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There was so much sweat between them, and sour breath, but Renzo didn’t want to move. Emil was petting him softly, the tips of his fingers tracing lines up and down his spine, and Renzo had never felt more wanted in his life.
“Did I hurt you?” he managed to ask once he’d regained some sense of self.
Emil laughed. “Yes. And it felt amazing.”
Renzo pulled back to study his face, and he saw nothing but cautious joy in Emil’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to?—”
His words cut off when Emil pressed a palm to his cheek. “It feltamazing,” he repeated.
Renzo allowed a smile as he carefully pulled back, watching the wince on Emil’s face. There was a mess of lube between them, and Renzo’s stomach was covered in Emil’s come. It was disgusting and glorious all at the same time.
“I’m going to get something to clean up with,” Renzo said after a long beat, then swung his legs over the bed, freezing when Emil grabbed his wrist.
“You’re not going to run out on me, are you?”
Renzo laughed. “This is my house, gorgeous. Where would I go?”
“Oh.” Emil flushed and looked away. “Right. Sorry.”
Renzo couldn’t help but lean over and lay a kiss over his blushing cheek. “Hang tight, okay? No one’s leaving right now.”
Or ever, if Renzo was reckless and maybe the world’s biggest fool. He’d already done it once—jumped in with both feet without even looking where he was going to land. And that ended in a terrible marriage and messy divorce.
He wasn’t going to do it again.
Once upon a time, he thought John felt different, so even though Emil sent a wild kaleidoscope of butterflies through his gut, he couldn’t trust it. He couldn’t trust himself. And he was in no place to date someone who was obviously still figuring out what he needed. Not when Renzo was still a complete emotional mess.
But he could do this.
He could clean him up and take care of him. He could ask him to stay the night and maybe fuck him in the morning before reality had to set in.
CHAPTEREIGHT
In all honesty,Emil couldn’t believe he’d agreed to stay. He blamed it on temporary, sex-induced insanity, though he knew that was a total cop-out and also completely unfair to the way Renzo made him feel. Because Emil had fucked before.
A lot.
His list of lovers was long, and though it wasn’t exactly diverse, Renzo was far from his first man.
But Renzo was definitely the first person who had ever looked at Emil like he was worth something, and that scared the shit out of him. He sure as hell wasn’t ready for that. He’d contemplated escaping while Renzo was in the bathroom just so he could deal with the strange, unnerving feelings by himself, but he couldn’t seem to make his legs work.
Then, Renzo appeared with a warm washcloth covered in pearly soap, and he stared as those gorgeous hands cleaned him up. Renzo followed that up with long, slow kisses that never seemed to end but also didn’t seem to want to go anywhere.
And fuck if Emil had any idea what to do with that either.
It was far too easy to let Renzo bustle him under the covers when they were fully clean and sated. It was too easy to burrow against him, lost in the scent of sweat and come as fingers combed through his hair. He got lost in the sensation of being held—of someone wanting to hold him—and before long, he was asleep.
He woke alone the next morning, knowing exactly where he was and unsurprised to find himself alone in the bed. He looked around for some note from Renzo saying that he had to leave, giving some flimsy excuse about how Emil could show himself out and that maybe they’d see each other in the future.
Instead, he just found a pile of sweats folded at the foot of the bed, and it didn’t take a genius to know Renzo had left them for him. He debated about trying to sneak out again, but as he lifted the hoodie, he realized he could smell something cooking.
Christ, he had no idea when the last time someone had cooked for him was. At least someone who wasn’t hired to feed him.
On autopilot, he took the clothes into the hallway bathroom, emptied his bladder, then dressed. The jogging pants were a little tight and short at the ankles, but the hoodie was oversized and so soft on the inside. Emil only ever wore clothes like that when he was visiting the gyms in resorts he was staying at, and it had been years since he’d bothered.
He stared at himself in the mirror—his red-rimmed eyes, cheeks creased from the pillow, his hair a mess—and he wanted to laugh. Renzo had called him gorgeous, which had meant everything in the moment, but now it felt like a mockery.
Objectively, he was good-looking, but there was no way Renzo hadn’t seen all his flaws when he’d gotten close up. And not just the ones on his face. Emil’s tongue had been too loose. He’d been too vulnerable—too pathetic.
