Page 129 of My Unfinished Heart

Reassured once I see his fist tighten around his cock, I bury my face against his neck and move through all his clenching friction. I’m too rough—I know it has to be too rough, but he doesn’t show any strain. He takes me, stroking himself in time with my thrusts.

“Please come,” I whisper, begging him and the universe for this to be okay. For this not to ruin everything. For what he said to be real. “Please, angel. Please come for me.”

The muscles surrounding my cock ripple as his body gives a sudden jolt. “Mmphh…I’m coming for you,” he assures me with a choked off gasp. “I’m coming only for you.”

With one hand, I let go of his ass and feel the proof for myself. The slick of cum on his abdomen and hand send a powerful wave of relief through me. I relax enough to finally feel how close to the edge I am. My instinct is to draw back from it. Kiss him, slow down, cool it off just enough, but I’m raw inside him for the first time, feeling every ridge and calorie of heat encasing my cock, and I don’t want to stop. I want all these feelings out of me.

I come hard, shuddering as he holds onto my waist and takes every drop my dick spills inside him. When I finally go still, he pulls himself closer, wrapping both arms around me and whispering urgently in my ear, “Never push me away again. Promise me. Not one more day apart.”

“I promise you.”

Tonight, I can’t imagine any force in heaven or on earth that could separate us.

But what is life if not a constant shifting between suffering and joy?

The truth is all good things…

All good things…

End.

TWENTY-TWO

Nocturne

Noise from the kitchen wakes me, and the scent of Tristan lingers on my bed. I wonder what he’s looking for this time as I roll toward his pillow. The mattress is cold, and I blink a few times to confirm what’s slowly coming back to me. He left.

We spent all of Sunday together, reaffirming whatever feelings we have for each other, and also doing more mundane things like going to HEB and making chicken salad.

Then he went home. I walked him to his car and kissed him goodbye.

Not that I’d be upset if he’s back, but I’d rather he were here, not out there. Without turning on a lamp, I pull on some underwear and walk down the hall. “Hey,” I say quietly, not wanting to startle him. “What’s going on?”

It’s dark, but no one’s in the kitchen.

“Over here.”

My head turns sharply in the direction of my brother’s voice. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, facing me, a glass of water in front of him, his hands beneath the table. The moon is bright enough to illuminate the edges of his features. His freshly shaved head. The gleam in his dark eyes. The oversized black clothes.

“How did you get in here?” I ask, before I’ve caught my breath.

“Key.”

I approach the table and speak without thinking. Without weighing the consequences of my words. “This isn't okay—coming into my house in the middle of the night. You shouldn't be here.”

“You mean I don't belong here. I think you're probably right about that.”

“Is Tristan—?” I stop myself too late, but Connor just smiles like he knows. Because of course he knows.

“I wanted to see you,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

I try to remember who I’m dealing with. Who Tristan says he’s been dealing with. “Are you okay?”

A soft laugh, and he runs a hand over his shaved head. His front teeth give off an eerie gleam in the moonlight. The sight of him, as it always does, puts a pinch in the muscle of my heart. “Have a seat.”

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Three. Why? Were you sleeping?”