by Nell Iris
We keep kissing. Light and easy. The desperation from before forgotten. The hunger sated.
When my breathing and heartbeat return to normal, I mumble, “Don’t go anywhere.” I climb off him, kick off my underwear completely, and pad to the bathroom, where I wipe off the sticky mess from my torso, and bring back a towel to clean Manne.
His eyes follow my every move as I cross the floor and kneel on the bed next to him. Gently, I wipe my spunk off his belly, enjoying the privilege of having my hands on him. When we’re both somewhat clean, I cuddle close and pull the blanket over our bodies. “This okay?” I ask.
“I just came down your throat, why would I mind this?” He turns to lie on his side and throw a leg over my hip.
“Not everyone is a cuddler.”
“True. But I am. How about you?”
I wrap my arm around his waist and shuffle closer. “This answer your question?”
“Yeah.” He rubs his leg on mine, as I let my hand wander. His back is alluring under my palm and I can’t keep it still, so I explore the vast expanses of skin. Run my fingers along his spine, rub circles on his flesh, reveling in the feeling of his strength.
He’s so strong and yet so soft. His skin is like silk stretched over muscles of steel and the contrast intrigues me. Manne arches into my touch, making little content noises originating deep in his chest and vibrating around me.
I sweep my hand over his tattooed shoulder. “When did you get this?”
“Early twenties. I started saving money for it from my first paycheck after I dropped out of high school. It took me a while to save up enough because I wanted a specific tattoo artist and she was pricey.”
I run my finger along the contours of the tattoo, follow the swirls and curves, every line is sharp and precise. “I can tell it’s well-made. Any specific reason behind it?”
“Nah. I was young and wanted to be cool. I figured since I could never be smart, I was going for ‘badass’ instead. And I thought this design was badass. I’ve never been a deep thinker, especially not back then.” He chuckles, but it’s not his usual boisterous happiness; this is hesitant and reminds me of him in the library.
“Don’t say that,” I say.
“What?”
“That you aren’t smart. That’s not true. Dyslexia is a learning disorder; it does not mean you’re stupid.”
He tightens his arms around me. “That’s what Susy always says.”
I pull back so I can look him in the eyes. “And she’s right.”
“You’re fierce.”
“When I have to be, I am.”
“And you have to be now?” The smile playing in the corners of his mouth is fond.
“I do. Just because we are born with different strengths and weaknesses doesn’t mean we get to treat each other with disrespect. You’re not stupid for being dyslexic any more than I’m disgusting for being gay.”
He cups my cheek with a huge, gentle hand. “No one’s ever put it like that before.”
“No?”
He shakes his head.
“Well, now you know.”
He closes the distance between us and brushes a light kiss on my lips. “I do. Thank you.”
I nod and burrow into his arms again. He’s so warm and I love how he makes me feel small. As someone who’s towered over everyone since my teenage years, it makes me feel protected.
It’s not necessary, but I like it.
“What happens now?” I blurt before I knew I was going to ask that particular question.
“We lie here for a while longer. You’re an excellent cuddler.”
“You’re not too bad yourself.”
“Good.” He gives me another kiss. And another. “But I know what you were really asking.”
“I figured.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I want to see if it can become…more.”
“Good. I want that, too. I mean, our chemistry is off the charts, but I like you and want to get to know you and see if it can be more than great sex.”
I nod and hide my smile into the pillow.
“Don’t do that.” Gentle fingers nudge my chin until I’m looking at him. “Don’t hide what you’re feeling from me.” His gaze is pleading and intense and hits me right in the chest.
“I won’t.”
“Thank you.”
I splay my hand on his back, press even closer—any closer and I’ll be underneath his skin—and kiss him. It’s sweet and tender. A promise of possibilities and hope for a future together.
“Are you busy tonight?” he asks when the kiss ends.
“No?”
“So you wouldn’t mind coming to dinner?”
“Coming to dinner where?”
“At my sister’s house. I guess I haven’t told you, but I live in her basement. Her ex-husband is an asshat of the worst degree and left her and Charlie to fend for themselves. So I moved into her basement a few years ago. I help around the house. Help with Charlie. Help pay for stuff when she needs it and lets me.”
Aww, crap. And I already thought he was perfect and now he goes and melts my insides into a puddle of goo just by being a big old softie.
Maybe he interprets my speechlessness for hesitation because he hurries to continue. “I know it’s a bit early to meet the family, but you’ve already met them. Even if you didn’t mean to. And Susy told me to bring you home. You need spoiling, she said.”
“Normally, I’d agree,” I say, a smile spreading on my face. “It’s way too early to meet the family. But they didn’t seem to think so, so I don’t have objections. Besides, Charlie’s awesome. I love how fierce she is.”
“They’re both a bit protective of me. You wouldn’t think I could take care of myself judging by their actions.”
“I love it. I spoil my sisters rotten, too. You should always take care of the ones you love.”
His eyes melt. “Yeah.”
I lean my forehead against his. “When do we need to be there?”
“Before seven.”
“Then we have time.”
“Time for what?”
I roll on my back and tug on his hand until he gets with the program and lies on top of me. Even though he’s propping himself up on his elbows, most of his weight is resting on me, pushing me into the bed, and I’m already addicted to this position.
“Time for another round,” I say, wrap my legs around his hips, and pull him down for a kiss.
Epilogue
“Adrian?”
“Hmmm?” I say and try pulling away my gaze from my man passing by the kitchen, carrying another box of my books. Shirtless. Muscles bunching and flexing and tattoos on display and miles and miles of glorious skin.
“Adrian!”
My head snaps to the side and I look at Charlie, who’s been trying to get my attention for God knows how long. She smirks.
Ugh. That child sees way too much. Knows too much for her age. There’s no hiding anything from her. “Yes, honey?”
“You’re drooling.” She bursts out in a giggle. She’s only twelve, but she behaves like a full-blown teenager. I love her to death.
“I’m doing no such thing!” I wipe my chin. My dry chin, making her laugh even harder. I fling my arm around her neck, pulling her close. “Devil child,” I grumble.
“Lovesick old man,” she counters, and we both laugh. “You were drooling with your eyes.”
I smack a kiss on the top of her head. “I can’t help it. Your uncle is a fine man. Besides, aren’t you too young to say things like that?” I ask, knowing it will drive her crazy.
“Puh-leeeeze.” She rolls her eyes.
“Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. Remind me to never get into an argument with you.”
“I will.” She hugs me back before wiggling out of my arms. She’s not too old for hugging, as long as it doesn’t go on for too long. “Are you going to help to unpack, or are you going to continue drooling over my uncl
e? Scarring poor little innocent me for life?”
I guffaw and it’s so loud, Manne pops his head into the kitchen. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” Charlie and I reply at the same time, and that makes us laugh even harder.
Manne shakes his head, crosses the floor, and throws his arms around us both, pulling us tight to his body. “You guys,” he says, voice thick with emotion.
“Ewww, sweaty,” Charlie says and wiggles out of his embrace. “I’ll go unpack the books.” She makes a beeline for the library—“we’re not having your books in the den, Adrian, or we won’t have room for a couch”—giving us a few minutes alone.
“Mmm, sweaty,” I say and press closer. I check the door, but the hallway outside the kitchen is empty, so I burrow my nose in Manne’s neck and inhale. Then I lick a broad strip up his throat and take his mouth in a searing kiss. His grip on me tightens and when I rock my hips into his, I can feel him hardening in his jeans.
“Stop that,” he mumbles, “or we’ll never be properly moved in.”
“I can’t help that you’re strutting around bare-chested, tempting me with your fine body.”
“I do not strut. It’s physically impossible to strut when carrying your book boxes. They weigh a ton.”
“You strut. And admit it, you flex a little extra when you pass by the kitchen because you know it gets me all hot and bothered.” I slide my hands down his back but stop right over the waistband of his pants.
“I do not,” he says and kisses me. I nip his tongue and suck it.
“Admit it.”
Footsteps echo in the stairwell and the sound of chattering voices wafts into the apartment. Our apartment.
“Admit it before we have company,” I whisper and rock my hips into his.
“Damn you, Adrian,” he hisses and kisses me again. His tongue is eager, his mouth demanding, his grip on me hard, and I curl my hands into fists on his back to stop myself from shoving them into his pants.
The footsteps enter our apartment.
“See! I told you they’d be making out like teenagers.” Linnea.
“I didn’t say you were wrong.” Susy.
Our sisters get along like a house on fire.
Reluctantly we pull apart. “We’d better continue,” I say.
Manne nods, leans close to my ear, and whispers. “The sooner we’re done, the sooner I can fuck you. I’m thinking we need to christen every surface in our new home.” He skims his hand over my ass cheek and follows it with a light slap before freeing himself from my embrace and starting to walk out of the kitchen. I stop him by grabbing a belt loop on his jeans.
“Bastard,” I grumble and plaster myself along his back, pushing my hard dick against his ass. “See what you did to me?”
He throws back his hands and lays them on my hips. “But you love me anyway,” he says, looking over his shoulder, eyes twinkling.
“I do.” I really really do; I fell head over heels in love with him in a stupidly short time, but I’d never admit that out loud to anyone. But he was pretty much the same and we’ve spent as much time together as we’ve been able these fifteen months we’ve been together.
“I love you, too,” he says.
I slink around him until we’re face to face and we kiss again. When we pull apart, I whisper in his ear, “If you’re a very good boy today, I’ll let you fuck me in my library. Wearing nothing but my favorite bowtie.”
With a final peck on his mouth, I leave a slack-jawed Manne staring after me as I saunter out of the kitchen.
I have a library to unpack.
THE END
ABOUT NELL IRIS
Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bona fide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies’ room), loves music (and singing along but, let’s face it, she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (“Make it so”). She loves words, poetry, wine, and Sudoku, and absolutely adores elephants!
Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender, or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.
Nell is a forty-something bisexual Swedish woman, married to the love of her life, and a proud mama of a grown daughter. She left the Scandinavian cold and darkness for warmer and sunnier Malaysia a few years ago, and now spends her days writing, surfing the Internet, enjoying the heat, and eating good food. One day she decided to chase her lifelong dream of being a writer, sat down in front of her laptop, and wrote a story about two men falling in love.
Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angst, and wants to write diverse and different characters.
For more information, visit nelliris.com.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
JMS Books LLC is a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance, erotic romance, and young adult fiction. Visit jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!