by Ann Grech
He brushed my prostate again, but didn’t linger, only giving me tastes of what I could expect with him inside me. “More, Angelo,” I pleaded, and he withdrew, holding his fingers out for more lube. I squeezed a generous amount of the slick onto them and held my breath, waiting for him to press into me. Angelo’s gentle touches shouldn’t have surprised me, but they did. I kept waiting for him to slam into me. To be rough. For it to hurt. But that wasn’t Angelo. He was more of a man than Ryan had ever been. His protectiveness, unwavering support, his mission to make this experience one to override the bad memories of my one and only other time told me how much he cared.
It wasn’t long before he started scissoring his fingers, stretching me for his third digit, and I was ready for him in less time. When he slid into me again, I moaned and pulled him harder against me. I needed his touch. I needed to feel all of him. Angelo draped himself over me, his hard length pressing into my hip and his warmth surrounding me. I was pinned under him, but instead of feeling trapped, I was cocooned. Safe.
“Angelo,” I gasped as he hit my p-spot again. My shaft leaked in my hands, precum slicking the path for my hand to follow. “Please,” I begged.
Angelo paused and murmured against my ear, “Lube me up if you’re ready for me. Or use it on you to make yourself come.”
“I want you.”
He pulled back and looked me in the eyes, and I slid my slicked-up hand between our bodies. His eyes rolled back and he thrust into my fist as I closed my hand around him.
“Oh, God,” he rasped. “Fuck.”
I let go of him and shifted his weight so he was lying between my legs. He pulled back and looked around us before grasping his pillow, lifting my hips and sliding it under me. “The change in angle will help,” he murmured.
“Come inside me, Angelo.”
He grasped his cock and gazed down at me, eyes full of love. I was riveted to his face. Captivated. He shifted and I held my breath, anticipating the burn as he pushed into me, but it didn’t come. Angelo went slowly, letting me get used to our new position and watching me closely. I loved that about him. Asking for my consent every step of the way made me realize how much he treasured what we were doing. I acted on instinct, wrapping my legs around him and savoring the heat of his body pressed against mine.
“Please,” I whispered. Angelo inched forward, taking his time to breach me. He was thick, and it took everything in me not to tense, but he’d prepared me so thoroughly that there was barely a sting.
He paused, breathing hard, his nostrils flaring, and I watched in wonder as Angelo fought for control. Long moments later, he began moving. There was no frantic pumping of his hips, no slapping of bodies, no porn-style cries. It was soft gasps and long kisses, slow rolling hips and tangled legs. Anchoring himself with a hand on my shoulder, the other holding my face steady as he kissed me, Angelo moved in me. The stretch, the fullness, the shot of bliss every time he pressed against my prostate soon had me moaning for more.
“Stroke yourself,” he instructed me as he kept up the slow dance of our bodies.
Our breaths mingled and sweat beaded and Angelo never loosened his grip. Gentle arms around me held me tight, reminding me of how loved I was. How cherished. I closed my hand around my shaft and pumped it, shuddering as my sensitive flesh pulsed and my orgasm swept over me. I moaned, and Angelo reacted in kind, burying his face in my neck and crying out.
Breaths sawed in and out of my lungs and my heart hammered in my chest as I floated in the clouds. Wrapped securely in Angelo’s arms, his weight resting on me, I never wanted to move. This right here—in his arms after making love—was where I wanted to be for all eternity.
Angelo looked up at me, and I smiled serenely at him. “I love you,” I whispered.
“Love you too.” He kissed me softly, just a ghosting of his lips against mine. I groaned when Angelo pulled out slowly before rolling us to the side. With his arms around me, I sighed contentedly and snuggled into him again.
“How are you feeling, amore? Sore?”
“Sore, no.” I hesitated, and it was enough for Angelo to prompt me, pulling back with a look of concern marring his features. I smiled at him and voiced what was in my heart. “I feel safe. Cherished. He took that from me, but you’ve given it back. I’m free. For the first time in years, I’m really free of him.”
“Oh, Trent,” Angelo whispered, tightening his arms around me once more as I burrowed against his chest. “You are cherished. So much.” I drifted then, falling asleep once more in the warmth and security of his arms.
Angelo
Three Months Later
I walked down the street hand in hand with Trent. Rainbow flags adorned every window and lamp post. Excitement hummed in the air like electricity. Music pumped from each venue we passed, and no one blinked an eye at the drag queens walking along the street or the twinks, cubs, and daddy bears checking each other out. We’d all traveled our own journey to get to this point, but we understood each other. We’d faced obstacles to get there. Some we’d overcome, others we were working on. Everywhere I looked, I saw acceptance. Not just tolerance, but true acceptance. Knowledge that I had a tribe, and I truly belonged. We truly belonged. Holding Trent’s hand so openly was something I had never dared to hope for, but in the months since he’d regained contact with his parents, he’d changed. He’d grown more confident. More open. As if he received strength from acceptance. From our love. And boy, did I love him. Even more now than I had before. Seeing his true self, seeing him live like he was no longer afraid, was such a beautiful thing. I squeezed his hand and smiled his way. Trent responded by tugging on mine and pulling me close, wrapping an arm around my waist. It was awkward in our coats, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. It was Winter Pride, and for the first time in my life, I was walking down a street toward a rainbow-colored pedestrian crossing hugging the man I loved.
We were meeting everyone at The Vault to celebrate Pride with a family dinner. It was still early—little Gracie’s bedtime dictated that—but that didn’t matter. I looked across the road to the other side of the rainbow crossing and noticed our friends and family waiting there for us. I grinned and waved at them, and Trent tugged me onto the street. Traffic stopped in both directions to let us pass, but Trent paused right there in the middle. “What are you doing?” I asked, grasping his hand and trying to tug him to safety. He smiled and dropped to one knee right there, unhurriedly reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out a gold band, and I put a hand to my mouth, laughing in a panic. “What are you doing?” I asked again, my voice higher than my normal register.
“I’m asking the man I love to marry me. Right here, in front of all our family.” Trent held his arms out wide and announced loud enough to capture the attention of everyone within a half-block radius. “I’m proposing in front of the whole damn town.” Quieter then, speaking just to me, he continued. The sincerity in his voice had me reaching for him once more. “You saved me that day on the bridge. You opened my eyes to a world filled with color and love. You gave me all the things in my life I thought I’d lost.” I squeezed his hand hard, proud of the bravery he’d shown every step of the way as he fought to overcome his past. “You gave me courage and strength. You’ve stood by me through everything, good and bad. You gave me my parents back”—he motioned with a tilt of his head to his proud parents standing there waiting for us—“and together, you freed me from the chains I was still bound by. You made me be proud to be me. To stand up and actually live. To admit I’m gay and be able to tell you how much I love you. There’s nowhere else that I want to be than by your side loving you. I want to grow old with you, holding your hand like I am right now. I want to be your best friend and your person forever, because I’ll always choose you too. So, whaddya say? Will you marry me?”
I stood in stunned silence for a moment until my brain caught up with what I’d heard, and my heart flip-flopped in my chest. “Yes.” I nodded, laughing as unrepentant joy filled my soul. “Yes,
” I shouted happily.
Trent stood up and slipped the ring onto my finger as the crowd around us cheered and clapped. Someone whistled, and another person honked their horn. The noise, close by, made us jump, and we jogged the rest of the way across the road to safety. Trent pulled me into his arms and spun me around, laughing. His radiant smile matched my own, making my heart brim with happiness. My man. My soon-to-be husband. Everything but him faded away. He was beautiful in every way—his mind, his body, and most of all, his heart. I’d given mine to him and I knew without a doubt that I had his. I leaned down, resting my forehead against his, and he cupped my face as I ran my fingers through his hair.
“My Angelo. I love you,” he murmured against my lips.
I traced my thumb down his cheek. “And I love you.” He kissed me then, a soft brush of lips against mine. A barely there touch that was filled with the purest of love. With the promise of a future together, filled with sweet touches and soft caresses. Of home and family. Laughter and slow dances and nap dates. I closed my eyes and deepened the kiss, holding the love of my life close to me, the way I always would.
Epilogue
Three Years Later
Angelo
I smiled when Trent pressed Play and the strains of Lukas Graham’s “Love Someone” came through the speakers. It was our song, played at our wedding picnic as we danced under the canopy of the tree while the sun set behind the mountain range. Lanterns had been strung through the wide branches that night, but we didn’t need them now. The sun was still high in the cloudless blue sky on the warm summer day.
Trent pulled me into his arms and we swayed together, enjoying the sounds of the birds chirping in the branches above us and wind swishing the long grass at our feet. Quiet surrounded us, and a sense of peacefulness settled in me. It was one of our favorite places to walk through at any time of year and exactly the reason why we were married here. The two of us, our closest family and friends, a minister and a photographer—no more than twenty people shared our day, but we wouldn’t have wished it any other way. It was perfect, just like our lives had been in the three years since. I closed my eyes, remembering the moment I’d laid eyes on him as he walked down the aisle.
I shook my hands out, trying to stop them shaking. My heart thudded in my chest, but I wasn’t nervous. Excitement pulsed through me instead. The shade from the tree’s canopy and the breeze off the lake gave us some reprieve from the heat of the day, but I could only think of one thing. Trent. The long grass swished, the air silent except for the call of a bird and the engine of a lone four-by-four as it wound closer. Trent had nearly arrived.
It was late afternoon, the sun on its way to setting. The lanterns hanging in the branches of the tree above me flickered on, and I turned to the sound of the car pulling up. Our guests let out a collective “aww” as Trent stepped out from behind the vehicle. My breath caught. My heart did a somersault in my chest, and a broad smile split my lips. Our eyes met and it took everything in me not to run through the collection of picnic blankets to him. He grinned at me, a bright spark in his eyes that I’d only seen in those last few months. I loved being one of the reasons he smiled so joyfully.
Dressed casually like me, Trent wore tan-colored chinos and a white linen shirt. He may have gone for cool casual, but he was smoking. He walked to me, his eyes never leaving mine and his smile never dimming. He was flanked on either side by his mom and dad; they were ecstatic. It didn’t surprise me. Their beloved son had come back to them, and they were celebrating something they’d admitted to giving up on the possibility of ever having.
I waited impatiently at the base of the tree for my man to join me, and, finally, he did. “Hi,” I whispered to him as I reached for his hand. He slipped his into mine and threaded our fingers together, squeezing momentarily.
“Hi,” he murmured back. “Waiting long?” He smirked, and I brought my free hand to his face, cupping his cheek.
“All my life.”
“No regrets?” He brought our clasped hands to his lips and gently kissed my knuckles.
“Never.” I shook my head and ran my thumb along his stubble, staring into those fathomless brown eyes that were filled with warmth and love.
“Good. Me neither.” He smiled again and added, “But we need to work on your definition of casual.”
I laughed and looked down at myself. I’d paired light brown slim-fit pants, rolled up just above my ankles, with a pale blue short-sleeved shirt and a navy bow tie. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? It’s casual. You can even see my legs.”
“You’re perfect just the way you are. But, baby, a bow tie isn’t casual.”
I quirked my lips up at his words, his tease making me smile. His husky, “Here, let me,” had me swallowing hard. Trent tugged on my bow tie, undoing it and opened the top button on my shirt, then another. “This little patch of skin right here,” he murmured as he fingered the dip of my throat, “is sexy as fuck.”
“There are innocent eyes here,” my brother interrupted, “so if you’re going to start stripping give me plenty of notice.”
“Gracie won’t even remember it,” I quipped without taking my eyes off Trent.
“It’s not Gracie I’m worried about. It’s me!” he retorted, making Trent roll his eyes. I smirked and motioned to our celebrant with a tilt of my head.
“You ready?” I asked, and with Trent’s smile and nod, we turned to the lady we’d chosen to help us say our vows.
“Happy anniversary, baby,” Trent crooned as we slow danced together.
“I can’t believe it’s here again. The years have flown by,” I mused. “But I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Trent looked to the buggy sitting in the shade of the giant tree we were under, its branches reaching out as wide as it was high. “I wouldn’t either. I never dreamed that this would be my life.”
Our baby boy, Luca, would be four months old in two days. He was getting bigger with every day that passed, and his personality was starting to shine through. He was a happy bub, and Trent doted over him, something I adored watching. The wonder in Trent’s eyes the moment he saw him made me fall in love with my husband all over again. Seeing the three generations of Campbell men sitting on the sofa together watching the rugby set my heart to bursting. It was a tradition they’d resumed when Trent’s parents had moved to Queenstown in the springtime before we were married and something I was so grateful they’d been able to do. Trent spent almost as much time with them as he did with me. He would stop in after work a couple of times a week, and his parents came over weekly to watch the game. I still didn’t understand rugby, but I sat in on every match just to see Trent and his father interact. Now to witness that same bond being mirrored in Trent’s love for our baby boy was something I couldn’t miss.
“You never deserved anything less, amore.” I leaned down and kissed him, our lips pressing together gently before I opened and he met my tongue with his own. I’d never get enough of this man. He was a gentle soul, so caring and tender, yet so strong. He had an iron will but a soft touch. Every time we came together, even now after years of making love, he looked at me with such wonder in his eyes that I never doubted his adoration. We’d shared so much, come so far, and I loved him more today than ever before.
Our life together was simple and happy. My business was still doing well, and I’d hired an assistant to do most of my editing for me. It meant that I had more flexibility to spend time with Trent and Luca. We’d finally managed to buy our very own house and we lived in a cozy cottage on the same street as Ford and Reef and around the corner from my brother and his family. Trent’s parents lived a five-minute walk away, and Caden’s father, Gabe, lived next door. Trent still loved working with Ford in the winter but had stopped working as a paramedic during the warmer months. Now he was mountain rescue year-round, looking after hikers and mountain bike riders who traveled to Queenstown for the summer season. It was a better fit for him—it kept him in the mountains, which he lo
ved, and avoided the crazy night shifts he used to do.
Luca let out a cry, and Trent pulled back, bringing our joined hands to his lips and kissing my knuckles before making his way over to the buggy and lifting our dark-haired baby boy from it. “Hey, bubba. Daddy’s gotcha,” Trent cooed. “Papá’s right here too.” I sat next to them on the picnic rug we had spread out and mixed a bottle of Luca’s formula while Trent changed his diaper. Freshly dry and redressed, Luca gurgled happily when I tipped the bottle to his mouth and held it for him. His hands balled into fists, he clutched the bottle as Trent cuddled him close. Brushing his fingertips over our baby boy’s face, I watched as Trent smiled gently at him. I leaned in closer and kissed Trent’s temple, breathing him in. He leaned into me, and I cradled the two great loves of my life in my arms. A warm breeze rustled through the grass around us, and I pressed my lips to my husband’s temple again, showing him just how much I loved him. I cupped my baby’s little head and closed my eyes, thankful every day for the gift our surrogate had given to us. Thankful for both of them, because our life was like this quiet moment together—perfect. It’d been a long time coming, a difficult road to navigate. But now that we were here, now that we were coasting with our windows down and the top off, with the wind in our hair, I knew dreams did come true. Mine were in my arms. And that’s where they’d stay.