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Wentworth pulled off him, breath cool over his length. “You’re so tight.”
“It’s been a long time,” Elliot said. “I’m practically a virgin.”
It was said lightly, but again their eyes clashed knowingly. There’d been no one since Wentworth. “I’ll take care of you.”
The words hovered between them, and Elliot nodded. “Yes. I know.”
Tenderly, Wentworth dragged his nose over Elliot’s balls, and—
Oh.
Hands gripped his arse, scooping him up, exposing him, lips and tongue mouthing promises into him, and Elliot met each slick slide with a moan and a rocketing heart.
Fingers joined in, sinking deep, and Elliot pleaded. He needed Wentworth inside him, stretching him, claiming him.
Wentworth scrambled for the condom and slicked it on, hands trembling. He seated himself between Elliot’s legs, kneeling. His eyes were dark as he lifted Elliot’s hips and settled a pillow under him. “I need—I need to see you.”
It sounded so desperate. Aching, raw.
Elliot locked his legs loosely around Wentworth’s waist and held his gaze.
Wentworth positioned his thick blunt head against Elliot, and his hands closed tightly around Elliot’s thighs as he pressed in a half-inch. “You, so wrecked—”
Elliot stretched around him, feeling Wentworth’s heat, his pulsing need.
“—so unravelled—”
Another couple of inches sank into him, Wentworth’s gaze soaking all of Elliot in, his hard leaking cock, his tight nipples, his flushed face.
“So mine.”
He pushed, filling Elliot completely, and groaned. “Like you’re made for me. So good. So fuckin’ good. I want to live here.”
Shadows fell over him in the tiny room, layer after layer. From the guitars on the wall, to the curtain over the porthole, to Wentworth’s face.
Not a single shadow touched his heart.
I want you to live here too. “Any time you want.”
Wentworth rocked in and out of him, gentle movements. His arse flexed against Elliot’s legs, and his cock rubbed over his prostate, the way he used to love.
“You do remember,” Elliot gasped, his cock leaking.
Wentworth drew out and plunged in deeply, robbing him of breath.
“How many times do I have to make it clear?”
He thrust in and out of him. “I. Have. Never. Forgotten.”
Elliot met his fevered movement with a squeeze and a groan that had Wentworth doubling onto him. Elliot wrapped his arms around Wentworth’s back and urged him to take what he needed. Harder, faster, deeper.
The last first time.
The sounds they made became music around them, their sweating bodies slipped and slid. Wentworth pinned Elliot’s hands to the mattress above his head and plunged into him, over and over, losing himself.
His passion was frenzied. A statement, a declaration of its own. Half agony, half hope.
Every cell of his body, his whole soul sang for it. He came alive, fingers and toes as sensitive as that most wonderfully sensitive part of him.
He came apart.
“Wentworth.”
A hand curled around him—
Release somersaulted through him, and Elliot choked on a gasp.
He pulsed between them, clenching as Wentworth sank into him one last time; their chests heaved as they caught their breath and their lips found one another. Elliot curled his arms around Wentworth’s neck, the heat of him soaking into his inner arm. Tingly warmth stole through him, giving way to a deep, smooth peace.
“You okay?” Wentworth asked.
“Feels like I fell and you caught me.”
Large hands cupped his face.
Elliot’s chest thrummed with tenderness. A small sound escaped when Wentworth slipped out of him, and Wentworth murmured into the crook of his neck, shivering like he felt the loss too. “We have all night, bumblebee.”
“All night and all week.”
“All week and all month.”
“All month and all year—”
Wentworth laughed deep in his chest, and Elliot soaked it in.
“All year and all our lives.”
You, me; you, me
Interminable love
Night-time books
Our story told
W. McAllister, “Story Glory”
Wentworth couldn’t stop looking at Elliot. His eyes were on him religiously, on Elliot’s grin, on his body, and it was turning Elliot on.
“Seriously, stop that,” he said as he opened the doors to Ask Austen for Wentworth to go in.
“I thought we wanted people to see we’re happy together?”
“I want them to see we’re happy. I don’t want them to see we’re happy.”
Wentworth snorted and murmured to Honey. “Aren’t we lucky Elliot’s still working this week? Aren’t we? Aren’t we?”
Elliot grinned the entire way to their office. He rested against his desk, taking in the room. Wentworth’s desk, the couch, Honey’s basket, the piano—where Wentworth was seating himself.
Elliot raised a brow, and Wentworth winked before pounding out a familiar tune. Familiar, and yet . . . not quite.
“What is that?” Elliot asked.
“Do you like it?”
His stomach was flipping. “I’ll need to hear lyrics before I answer that.”
Wentworth sang a new and improved ‘Bumblebee Breakup’.
Bumblebee
Bumblebee
Bumblebee makeup
“It’s good, aye?”
“It’ll be a hit. At least, it is with me.”
The door banged open, startling them all—Honey all but leapt into the air. Elliot stood and pointed an enraged Beth and a bored Walter back out before they could utter a word. “No.”
