"I’m negative."
"Me too."
For a second, neither of us looked away.
I reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out the bottle of lube. Thane's eyes never left mine as he took it from my hand.
I heard the click of the lube bottle, felt the cool slickness of his fingers pressing against my entrance. He worked me open slowly—first one finger, curling inside me, searching. When he found my prostate, I cried out, my back arching off the mattress.
"There," I gasped. "Right there."
He added a second finger, stretching me, scissoring them apart. I was shaking, clutching the sheets, my breath coming in ragged bursts. He kept his eyes on mine the whole time, watching every twitch, every flutter of my eyelids.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Yes. God, yes."
He removed his fingers and slicked himself, his cock glistening in the dim light. Then he guided the head to my hole and pushed in.
The stretch was sharp and perfect. A burn that melted into pleasure as he sank deeper. I cried out, my hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He went slow, inch by inch, letting me adjust, letting me feel every millimeter of him filling me.
"Fuck, Kier," he groaned. "You feel—fuck."
I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him deeper, until his hips were flush against mine and I could feel him everywhere—inside me, around me, consuming me.
"Move," I said. "Please."
He did. The first few thrusts were slow, deep, deliberate. He dragged against that spot inside me with every stroke, and pleasure rolled through me in powerful waves. I clung to him, my nails raking down his back, and he groaned and picked up the pace. The bed creaked beneath us. His breath came in ragged gasps against my throat. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room—wet, rhythmic, primal.
I was lost in the rhythm of him: the heat of his mouth on mine, the way he said my name like a prayer, the way his cock hit that perfect angle on every inward thrust.
"Harder," I begged.
He gave me exactly what I had asked for. He drove into me with a force that pushed me up the mattress, and I hooked my ankles behind his back to take him deeper. His hand found my cock again, stroking in time with his thrusts, and I was climbing, climbing, the pleasure building into something unbearable.
"Close," I gasped. "Thane, I'm?—"
"Come for me."
His thumb circled the head of my cock, and that was all it took. I shattered beneath him, crying out his name as I spilled over his fingers—hot, thick, pulsing.
My body clenched around him in waves, and I felt the exact moment he lost control.
He drove into me one last time, buried to the hilt, and came with a desperate groan. I felt his release flooding me. Warm, endless, his cock twitching inside me as he emptied himself. His whole body shuddered against mine, and I held him through it, my hands stroking his back, my lips pressing kisses to his temple.
We stayed tangled together as the aftershocks faded. His weight pressed me into the mattress, and I didn't want him to move. I didn't want this moment to end. The sweat cooling on our skin, the mingled scent of sex and warmth, the steady thud of his heartbeat against my chest—I memorized every detail.
Eventually, he pulled out and rolled onto his side, gathering me against his chest. His hand traced lazy patterns on my hip, fingers skating over the curve of my ass.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
"I meant what I said. Every word."
I pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "I know." I closed my eyes and let myself believe it. His arm tightened around me.
"Good."
