Page 51 of The Allure of Ruins

I didn’t sink over him, instead I moved to the right a bit so my weight wouldn’t put any pressure on his stitches. Then I bent and kissed him, his lips parting for my tongue that reacquainted quickly with his.

“You taste so good,” he groaned as I wrapped my hand around his slowly thickening length. “What the fuck?”

“What?” I teased him, my mouth on his throat for a moment before moving to his jaw. I had always wanted to kiss the scar there and then return to his mouth.

“I…” He gasped, taking my face in his hands. “What is this?”

“Five years of foreplay?”

His breath was warm as it ghosted over my face, and I took that moment to stroke him, watching his eyes flutter closed, hearing the low, ragged moan.

“Do you want me?” I asked softly.

It took a moment, like it was difficult, but finally, his eyes drifted open.

“I mean, before, I wanted that,” I told him, “but if you’re not ready to⁠—”

“Of course I’m ready to,” he growled. “Just your hands on me—I come home after being with you all day, and you’re all I can think about, and I wish I could be brave and say what I want…”

“What do you want?”

“I want not to hurt you, or scare you, or⁠—”

“You won’t scare me because you’re you, and you’re not going to hurt me. You’re going to have to take it easy because it’s been a while, but⁠—”

“We could— I mean, you could—” He took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Fuck this, I’m a lawyer. Words are kind of my thing.”

“They are, yes,” I soothed him.

“Listen, I will gladly roll over and let you have my⁠—”

I kissed him long and hard, and when I couldn’t breathe a moment longer, I lifted up so I could gulp a bit of air.

“I hate you.”

Not what I was expecting, but I couldn’t stop smiling, as I suspected he meant the exact opposite. It seemed likely that in all the years I’d become completely and utterly attached to him, that he had been doing the same. I had missed that completely. “Why exactly do you hate me?”

“You’re just walking around our office, being able to kiss like that, and…” He gestured at me, his face flushing before he turned his head away.

“And?” I goaded him.

“You know,” he said, still not looking at me.

“Words, Counselor?”

He was scowling when he rolled his head back, meeting my gaze. “Suck cock like that!” he yelled at me. “I had no idea that—you’re, like, an artist.”

“A cock artist,” I said, smiling wide before kissing the side of his neck.

“You are, damn, and I’m so happy you feel safe with me and trust me, and I know it took all this time and work and everything else for you to be able to⁠—”

“You’re rambling,” I informed him. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m telling you, I want to be kissed all the time now, and I want you to suck my cock all the time, and I really want you to take me inside your body, and I will be so gentle and so careful and⁠—”

“But that’s not how I want it,” I told him, languorously stroking his cock. “I want you to hold me down and have me because I love bottoming, and I know we’re gonna be amazing together, and I need to reclaim that piece I lost. I need you to let me ride you and take my pleasure from your body to let my heart and soul see I’m different now. Not all the way healed, but you’re going to help me, aren’t you? In and out of bed?”

“Yes,” he croaked out, his eyes filling fast. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to be used in any way you want.”