Page 100 of Burn the Script

“Baby,” he begs.

Right when his squirming crescendos, I spread his ass cheeks and dive in. A symphony of pleasure fills the room, spurring me on while I feast on him, ruin him, rob him of his senses until his body trembles.

He flings an arm out and digs in the nightstand before dropping a packet of lube on the bed. Rising on my knees again, I rip the packet open with my teeth and kiss my way up his spine while coating my dick. He groans, low and deep, as my slick fingers stretch him.

Riding my hand, he jerks his cock at a punishing pace, arching his back even more. “Fuck me. Please, baby. I need it.”

I’ve never seen Miguel this eager, but I relate to the feeling. Need rushes through my veins with the same intensity after waiting over a year to have him like this—in our house, our bed, and my arms, where he belongs.

Withdrawing my fingers, I grip my cock in one hand and his hip in the other. While I push forward, he pushes back. Our moans match in grit and volume, and he curses when I breach his tight hole. I hiss, going still with my teeth clenched as hard as he’s squeezing my dick.

Head lowered, his voice is a distant croak. “I’m good. Don’t stop.”

I thrust, slow and careful at first. But neither of us have the patience to go slow. As our tempo increases, he meets me halfway, giving as good as he takes until he’s taking all of me with his head thrown back and “baby, baby, yes, baby” flowing from his peachy lips.

I’m in awe of his ability to turn something raw into something beautiful. Scraps of fabric become fine clothes. Lines on paper become someone’s home. Sex becomes a profound connection between two people who shouldn’t make sense but complete each other in all the ways that count.

Pulling out, I tap his hip and say, “Turn over, darling.”

Miguel twists and lands on his back, and our mouths seal together when I cover his body and push in again. I devour his whimpers that taste like salt and the sweetest memories ever made.

When we break the kiss, I don’t have to beg for what I want next. He’s already looking into my eyes, his gaze as wet and devoted as my own.

I graze a thumb over his dimple, back and forth, and confess the true meaning of the touch he’s grown used to over the years. “I love you, Miguel. From our first sunrise, I’ve loved you. And I’ll keep loving you, long after our last. My shiny prince.”

He sobs against my mouth, legs locking around my thighs. In the middle of our bed, with all the lights on, we worship each other. Among the grunts and groans and carnal sounds of flesh on flesh, truths are told. Whispers of fate, apology, and forever.

Dropping soft, lingering kisses along his neck and shoulder, I say, “You’re mine. You were made for me.”

“And you for me.” He slides a hand into my hair. “Now remind me who you belong to.”

My stiff arms support Miguel’s legs when I fold his body in half. And I remind him, very thoroughly, that we belong to each other. Always have, always will.

He squeezes my wrists and groans. “Yes. Right there. Fuck yes.”

With each drag of my cock against his prostate, he gasps, head tipped back and face turning red. When I look down at his pretty hole stretched around me, my steady strokes and fragile restraint nearly falter.

Love stings my eyes as they drift up his gorgeous body and find his flushed face again. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

He whimpers, a ragged and strained sound. “Graham, I’m coming.”

Miguel lifts his head, and we watch together as his cum paints his stomach, cock untouched. I move faster, thrusting quick and erratic while chasing down my release. Shoving deep inside him, I find it with a growl in my throat, a strong pulse in my dick, and explosions in my head.

For glorious seconds, I pump Miguel full of my cum, so much that it makes a mess of us and the sheets when I pull out and collapse on top of him. I press my forehead to his shoulder and catch my breath while he lays kisses on my face, wherever his lips can reach.

“I’ve missed this,” he says on a sigh.

“Which part?”

“Us.”

With a quick smooch on his jaw, I fall to my back beside him, mind racing. Tomorrow, we’ll go our separate ways again, because I have business to wrap up in Texas. Our separation will be a week, at most, but it’s a week too long.

“We need another shower,” he says, stopping my brain its tracks.

I turn my head toward his. “And you need to eat.”

“Both can wait.”