Page 37 of Keep

Chad handed him a condom and produced a few extra packets from his own pocket—which meant Chad had also come prepared, which meant Chad had also been hoping, and Hank’s chest did something it had no business doing this early.

“Put this on.”

Hank’s fingers trembled as he rolled the condom down. It had been years—he and Shelby had stopped using them after they’d decided against children—and the sensation was unfamiliar. Clinical. Then Chad squeezed lube onto his covered length, and clinical became irrelevant.

“Work me open,” Chad said, settling onto all fours. “One finger first. Then more when I tell you.”

Hank positioned himself behind Chad and took a moment to simply look. The line of his spine. The lean muscle of his back.

He pressed one slicked finger forward and felt Chad’s body give around it. Chad made a small sound—breath, not distress—and rocked back.

“Good. Move it.”

Hank did. Carefully. Methodically. After a minute, he added a second finger, watching Chad’s face in profile.

“More.”

A third. Chad took it and sighed.

“I need you now. In me.”

“Yes,” Hank said. He withdrew his fingers, added more lube—too much, probably, but the alternative was worse—and positioned himself. Touched Chad with the head of his cock. Circled once. His heart was hammering so hard he could hear it in his wrists.

He pressed forward.

“Mph.” Chad’s shoulder blades drew together.

Hank froze. “Are you okay? I can stop. I will absolutely⁠—”

“Don’t stop.” Chad’s voice was tight but sure. “You’re thick, Hank. It’s been a while for me, too. Just—give me a second.”

Hank held still while Chad rocked forward, then back, taking more with each motion. Hank caught the rhythm and matched it, letting Chad’s body set the pace.

“That’s good,” Chad breathed. “That’s really good. I think I needed this as much as you did.”

“Yeah?” Hank’s voice came out strangled. “I’m glad it’s—that I’m—” Working. Adequate. Not a complete disaster. “I’m glad.”

“I’m going to count to three,” Chad said. “On three, go all the way.”

“You’re sure?”

“Completely.”

“Okay.” Hank braced. His thighs were trembling. “I’m ready.”

“One.” Chad inhaled. “Two.” Exhaled. “Three.”

Hank pressed forward as Chad drove back, and he was buried to the hilt, surrounded by tight heat, and every thought he’d ever had vacated his skull like staffers fleeing a fire drill.

A sound left him. He didn’t recognize it.

“Now move,” Chad said.

Something older than thought took over. Hank began—tentative, testing angles, learning the rhythm. Then faster. Harder. His hands gripped Chad’s hips and pulled him back to meet each thrust, and the sound of their bodies connecting filled the room, drowning out whatever the Google Home was playing.

“Giddyup!” Hank hollered.

The word launched itself from somewhere deep in rural Georgia and cleared his teeth before his brain could intervene. He had just said giddyup during sex.