Page 107 of My Unfinished Heart

I nod, kissing up his chest to connect with his mouth again. The need to be inside him escalates significantly with that particular kiss. There are things I want to know, too. Things I think I should know. Questions I have, but I’m falling too fast to catch myself.

“I take it you have appropriately sized condoms?”

I laugh. I actually forgot that part about that night. “Yeah. And I take it you have a valid ID?”

He laughs, too. “Fuck off. You try having a once in a lifetime opportunity when you’re seventeen and then come and tell me you were all fucking ethical about pursuing it.”

“You know, I hated myself for a long time after that, but I never could manage to hate you.”

“I tried to hate you, too,” he says quietly.

That hurts, even if it’s totally understandable. I reach for my nightstand, thinking maybe it’s better if we just shut the fuck up and get back together already.

He grabs my arm, stopping me mid-reach. I look down at his precious face.

“Archer,” he softly says, “The other three meant nothing. There’s never been anyone in the world for me but you.”

I kiss him so hard, I’m in danger of bruising our mouths. Flipping him over, I say, “I assume since you asked about the condoms, you want this like last time?”

He nods, neck arching to connect his mouth with mine. “You inside me? Yes. Fuck yes. If that’s okay.”

“I will do fucking anything for you, but that’s like—you never need to worry about where I want to be.”

His arm wraps around my neck at the same time his leg locks on my hip. He smashes us together with another brutal kiss. I’m panting when I pull away, my mouth wet and aching, my eyes glazed. Okay, yeah, he’s different, but again, I never needed him to be innocent. I only ever needed him to be himself. Whoever he is, I want to know him—intimately.

We’re still on my side of the bed, so I’m close enough to the nightstand to get what I need. Sitting back on my heels, I stare down at him as he stares at my hand rolling on the condom. He picks up the lube. When I hold out my hand, he gives me a quarter-sized squirt of it before tossing it aside and lifting his legs.

I stare hungrily at his open hole, hairless, pink, and just as perfect as the rest of him. “Is this too fast?” I wonder out loud.

“I’ve been up since five a.m. It’s not too fast.”

I know exactly what he means. Waiting until four o’clock to see him was one of the worst plans I’ve ever made. Yeah, I had time to clean, but damn. That was all day.

“Also,” he adds. “We’re going on four years. If you thought I was sick of waiting before…”

I nod, eyes on his. “I hear you.”

I stroke my cock, making sure it’s slick, before I press two fingers to his rim. He licks his lips and nudges his ass toward me. “I’m ready. Just fuck me.”

I slide my fingers inside, meeting very little resistance. He’s hot, and a rush of desire hits me so powerfully, I shudder. His brows draw together as his eyes close.

“Mm…fuck,” he whispers.

My gaze skims from his face to those nipple rings, his stiff dick and smooth balls, down to where my fingers probe in and out of him, slick and noisy. My cock thumps upward, and I feel the ache of it in my spine. It makes me want to curl into him, bury myself inside him, lose everything all over again.

“I can’t wait,” I whisper, my fingers already out, my hands braced on the pillow supporting his head.

He takes hold of me, notching me in place with a lift of his hips and a tug on my dick. This is the only ass I’ve ever fucked. I haven’t wanted another one, and as I slide back inside it and Tristan—Tristan—groans, I understand why I never bothered with anyone else.

Because this is special. He’s so fucking special, and there’s never been anyone else I’ve wanted this much. This way. Never been anyone I truly wanted to be with at all until he came along. I admit, I’ve spent a lot of time wondering why that is. Like what the fuck is so great about this one guy? But in this moment? Now? I don’t question it.

It has nothing to do with his ass being amazing. How the fuck would I know if it’s any different than anyone else’s? It’s the way I feel when I’m inside him. Welcome. Connected. Whole.

We quickly rearrange to kiss. I have a hand behind his back, lifting him in some impossible way to keep his mouth attached to mine as I thrust and thrust. He’s flexible, and thank God, because I need his mouth more than anything. I need his breath and his sounds and the soft words he whispers. “Yes. Archer. Please. More.”

I move, and he clenches, over and over again, and it might be fast, it might be way too vigorous, but he comes after only a few heated minutes, and then I do, too, refusing to deny myself this one thing. This dream I’ve had of being with him again. Feeling like this again. Basking in his beautiful light. Again.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”