by CE Ricci
“I want you inside me,” he utters, his eyes lifting to mine. “I need it.”
I bite my lip and smirk, not about to argue even though…I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping he wanted to take the lead tonight.
Something I never would have thought I’d desire even a few short weeks ago when we started sleeping together.
I don’t waste time after that though, lubing my cock before sliding into him bare.
It’s the best feeling I’ve ever experienced, being inside him with no barrier separating us. I became addicted to it that first morning in the shower, desperate for more of it. I don’t know how I managed to ever hold out as long as I did.
Part of me hates myself for it. Knowing there could have been the extra days of this with him if I hadn’t been such an asshat.
Sliding in and out slowly, I shift his hips to get the best angle to hit him deep. Thrust after long, leisurely thrust has River squirming beneath me, frantic for me to pick up my pace. I can see it in his eyes, his body language.
But I can’t bring myself to do it. That will only make it end sooner when all I want is to stay buried inside him for the rest of my life.
Because this isn’t just sex anymore. It’s not the pure, unfiltered lust it was a few weeks ago.
No, what we’re doing right down is nothing short of melding our bodies together at a slow, torturous simmer. Worshipping and adoring every single inch of each other in every way possible.
With lips. Tongues. Hands.
As our bodies move together, fused as close as humanly possible, we’re also laying out the cards on the table for the other to see.
The vulnerability. The pain. The passion. The fear.
The love.
Rolling my hips, hitting the spot inside him that drives him mad with desire, I pull back to look down at him. His eyes are closed, lips parted slightly as soft pants slip through them with each thrust I make.
“Look at me, Abhainn,” I whisper fiercely, my hand moving to cup the side of his face.
When his eyes open, they reveal the deepest shade of teal I’ve ever seen.
“Give me it all. Fucking everything.”
And he does.
Grabbing my head with both hands, he pulls me down over him, his tongue lashing at mine inside my mouth before I can think. Melding with mine like it was created for that sole purpose.
We’re a mess of tongues and teeth and sweat and love when we’re both close to finishing. And when I stroke him through his climax, the way his ass clenches around my cock has me following right behind, spilling deep inside him.
I glance down at him, my chest heaving with effort as he wipes the glossy sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Fuck me, he’s so goddamn sexy.
Sensual and perfect.
And he’s mine.
My brain screeches to a halt at the thought.
No, he’s not mine.
Not really. That’s not part of our agreement.
Because it would never work out between us.
The pieces of who we are as people don’t fit. It’s more than a square peg and a round hole. Everything about who we are as people doesn’t work. We’re opposites in all ways that matter when it comes to forming lasting relationships.
The most important being he knows how to form them.
And me…?
I’ve never had anyone who wanted to stay long enough to try to make one.
Pulling from his body, I kiss him harshly before grabbing his hand and leading him to the shower, where I proceed to clean every inch of him.
Not with just the water, but with my lips and tongue.
Once we’re clean, I drag him back into his bed, the bed we’ve made ours since the first night I slipped inside it to hide from my nightmares in the safety of his presence.
How the fuck I’m going to live without that again, I’m not sure.
River curls into my side, our legs tangled together beneath the sheets and soon enough, his breathing evens out into deep steady breaths. A sign sleep has overtaken him.
But I just lie here, not tired in the least.
How can I be when every second I spend asleep tonight is one less I’ll have awake with him?
My want, my need for him, it’s consumed all I am.
It has from the very moment he pulled me to the edge of the cliff and forced me over into a freefall I never wanted to take. Even though it was the very thing I needed.
The thought brings me back to the last therapy session I had with Doctor Fulton. The words she spoke to me that set me off in a fiery rage.
He has this way of making you lose the control of yourself that you’re so desperate to cling to. And I think it could be good for you. I think you need it.
He didn’t just make me lose control though.
He gave me new experiences, new insights. He showed me what it was like to have someone accept you for who you are without trying to change you.
He gave me every piece of himself and asked for nothing in return.
And she was fucking right.
I needed it.
Him.
Glancing down at his sleeping form, the way his hair flops down on his forehead, I feel it. For the first time in my life, I feel what it’s like to need someone and to accept it isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Not when they have so much to teach you about yourself. About life.
About love.
That word, four little letters packed with a large meaning, rolls around in my brain. I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t been for a while now. Ever since the night I told him about my stepfather, it’s been in the back of my head.
And when it comes to River, that little word takes on a whole new meaning.
“Tá mé i ngrá leat Abhainn,” I murmur into his ear before gently kissing his temple.
They are words I had heard my father speak to my mother on countless occasions while he was still alive. Never in my life did I think I’d be saying them to anyone, let alone the guy who became my sworn enemy. But I took the easy way out, speaking them in my father’s native tongue.
Even if he is awake, he won’t know what I’ve said. What I’ve just declared.
But I do.
I am.
And I have no fucking clue what to do now that I’ve undoubtably realized it.
I’m in love with him.
“Knock, knock. You boys still alive?” I hear Coach Scott call from my bedroom, where I’m triple checking the space to make sure I’m not forgetting anything before we leave.
Fuck, I can’t believe we’re actually leaving this place after five weeks. Even more, I can’t believe I don’t want to leave.
Returning to our lives, to school, only signifies the end of this thing between Rain and me. At least, the end of how things are while we’ve been here.
And I don’t want that. If I had my way, things would stay exactly the same once we are back to civilization. We’d kiss and hold hands in public, like we did at the resort in Vail. Lay in bed naked, talking about anything and everything under the sun, or I’d watch him paint while reading whatever captures my interest in that moment.
We’d be together, no timeline as to when we have to quit each other or to know when we’ve run our course.
No expiration date.
Scrubbing my hand over my face, I huff out a sigh.
How the hell did we end up here?
Backpack slung over my shoulder and duffle in hand, I pause in the doorway to give the room one last farewell glance. From behind me, I hear Coach call out again.
“Lennox? Grady? You two here?”
“Coming, Coach,” I shout back, closing the bedroom door behind me. My head instinctively turns toward Rain’s room, finding it open. It’s still surprising to see because, even after the paint sex fiasco, he was hesitant to let me into his space.
Into his mind, and dare I say, his heart.
Just as I’m about to turn away, Rain appears through the doorway, gathering the few case
s of his artwork and paints together on his desk. Heat rushes through me at the sight of him, dressed in a hoodie and pair of dark grey sweats.
Why do I have to feel this way?
I take a step toward his door with every intention of grabbing some of his supplies to carry out to the truck, but the squeak of my weight on the floorboards gives me away. His head snaps up, landing directly on me.
Stepping into his doorway, I give him a small smile. “Need some help?”
A mischievous smirk graces his face. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
But when I go to sling my duffle over my shoulder to free my hands, Rain tugs it from my hands and presses me into the wall with his entire body. His lips descend on mine in a searing kiss, devouring them as if he thinks kissing with this much passion and intensity will allow him to reach into my chest and claim my heart as his.
Little does he know, he already has.
The words, those three fucking words, eight letters long, sit on my tongue, begging to slip free. I’ve never said them in my life to anyone who isn’t a blood relative, mostly because I’ve never felt them until Rain.
Before Rain, love was just a word to me. A theory without meaning, speaking of hearts and flowers and the simplicity of looking into the eyes of another person and feeling that spark.
But after Rain? My theory is decimated entirely.
Being in love is a daily battle, not only fighting for the other person, but for yourself. It’s finding the common ground, the parts of your souls that speak to each other, strengthening them in ways no one else’s ever could. It’s knowing your worth and not only telling the other person you won’t accept anything less than what you deserve, but trusting them to provide that for you.
It’s giving the darkest parts of yourself to another human, saying this is who I am in all my fucked up glory, and not asking them to fix you, but to give you what you need to mend yourself.
Loving Rain, while it’s been the challenge of a lifetime, it’s also becoming addictive. Seeing, holding, owning the parts of himself he doesn’t grant access to the rest of the world. It’s an all-consuming high that feeds the deepest parts of my soul. A high, while I know I can survive without it, I don’t fucking want to.
Then again, that would be the basis of addiction, right?
But even still, I swallow the words that would ruin absolutely everything that’s transpired between us these last few weeks.
Because they would. Especially if he didn’t return them.
Doesn’t mean I don’t find myself ready to shout them from the rooftops if I thought they’d make a difference in what happens after today. If we could make this—us—real.
“Can we stay here forever? I can’t stand the thought of leaving,” I groan against his mouth before nipping at his bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth.
A husky chuckle slips from deep within his chest as his tongue moves with mine. “Me either, babe. But we can’t always get what we want.” He bites and nibbles and sucks at my mouth to the point I’m certain my lips are swollen and bruised, but I don’t fucking care.
The second we move from this spot, the moment we break this connection, it’s over. Only, neither of us has the power to stop.
Finally, yet all too soon, Rain wrenches his mouth from mine, leaving us both panting and breathless, only to plant one soft, final kiss to my lips.
“Let’s go, Abhainn. Before Coach comes back here to find two of his football players balls deep inside each other.”
Reluctantly, I back away from him, throwing my strap over my shoulder before snatching a few of Rain’s art boxes away from him. He laughs and pats my ass, giving it a slight squeeze before the release, then grabs what is remaining and follows me out to the living room.
Coach is sitting at the kitchen island, coffee in hand, when we come walking into the open common space. His eyes snap to the crates in my hands, then over my shoulder at Rain who is directly behind me.
“Well? Did it do you two any good to be out here? Or did you lose your minds?”
Glancing over my shoulder at Rain, I give him a shit eating grin, knowing the comment was one thousand percent aimed at him. “Did you lose your mind, Ciaráin Grady?”
He gives me a smirk before answering Coach, all the while holding my gaze.
“Sure did, Coach. I lost my mind and found my soul.”
Dropping to my bed, which I haven’t seen in over a month, I let out a low groan as my face burrows into the dark green comforter. As weird as it is to be back here and as much as I didn’t want to leave the cabin, I have to admit it will be nice to sleep in my own bed again.
The drive back to Boulder was uneventful despite the tension that filled the truck for most of the ride. Thankfully, Coach didn’t comment on our silence, just took it in stride by turning up the radio, bopping his hands on the steering wheel to whatever country song was playing at the time.
Rolling to my back, I stare at the ceiling, replaying the last twenty four hours in my mind, unable to halt the thoughts racing through my head.
Will last night be the last time? Will this morning be our last kiss?
As much as I hate to admit, they both felt like he was saying goodbye. In all honesty, it would probably be for the best if we quit this cold turkey and went back to hating each other. It might hurt less, at the end of the day.
But his words play on a repetitive loop in my brain.
You’ll meet someone. Someone who makes your heart pound in your chest, and whether it’s a guy or a girl, if they’re the right one for you, they won’t force you to be someone you aren’t.
I know those words were meant as a reassurance, a confirmation he and I aren’t endgame. He doesn’t think he can be that person for me, and I commend him for being honest about how he feels. It’s not something that comes easy to him.
But it’s also a load of bullshit.
To my core, I feel it. My gut, my instincts, they’re all pointing straight at him, like a beacon in the night, screaming this is it. This is the one you’re meant to keep.
If he’d fucking let me.
Because I’m painfully aware my entire fucking world now revolves around Ciaráin Grady and the someone he speaks of is a fucking crock of shit.
I don’t want someone. I want him.
And hell if I’m willing to sit here and even contemplate the idea of him being with someone else too.
A twinge pricks in the back of my mind when thoughts of Roman start stewing in my brain. The only other man Rain admitted to having an attraction towards.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not so self-important to think I’m the only man Rain has felt something for. That would be completely insane. Even if he was unaware of his sexuality, the straightest of arrows can admit another human of the same gender is attractive.
Still, Rain willingly revealing his past is groundbreaking, and the nosy, competitive part of me is dying to know more about the guy who caught his eye.
I fight the idea for a whole half second before snatching my phone from the nightstand and pulling up my Facebook app.
Yep, I’ve resorted to cyber stalking. Fan-fucking-tastic.
It doesn’t take long for me to dig up Rain’s profile, which seems to be inactive for the most part, as his last post was before he even left Clemson to come to Colorado. Seeing as his privacy settings are basically non-existent, I’m able to scroll through his friends list until I stumble across one Roman Mitchell.
Strange. For some reason, I thought his last name would be Anders.
No, not some reason.
He’s the son of a Pennsylvania Senator, according to Rain, and I’d have to live under a fucking rock to not know about Pennsylvania Senator Ted Anders and all the fucked-up allegations against him that have been making the national news. Put two and two together, and I thought it would be him. Especially with how tense Rain got seeing the newscast while we were at the resort in Vail.
It would make a lot of sense for him to have such an adverse rea
ction to seeing the clip if his two best friends for most of his life had a molester for a father. Especially when Rain himself was a victim of sexual abuse as a kid.
Even still, Roman could have a different last name than his father, so it’s not ruled out entirely.
Clicking on the profile, I’m once again in luck his profile is also public. Or, at least public enough to be able to click through his photo albums. Starting with profile photos, I’m annoyed the instant I pull it up, noting…of course he’s really attractive.
Not my type at all, seeing as he’s dressed in a well-tailored suit leaning against a fucking matte maroon Lambroghini Aventador like the rich fuck he is.
Okay, I might be harnessing my inner Judgy Judgerson right now, but it’s not out of jealousy of his wealth or connection to Rain. I mean, come the fuck on. Your half a million dollar car in your profile photo? Are you trying to compensate for something, Roman?
See? Not jealous at all.
I quickly flip through the photos from the past four years, ones either of him alone or with the same group of four other guys. They’re all good looking, but again, all dressed in suits or expensive as fuck clothing with their fancy cars. One of them even looks a little like my friend Asher.
Overall, none of the images are of interest to me since he and Roman haven’t spoken since Roman left for college in Portland, or at least somewhere close to there.
Wait.
My brain screeches to a halt.
Portland.
That night at the hotel in Portland comes rushing back. Jerking myself to images of him in the shower. Coming out to find him hard as a rock. One of my many proposals to get my mouth on that gorgeous cock of his.
But then…the sudden text message he received and his almost immediate departure from the room after.
He didn’t come back for hours, keeping me up half the night worried out of my fucking mind that something had happened. And when he did finally stumble back into the room well after last call, he was drunk off his ass and completely sex-mussed.
At the time, I thought he hooked up with some random chick.
But now…
Did he see Roman that night?
Unease bites at my stomach, causing it to roll, but I push it down.