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t checked.”
“Want to?”
“No. I want you.”
He put his hands flat on my chest and pressed me back onto the pillow. His mouth moved to my collarbone. He kissed me there, slowly, then my sternum, and then my stomach. I made a sound, and his hand at my hip stilled.
“Good?”
“Yes. Don’t stop. Yes.”
He didn’t stop.
He took my underwear off, slowly, and waited again. I said yes. He took his off and waited again. I said yes. He covered me, and his weight came down over me. I was… I’d imagined it in the privacy of my own bedroom with Sable on the other side of the door asleep, and the imagining had never been like this. I loved the smell of his neck, the rasp of his stubble against the side of my jaw, his hand under my back lifting me half an inch to settle me lower into his pillow, and his breath was unsteady when I moved my knee up his side.
“Russell.”
“Yes.”
“I have… give me one second… ”
He reached for the drawer of his nightstand, took out lube and a strip of condoms, and put them within reach without making a thing of it.
“Tell me everything,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Tell me to slow down.”
“I will.”
“Tell me to stop.”
“I will.”
