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“Yeah, not my thing. Like at all.”

It seemed that Dalton had his mind set, and for some reason, it was set on me. I turned and leaned in, our hands still united, our legs tangled on the couch.

“I seem to remember us sowing some pretty wild oats down in the bookstore last year.”

I leaned in and kissed him after I said it, hoping my lips could convey words I still didn’t think I could formulate.

Leaning into each other, our hands resting in my lap, we kissed like that for several minutes until he pulled off with a smile. “Did we really have sex on a painter’s tarp in the middle of the floor?”

“And in the bathroom, and against the wall,” I reminded him.

“And in that bedroom.” He kissed me again. Then he looked at me, really looked at me.

“Don’t send me away again, Turner. It may be tricky for us because of Brett, or my dad, or whatever, but please don’t turn me away again. Please trust that I am right where I want to be, and if it’s where you want to be, too, then we’ll figure out how to make it work.”

I looked right back at him, really looked into those green eyes, which were so clearly genuine, and at that nervous smile that had laid it all out on the line for what he wanted. His smile faltered, and he looked down before he said, “Unless it’s not where you want to be.”

The ocean crashed as I rose up on my knees, my hands in his, guiding him until we were kneeling face-to-face on that couch. I pulled him to me and kissed him again and again and again before I finally pulled back just far enough to say, “This is exactly where I want to be.”

Chapter Thirteen

Dalton Still at Twenty-Two

Had we solved all the world’s problems that evening? We most definitely had not. I still had things to say, points to make, mostly about how insignificant my brother and his feelings were, and that my dad and his company were a bunch of assholes. But did I feel like we were on the right track? It felt like the start, the real start I’d sought winter break after winter break.

With Turner holding me tight and kissing me like he’d die if he stopped, it sure felt like we were finally aligned. He’d embraced me like that the year before, too, and the emotions all came flooding back in that moment. Everything felt so right, so perfect. Then he pulled back, heaving for breath just like I was, and he tilted his forehead to mine.

“Fuck me, please.” He’d spoken softly, but our faces were so close.

I jumped up so fast, offering my hand, but he leaned back on his haunches and shook his head no, and I was confused because that seemed like pretty straightforward communication even if that wasn’t something the two of us had mastered.

“I have this fantasy …”

I stood before him, intrigued, my hand still extended as I encouraged, “Go on.”

“Not in there,” he said, playfully slapping my hand. He stood and walked me backward until my back hit the window.

“No one can see us up here, except the whales,” he explained. I refrained from letting him know the minimal likelihood of a whale being in the vicinity of the New Jersey coastline during the winter solstice.

We kissed, my back to the cold glass. Not urgently but slowly, softly. When we began to gently tug and pull each other’s shirts off, barely able to stop kissing or touching to get it done, it was one of the hottest experiences of my life.

He may have been right about the window being part of it. I knelt in front of him, guiding his hand to the wall for balance, peeling off his shoes and socks before unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans and sliding them off along with his underwear. His cock sprang free like it couldn’t wait to see me, rigid and hard and sticking straight out.

“I’ve missed this,” I said before I could stop myself.

Turner’s, “Me, too,” kept me from being embarrassed. I leaned in, remembering when Turner had confessed that he liked to be licked. It was a moment I had recalled many times over the past year, and it always sent an inappropriate little surge through me. I couldn’t believe I was there, in Turner’s apartment, on my knees for him again.

I wrapped my hands around his thighs and licked a strip from the base to the head of his cock from underneath. I pulled back to watch a bead of precum form and found myself bringing my fingertip to his tip, gently playing with the liquid there. A beautiful hiss above me drew my focus. I looked up as I licked him once more, tasting that liquid and working my way back to his base, never losing eye contact. I dragged my tongue playfully back up once more before taking him in my mouth, feeling the weight of him on my tongue as I slowly sucked him in and out. I could feel tension in his legs, like he was holding back, so I moved my hands slowly, and the two of us rocked like that for a few minutes.

As I continued to bob on Turner’s cock, I allowed one of my hands to work its way up to his backside, slowly allowing one finger to find its way to his hole.

I hummed around his cock and could taste the spurt of precum that elicited.

I left my finger there, allowing it to gently pulse to the rhythm we had set, holding his other leg tight, hoping he knew that I meant to never let go.

His breath got short and huffy, and I began to pick up my pace, but …

“No, no, no!”