by Ella James
“That’s faulty logic. You can’t pit two potentialities against each other and say one wins. And also, let me tell you something.” He wipes his face, his nostrils flaring as his jaw tics. “I wasn’t normal. After you, there was no more normal. I saw a therapist. I took up running. I couldn’t forget you and I thought I was insane. No dating, I was just like you: by myself at Christmas, trying to take a bunch of stupid pieces and make them into a whole thing that felt good and like I had some purpose. No girls ever held a candle to you. No guys were you. Over time, I didn’t stalk you online as much, but I wasn’t…fulfilled. I wasn’t peaceful. I was missing something, and that something was you. Not in vogue to say that, is it? Make me sound a little crazy?”
“No,” he whispers. He wipes his cheeks.
“I’m sorry…about the therapist.” His voice is raspy, and he wipes his eyes again.
I laugh. “That was the best part. Therapy is fucking awesome, Sky.”
I lie on my back on the bed, hold my arm open. “Come beside me. Please. I know I look like fucking Frankenstein, but I just want to hold you.”
Luke
I lay my head against his chest like he asks—the first time I’ve done so since before…what happened. I pull blankets over us, because I know he would if he could. But with me lying on his arm and his other one immobile, he can’t.
I blow my breath out slowly. Then I work the courage up to kiss his shoulder.
He’s looks at me, smiling just a little.
“You’re not going to hurt me, Sky. Put your arm over my chest—up at he top—like over my pecs.” When I don’t do it—I’m so scared I’m going to hurt him—he shifts around so he’s on his side more, and he lays his cheek against my throat.
“Please. Put your arms around me.”
Tears drip down my face as I do. As I hold my favorite boy. “The other boy,” I murmur. He kisses my throat. “When I was little,” I whisper, “that’s the way I thought of it. Who would be the other boy?”
My hand runs over his head, fingertips tracing gently over his new short cut. “I can’t even tell you how…” I exhale slowly.
“How what?”
“How I felt…when I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what,” he whispers. I lift my hand that’s behind his head to wipe my eyes and force myself say it. “If you were okay. There was nothing I could do for you while you were in there—” in the hospital. “No money…” I splay my hand out on his nape, shifting him so I can see his face. “Why did you do that, Vance Rayne?”
His lips curl in a sad smile. “I don’t know. But I can guess.”
I know what he’ll say before he says it. “Because I love you.”
Epilogue
Vance
With a concentrated PR effort and the help of Arman—who has a trusted therapist friend that he can vouch for—I talk Sky into talking to somebody. It’s an older dude—who’s gay—so bonus points for that. Sky meets with him on a Friday morning in July. I’m at the townhouse doing a PT appointment. My arm’s thin and scarred, but the PT seems satisfied with what it can do.
“This seems pretty standard for the break you had. You’ll get all your range of motion back, I’d bet.” He gives me a long list of exercises to do while we’re away, and we schedule my next appointment for July 20th. “If you can catch up with my friend Lucy in George Town, whose number I left on your voice mail last week, I think that would be a nice idea, but it’s not what I’d call necessary.”
“I already did. My partner made sure I called, and I’m meeting with her next week.”
He smiles. “Wonderful.”
I show him out via the foyer. Then I get a quick shower and try to finish my packing. We’ll be on C-3PO for two and a half weeks, so it’s mostly swim trunks and sex toys. I’m pulling some new ones off their wall chargers to tuck them away when someone grabs me from behind.
“Whatcha got there.” Luke’s mouth finds my throat, and I groan as he pinches my nipple. He picks one of our new toys up. “Matching rainbow cock rings, Rayne?” I chuckle. “Not as fun as these.” I reach into the bag and pat the plugs. “Remember what you said, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“What was it?” I prod him.
“I’ll wear one and let you have the remote—on the boat only.”
I grin. “We’ll be on the boat for a long time.”
His gaze shifts to my arm. “How did it go?”
“I could ask the same thing.” He lifts his brows. “It went great. I should be able to recover all my range of motion.” We knew that already—the orthopedic doc said the same thing—but Luke’s been losing shuteye over it anyway.
“One of the exercises will be something I can do if I’m in fuck position. Over a bottom.”
Spots of reddish color touch his cheekbones. “Oh yeah?” He sounds bored.
I kiss his mouth. “Let me do it now. First, though, tell me how it went with Derek.”
“It was fine. I liked him well enough.”
“Yeah? Did you feel like you could talk to him?”
He smirks. “Trying to get me out of your ear?”
I kiss his jaw. “Never.”
Luke leads me to our new favorite armchair. I’m already hard as hell when I sit down. He kneels in front of me and cups my balls in both of his hands.
“I want to play with yours, too…”
We end up on the bed, with me on my back and his cock bobbing in my face. His balls dangle over my mouth. I lick on them while he sucks me. He works a finger in, and then two, until I’m struggling to lick and pump him. My abs clench, and I tug his balls so I can try to lick him even as I’m coming.
After I blow, and he cleans me up, I shove him. “Lie down and let me blow you.”
“I thought you wanted something else.”
It makes me smile to hear him say that. In the last few weeks, he’s gotten used to bottoming, and I can tell he likes it. It’s not his go-to, but he’ll do it when I’m in the mood.
“To the chair.” I’m grinning as I stroke myself, then kneel beside the chair and grab some lube out of my pocket.
“Sit down, preacher.”
He does, and I spread his legs. I lube my fingers and push slowly into his hot tautness. I love how he moans and lifts his hips, and his cock glistens as I tease. Then he stands up and I sit.
I’m laughing as I stroke myself and he rips open a lube packet. “Never thought I’d be so ready to take someone in me,” he says.
He kneels in front of me to slick my cock up even as he’s working himself. “You’re ready to give it.”
“I want it on the plane, too—like you promised.”
“I’ll take you in the bed and make you come until you fall asleep,” he says.
“Pretty easy since we stayed up so late last night.”
Finally, when my cock’s slick and his eyes are glazed, he kisses my mouth and fists my cock around its base. Then he turns his back to me and sinks down on me with legs that tremble. I fuck him, and he rides me, until his back is swept with chills. He’s grabbing his dick as it spills, and I’m coming.
When we’re finished, I pull him back down onto my lap, and we kiss and stroke each other until he’s shaking a little less from having his p-spot fucked. Then I take his hand, and we walk to the shower.
I kiss his cheek as the water warms. “You good?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Let’s sleep on the plane so we can stay up late and fuck on the deck.”
“Okay.”
He looks tired. Chill. I make sure he stays that way until we get to the plane. Then we sit in seats that face the tail, and I start rubbing him before we taxi.
“Keep on doing that, you’re gonna get yourself in trouble,” he warns.
I keep it up, and when the plane levels off, he leads me to the bedroom.
We stretch out on our backs, stroking each other.
Luke comes from that. I tease his bottom with my fingers till he’s rea
dy again. Then he moves between my knees and feeds me his cock one long, slow, thick inch at a time.
I’m so helpless—just like always. I precum in bucketloads and blow as he traces my cockhead—and then fills me with swelling warmth.
I can’t help falling asleep. When I wake up, George Town is a twinkle below us. Luke’s eyes are tired and happy when he wakes a minute later.
He gets on his knees in front of me and runs his hands up my outstretched legs.
I smile and sit up—because he looks thoughtful…maybe anxious.
“You okay, Sky?”
“Just looking at you.”
“A little weird to have your plane bed occupied with someone other than you?”
“Not someone.” He smiles. “You.”
“And who am I?” I tease.
“Vance Rayne. The artist. Maybe one day with a different surname.”
That makes me grin. “Which one?”
“Which one sounds good?” He smirks.
“McD, are you proposing to me?”
His face goes serious. “Would you want me to be?”
“Do you want to be?”
His eyes close. “Yes.”
“You do?” I’m fucking elated.
“Yeah. But it’s too soon, right? And maybe too much for you, anyway.”
“Too much for me? This is some proposal.”
He wraps his arms around me. “Vance. I love you. Do you want to be my husband? One day? When you’re ready?”
“Do you want to be my husband?”
He swallows. “Yes. It scares me how much.”
I laugh. “Want to do it when we land?”
“Get married?”
“If you want to.” I kiss his mouth. “If you’re sure and I’m sure—why wait? Unless you want your mom there.”
“We could do a celebration later.”
We’re kissing hard and fast. I can feel how nervous he is. He keeps pulling off my mouth to breathe.
“Is it impulsive?” he whispers.
“I don’t think so.”
We’re so good together. Even better than I’d ever dreamed we could be. I’m in San Francisco three fourths of the time now. We’re in New York some Mondays and Tuesdays. After this trip, he’ll go back to preaching again fulltime. I’ll be the church sculptor in residence for the next year. Which his just another way of saying I’ll be at the church working a few times a week, so we can see each other and the kids who tour the church can watch me work.
I kiss him again. “Kids, you said, right?”
He nods.
“Caymans for the honeymoon?” I grin. “When the plane lands, let’s do it. Do you want to pick the preacher?”
“What if it’s just me?” He looks slightly abashed at the suggestion. I kiss his mouth. “We could get married legally when we get back to California,” I say. “But this way would be the real deal. Just the two of us.”
“Married on the yacht’s deck? Under the stars?”
I nod.
“Would you want to do that?”
I pull him close. “Yes.” I kiss his cheek.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m so sure.”
“You want me and all my baggage? Never having any privacy when we’re out?”
“I want all of those things. Do you want paint on all your undershirts, and helping me get health insurance?”
“I want nothing more.”
I kiss his eyes…and then his cheeks.
We sit beside each other on the bed, looking out the windows as the plane starts to descend.
“This is my favorite part,” he says.
“The landing?”
He nods. His eyes catch mine and hold. I have the thought: His face is strange.
Then his hand grabs my hand.
“I love you,” he whispers, holding my gaze. “Vance, are you sure?”
“So sure.”
I feel something cool slip my finger. For the longest second, I can’t breathe. Then the plane dips down out of a cloud. We seem to hang over a blanket of sparkling lights. They blur, and I look at him.
He smiles, small and tentative at first, then hugely. He pulls out another ring, his lashes dark against his cheeks as he looks down at it in his palm.
I take it from him, holding it up. “This is beautiful. Where did you get these?”
“In New York.”
“When we went to get my clothes?”
His dimples peek out.
“That was more than a month ago.”
He nods. “I didn’t want to rush things.”
“I love you. I can’t wait to be your husband.” I kiss his lips and slide his ring on as we go wheels down. The plane lurches. For just a second, it feels like we’re in a free fall. Then there’s runway rising up to meet us.
Someone throws the brakes on, and we’re slowing down. We’re in the Caymans, and it’s warm, with soft air and a fairy tale sky. We say our vows up on the yacht’s deck late that night, with no one listening but the ocean waves. We go to sleep wrapped in each other’s arms and wake up the same way.
“Husbands?” he asks later, as we drink our coffee on the deck.
I grin. “Husbands.”
“The pastor and the artist,” he murmurs.
“Sky and Rayne.”
After every label that came first, and all the ones that will come after, somehow that’s exactly who we are.