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He cries out and his head falls back as his orgasm crashes into him. I moan as he fills me. “Yes,” I say. “So good, Wes. So fucking perfect.” My words must have an effect on him because a second stream of cum shoots out of him before he collapses on top of me, breathing heavily.
“Shit,” he says, and I chuckle. “It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.”
I run my fingers through his hair. “Why not? That was the best birthday present ever.” I can’t see his face but I’m pretty sure he’s blushing. He lifts his head and kisses me before sliding out.
“What do you want?” he asks. “My hand, my mouth, my ass?”
I smile. “Whatever you want to give me is perfect.”
He smiles and moves between my legs again, before lowering his mouth and taking me deep at the same time that his fingers slide inside me again. When I come only seconds later it’s with my hands tangled in his curls and his name on my lips. He pulls off of me and wipes his chin of my cum. He collapses next to me, breathing heavily. I pull him close and we trade lazy kisses, our legs wrapped around each other, before I reluctantly scoot from the bed and clean myself off in the bathroom.
“Wanna watch a movie?” Wesley asks when I step back into the bedroom.
“Sure. But shower first?”
Wesley grins. “Can I join you?”
“I wish you would.”
We enjoy a nice slow shower, no sex, just tender caresses and soft kisses as we clean each other off.
We slip into clean underwear but don’t bother with the rest of our clothes. Then we head to the living room and cuddle up on the couch. Wesley turns onA Knight’s Taleand we snuggle upon the couch with the decadent cake he made me. We take turns feeding each other and kissing and it’s romantic as hell, and all sorts of fun.
I take him in my arms after setting the dishes on the coffee table and lie down, pulling him with me so his head rests on my chest, his arm draped over me, his leg intertwined with mine.
I sigh quietly as I press a kiss to his hair and then begin to comb my fingers through the soft curls. He hums contentedly and brushes his thumb across my abs.
“Thank you for all of this,” I say. “This is the best birthday I’ve had in a long time.” He leans up and presses a kiss to my jaw.
“You’re welcome,” he says, before returning his head to my chest. I run my fingers along his bare back and rest my hand on his hip. I don’t stop touching him for the entirety of the movie. My chest tightens, realizing that I still have so many things to tell him, and I’m not sure how he’ll respond. As the credits roll I squeeze him tighter, my voice catching in my throat.
“The day my uncle died,” I say. He stays still for so long that I’m convinced he didn’t hear me, but then he lifts his head and he’s gazing into my eyes with such tender compassion.
“What?” he says.
“My tattoo,” I say. “The dates. It’s my uncle's birthday, and the day he died.” I swallow, choking up.
“Cooper,” Wesley whispers, stroking my cheek as a single tear slides down it. “I’m so sorry.”
My chest heaves but I keep talking. “The birds are symbolic for a couple of reasons. They are symbols of flight, his spirit leaving the earth, but they are in the shape of angel’s wings, too, because I like to believe that that’s where he is now, with the angels.”
Wesley uses his lips this time, catching my tears on them as they continue to slide down my cheeks. It’s so tender and soft. So sweet, it makes my heart clench. “I can’t imagine how hardthat was for you,” he says, looking into my eyes again, his hand resting on my cheek. “I know how close you were to him.”
I nod.
“This was less than two weeks after we broke up?” I nod again. My body starts to shake as more tears descend.
“Shh,” Wesley coos. “I’m here, baby. I’m right here. It’ll be okay.”
I shake my head again. “It’s my fault,” I say. Before Wesley contradicts me again I add, “It’s my fault he’s dead.”
“What?” Wesley asks, sliding his fingers through my hair. “How can it possibly be your fault? I don’t believe that for a second.”
I wipe at my nose and sniffle, catching my breath. “He was supposed to be flying out to visit us for a while but he called to say he couldn’t make it, and I convinced him to come anyway because I missed him, and then the plane he was on crashed, and...” I’m sobbing once again as I bury my face in Wesley’s shoulder. “It’s my fault he’s dead. My mom’s brother died because of me.”
“Cooper.” Wesley strokes his fingers through my hair and holds me close. “You can’t possibly believe that. You were a teenager who wanted to see the uncle he loved. You couldn’t possibly have known that would happen. There’s no way that was your fault.”
“I’ve never been able to see it any other way,” I cry. “I’ve lived with that guilt for years. And after losing you, and losing my uncle – the pain was too much, along with the guilt and shame. I got severely depressed and I couldn’t hold down my job anymore and I…” I trail off.
