“I’m ready.”
He didn’t need to say more. I started to move. Long, deep thrusts that rocked the bed, that made the headboard tap againstthe wall in a steady rhythm. He moaned with each one, his legs tightening around me, his heels digging into my lower back.
I watched him. His face was a study in pleasure—brows drawn, lips parted, eyes half-lidded but fixed on me. I braced one hand beside his head, the other slipped between us and wrapped around his cock, stroking in time with my thrusts.
"Oh—fuck—Thane—" His voice broke on my name.
"That's it," I said, thrusting harder, deeper. "Come for me, baby. Let go for me."
He did, with a cry that was half sob, his body clenching around me, his release spilling over my fingers and his stomach. The sight of him undone, the feel of him pulsing around my cock, sent me over the edge. I buried myself as deep as I could and came with a groan, my forehead pressed to his, my breath ragged against his lips.
We stayed like that, tangled and slick, for a long moment. My body was heavy, his was trembling. I kissed his temple, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.
"Good?" I asked, echoing his earlier question.
He laughed weakly. "Good."
I pulled out carefully, disposed of the condom, and came back with a damp cloth to clean him off. He was already half-asleep, limbs heavy, eyes fluttering. I pulled the covers over us, and he rolled into my chest without hesitation, his nose pressing into the hollow of my throat.
I smoothed his hair back. "Rest now, baby. You were so good. So perfect for me."
"Mmph." His hand found my side, palm flat against my ribs.
Within minutes, his breathing evened out, soft and steady. He was out. Warm and trusting and completely surrendered in my arms.
I watched him sleep, watched the city lights play across his face. My phone buzzed. I ignored it. I stayed awake for a longtime, tracing the shape of his ear, feeling the weight of him against me. I just wanted to hold him a little longer.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand again. I ignored it. Then again and again.
I finally reached over, squinting at the screen.
Three texts from Michael, all sent within the last twenty minutes.
Michael: Thane, call me.
Michael: Communications wants one final review of the statement at 7.
Michael: Please tell me you're awake.
7 AM. That gave me about two hours before the machine started moving.
I set the phone face down and looked back at Kieran. His face was slack with sleep. Young. Unlined except for that small scar on his chin. His lips were slightly parted, and I could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw—soft, barely there, like he had to work to grow it. His hand was still curled around my bicep, possessive even in unconsciousness.
I thought about what he'd told me at the bar. He earned a full ride to college, and he was studying early childhood education because, in his words, “They deserve people who show up for them.”
I'd wanted to tell him he already was. That I could see it in the way he talked about the children he nannied for. The way his whole face softened when he described teaching them to tie their shoes, to count to ten, to believe they were worth something.
But I'd held back because we’d only known each other a short while, and some truths felt too intimate to offer a stranger.
I slid my hand into his hair, careful not to wake him. His strands were soft, slightly tangled, and I smoothed them backfrom his forehead. He murmured something, nuzzling into my chest, and my heart cracked open a little more.
"Kieran," I whispered. Just his name. Just to feel it on my tongue.
He didn't stir.
I thought about what would happen when he woke up. Would he remember the way I'd held him? Would he see the news and realize who he'd let inside him?
I didn't know. I couldn't know.
