Two years.
Two years of marriage, two years of crashing together and then apart, finding where their edges fit and where they stabbed and where they needed sanding and where sometimes the pain was the pleasure of it, when they ripped at each other and somehow that frustration turned into passion and fire and everything wonderful that burned between them.
Two years where Rian’s desire hadn’t abated in the slightest.
Two years of falling more and more in love.
With his husband—and with the life they had built together.
In some ways, nothing had changed.
They still taught their classes, still had little overlap in their disciplines, still...still sometimes fought like cats and dogs.
But bit by bit, day by day, they had created this world that was just for them; this home that was just for them, filled with furniture they’d argued over at IKEA and the kitschy things Rian picked up at the antique shops down in town and the ugly things Damon had found at the same shops and bought because he thought they were weird and quirky and something Rian would love. And Rian did love them, just because they were all wrong and so hideous and he absolutely adored that his husband tried so hard and still hadn’t quite figured out Rian’s tastes, until it had become a running joke that Damon had absolutely zero sense of style, fashion, or aesthetic balance.
I must have some kind of eye, Damon had teased, as he’d put some kind of bizarre rhinestone-encrusted pepper grinder up on one of the wall-mounted decorative kitchen shelves. I picked you.
Ridiculous man.
Ridiculous man, with that overly blunt way of talking that just made Rian blush again and again and again.
That way of looking at Rian as if there was nothing in Damon’s world but him.
That way of touching him as if Rian was something fragile and cherished that Damon couldn’t bear to break.
That way of kissing him as if Damon would devour him with his hunger—as Damon kissed him now, that hot mouth descending on Rian’s and consuming him with a heat that burst through him as if he’d plunged into the heart of a star, incinerated in an instant. Every time they came together was always like that: Rian hit his flashpoint in less time than it took to breathe, his entire body coming alight, internal combustion flaring to the point of overload. He felt the crush of Damon’s lips with every sense, from the velvet-wet texture of their mouths sliding together to the prickling sting of pressure to the scour of rough heat and silky caresses; from the heady golden-wine taste of the slick inside of Damon’s mouth to the steaming scent of his breaths to the gasping, liquid sounds they made as they moved together, mated, broke apart, met again in a frenzy.
Rian slipped his arms around Damon’s neck, gathered up handfuls of his hair, clutching them just to savor the stark coolness of soft strands trapped between the fire of Rian’s needy, sensitive palms and the taut heat of Damon’s throat. But he hardly had a chance to drag Damon’s shirt off before, with a near-desperate urgency, Damon’s hands took control of his body, pushing Rian over, easing him onto his side with Damon against his back, one large, rough hand smoothing over his hip, his ass, before ripping his pants off to leave him bare.
Bare...and spread open as Damon nudged his leg forward, the calluses on his fingertips electrifying sensitive skin as Damon stroked beneath Rian’s thigh, coaxed his leg to bend until he was vulnerable and spread open with Damon pressed against him from behind and completely controlling, dominating him with that bulk he loved so much. But Rian whined softly, hungrily as Damon slid against his ass, first denim...then burning bare flesh, teasing him with the shape of Damon’s cock stroking against him instead of giving him what he wanted with an urgency that made him feel like a little wild animal. He squirmed his hips back against Damon—only to freeze as Damon let out a soft, rumbling chuckle against his ear.
“What’s the matter?” Damon rumbled. “Desperate to get those wildcat claws in me?”
“Don’t be cruel,” Rian whispered.
“You like me that way,” Damon answered—only for those thick, coarse fingers to slide into Rian without warning, slicked with lubricant and spearing deep, striking Rian like lightning and burning through him.
He went wild, completely out of control; thrashing, writhing against the bed, clawing at the pillows and muffling his cries against the cotton pillowcases. When Damon did this to him, it made him feel owned, completely consumed...but nothing branded him more than the sensation of Damon’s cock pressing into his sore emptiness, replacing his fingers and stretching him so thickly, filling him so perfectly until he stopped feeling anything but together.
Together...and completely taken over as Damon clutched at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world and fucked him deep, fucked him long...
...and held him close as they sought more and more and more again, together.
Always together, until they dissolved into each other and lost themselves for hours, drawing each moment, each thrust, each tandem movement out until Rian never wanted this to end.
And even if his body could only take so much...
Silently, as he twined his fingers with Damon’s and held back his cries and completely fell apart, Rian hoped this feeling would last for the rest of their lives together.
* * *
Rian really hoped the kids didn’t wake up anytime soon.
Because if they needed anything, they’d have to hope Damon’s legs actually worked, because Rian didn’t think he was getting up for the next two days.
God, he’d needed that.
...though he was lucky he hadn’t ripped out a filling, tearing up mouthfuls of the pillow.
With a muzzy sound, he spat out cotton, smacking his dry lips together, then forced his fingers to unclench from the sheets; he stared down at the stretched-out puckers gouged in the pale green fabric. He...he didn’t think cotton-poly blend was supposed to stretch out of shape like that...
At his back, Damon let out a breathless chuckle, one thick arm flexing as it tightened against Rian’s body, hand splaying against his stomach. “...someone was a little pent up.”
“Oh shut up,” Rian muttered halfheartedly, grumbling and snuggling back into the broad warmth of Damon’s body, the comforting familiarity of his frame and how Rian always seemed to fit so perfectly into Damon’s contours and edges. “Your fault. You made me do that.”
“Blame I will willingly accept.” Warm lips pressed to Rian’s shoulder; Damon let out a drowsy rumble, his voice content and low the way it always was after sex, a certain sweetness to it. “You okay?”
“Mm. More than.”
Yawning, Rian shifted—gingerly, he felt like he’d been beaten to a pulp and he half loved it, half knew he’d regret it the next time one of the twins asked to be picked up and carried. But he twisted onto his back to look at Damon...then caught himself, tipping his head back to look up at the canvas mounted over their bed.