I wanted to. And I would. But right now, I just wanted to be close to him. To show him how much I cared for him, and how much I’d missed him. My realizations were peanuts compared to the changes he’d made, and ultimately didn’t change much. I didn’t want to take away from the work he’d done by putting the attention back on me, especially not for something so small and ultimately meaningless.
And admittedly, part of me was afraid to tell him. The way I experienced desire was weird. It was different. Not the way most men experienced it, and telling him about it would reframe all of our time together. I’d have to admit I’d felt this connection to him from the very beginning, and it’d only grown stronger since then—what if that freaked him out? What if he felt even more pressure than he must already be feeling? What if that was the straw that made this too much for him?
Not to mention I still wasn’t exactly sure how to articulate all of this, or how much it even mattered. Being so vulnerable about something that was still new to me was… intimidating. He'd accept me, though. Even if he was confused by my sexuality, he wasn’t the type to run away. Not anymore. Of that much I was sure.
I’d tell him. I wanted him to know me, all of me, even the parts that were different or confusing, just like I now knew him. But not quite yet. Right now was about him, and about welcoming him home.
“I’m sick of talking,” Dawson said teasingly. “Feel like I’ve been talking all month.”
“That’s kind of the point of intensive therapy,” I noted.
Dawson grinned, then maneuvered us down until we were lying flat on the bed. He leaned over me and kissed me again. “Too much talking,” he reiterated. “Just want to feel you.”
Heat curled in my gut. I wound my arms around him and tugged him close to me. “Yeah?” I asked, then I kissed his cheeks, jawline, the curve of his neck.
“Yeah,” Dawson said. “Please.” He swallowed, like he was nervous. “Make love to me.”
My heart hammered hard in my chest.
Love.
Not just sleeping together or fucking. Making love. And hearing the word in his mouth only made me surer of what I was already accepting.
That I was falling for him.
No—not even that. I’d already fallen. Fallen hard.
I couldn’t say it, not yet. The feeling was still fresh and vulnerable in my chest, and Dawson was too raw from rehab. But I could show him. Show him how much he meant to me, especially now, when he’d walked through hell and come out the other side only stronger and kinder.
I kissed him slowly and deeply, running my tongue over his lower lip, and his own pliant tongue. He sighed into it, then slipped his hands under the hem of my shirt and ran his palms over my abs and chest. I shivered under his touch as heat curled inside me. His touch seemed to draw sparks in its wake. His fingers caught on one of my nipples and rolled it deftly. I gasped at the sensation—no woman had ever touched me like that, with such surety that something like that could feel good. And it did feel good.
I tugged at his shirt. “Off,” I demanded between kisses.
“You, too,” Dawson said with a smile.
We pulled apart only long enough to wriggle out of our shirts. Then, before Dawson could kiss me again, I gripped his shoulders and pushed him down, so his back was flat on the bed and I was on top of him, this time.
“Let me take care of you,” I murmured as I drew my lips down the column of his neck and across his collarbones.
“Yes,” Dawson said with a sigh. “Nix, please.”
God, his voice made my cock throb hard in my pants. It shocked me how badly I wanted him, and how quickly desire overtook me when I had him spread out under me like this. It was like nothing I’d felt. And I was absolutely addicted to it. I dropped kisses on his muscled chest, his pecs, his abs, running my tongue over his salty skin and savoring every twitch of his muscles. He petted his hands restlessly over me as I moved southward, raking his fingers through my hair, then gripping needily at my shoulders.
I kissed his hip, just above the waistband of his jeans, and then gazed up at him as I popped the button.
At first, he didn’t meet my eyes. His head was tilted back, showing the pretty arch of his neck and the strong curve of his jaw. But when I stopped my ministrations, he finally looked down, and his pupils were blown wide with desire.
“Please,” he said. “Nix. Need you. Missed you.”
Hearing that made my heart pound in my chest. How could I resist him when he spoke so sweetly?
“I got you,” I murmured. Then I peeled him out of his jeans, moving with care, taking time to draw my hands up the gorgeous muscle of his thighs and the curve of his calves. He spread his legs accommodatingly; I kicked out of my own pants in a hurry and crawled in between them.
Then I leaned over him and kissed him as I drew my hand over the hard line of his cock in his underwear. He gasped and his hips arched up to meet my hand. But it wasn’t his cock I was interested in—not yet. I pulled back just long enough to peel his briefs off slowly, taking care not to touch his cock at all where it rested, hot, hard, and drooling precum onto his taut belly.
“Don’t tease,” Dawson murmured into the kiss. He tilted his hips toward me, silently begging. God, it’d been so long.
I grabbed the lube off the nightstand—just the sound of the cap flicking open made Dawson’s cock twitch with interest. Then, finally, I drew my hand down, in between his spread legs. He sighed with relief as my slick fingers circled his tight hole.
But I didn’t want to tease him. Not tonight, when we’d been parted for so long. I slipped one finger inside him, savoring the hot, tight clench of his body.
“You’re so tight,” I said softly, as I mouthed kisses along his jaw.
“Love this part,” Dawson sighed. “Another.”
I slid a second finger in obligingly, and it wasn’t long before he was rocking back onto my hand, gasping with pleasure as sweat beaded on his temples and in the hollow of his throat. I worked a third finger in, curled my fingers up to find that sweet place inside him, and made his back arch. It was so slick, and tight, and my cock ached with the need to be inside him.
“Enough,” Dawson said as dug his fingers into my shoulders. “Please, Nix, I’m ready.”
“Fucking hell,” I said low, as I slowly withdrew my fingers. He already looked wrecked: flushed and sweaty, his hair a mess, his eyes wide, lips swollen from the kisses and from where he’d dug his teeth into his lower lip with pleasure. “I’m not gonna last. You’re so gorgeous.”
“Not gonna last, either,” he said with a sultry smile. “Come on.”
I rolled a condom on, then lay down beside Dawson, maneuvering him until he was on his side. I spooned up behind him. He was so gorgeous and strong—I’d never get used to having him like this. I loved every second of it. I loved seeing him come apart like this. I ran my hand over the curve of his ass, then hooked my hand under his thigh.
He reached back and cupped the back of my head, holding me close. I kissed his nape, my heart hammering as I lined up and slowly, slowly slid inside him.
“Dawson,” I sighed as I sank into that insanely slick, tight heat, until my hips were flush against his ass. “Fuck, you feel good.”