And that was an understatement. He felt incredible around me, tight, wet, overwhelming; the pleasure made me shiver and sigh as I tried to regain my sense of balance.
Dawson rocked his hips back. “Come on,” he said. “Move, please.”
I kissed his neck, his shoulder, wriggled my free arm below us to hold him close by the chest, and began to move. I thrust into him slowly, drawing nearly all the way out before burying my cock inside him. Each thrust made Dawson gasp; the position stretched out his body, and his cock twitched untouched. Fuck, it felt good, and I couldn’t help but pick up the pace, the pleasure too good to resist.
“Right there,” Dawson gasped. “Fuck, Nix, I’m gonna come.”
“Yeah?” I asked. “Close?”
“So fucking close,” Dawson said, before he turned his head awkwardly over his shoulder to kiss me sloppily.
I slid my hand from his chest down to his cock and gripped him tightly—the head was so wet with precum, it eased the way immediately. Dawson gasped in into the kiss, his whole body tensing as I stroked him in time with my thrusts. I tightened my grip, stroked him hard and fast as I fucked him.
Dawson was so gorgeous when he came. He moaned into the kiss, his hips bucking forward and back erratically and then he froze, tense all over, as he came hard over his chest and my hand.
His body clenched hard around me as he came, and the intense sensation coupled with the sight of his release was enough to tip me over the edge. He melted back against me, loose and pliant in the post-orgasm haze, and I thrust into him quick and hard just a few more times. I clung tightly to him, kissing him messily as the pleasure racing through me suddenly tightened and snapped. My hips stuttered as I came, pleasure flooding me as I whispered his name into the kiss.
After a few hazy moments of post-orgasm bliss, I pulled out and disposed of the condom. Dawson made a move to get up.
“Nope,” I said, pushing him back down. “Wait here.”
He shot me a lazy, gorgeous smile, and then let me dote on him: I took my time cleaning him up with a washcloth, then brought in water and even snacks. Just in case.
“Hey.” Dawson wrapped his hand around my wrist, where I was finishing up cleaning his release off his chest. When I met his eyes, his gaze was soft, disarming, and full of so much affection my throat clenched. “Thank you.”
I leaned forward and kissed him. “No,” I said. “Thank you. For—for being here. With me.”
Dawson pulled me close, and it was easy to drift to sleep in the familiar hold of his arms.
24
Dawson
“So that’s why I was on the phone with the doctor,” Jonah said with an exasperated roll of his eyes as he watched Grace teeter around the living room. “Gretel and Gracie are getting a little too close if Gracie’s eating dirt just because Gretel is.”
“Don’t blame Gretel,” Logan said with a laugh. “She can’t help being irresistible.”
“True,” Coop said with a grin. “Gretel’s the reason I gave Rebel a chance at all.”
“Hey,” Rebel said, and swatted at Coop. “There were other reasons.”
“I guess you’re easy on the eyes, too,” Coop said.
Logan and Jonah both started laughing, which set off the rest of the guys, too. Gretel was padding around the kitchen, tail wagging, waiting for any dropped bits of brownie or scone that Dante had brought over. It’d been a few weeks since I’d returned from rehab, and every day was getting easier.
I’d apologized to the presidents and vice presidents personally. It hadn’t been an easy conversation, admitting all the ways I’d fucked up and all the ways I planned to improve, but after some discussion, they’d agreed to let me back on the job site. No third chances, though. If I fucked it up this time, I fucked it up for good.
But despite the seriousness of that qualification, I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t going to fuck this up. Not with Nix at my side, and the club supporting me, too. Next to me, Nix raised his seltzer to mine, with a small smile, and we knocked the cans together in a cheers. From the kitchen, Brennan caught my eye and smiled.
I was exhausted from the workday. I sipped my seltzer and sank a little heavier into the couch, letting the conversation wash over me without really processing it. It was just nice to be here, hanging out with everyone, relaxing after a hard day. Since being allowed back on the jobsite, I’d made it my personal mission to finish the last details of Priest’s cabin and make sure it was perfect. It wasn’t part of my amendments, but it felt like the least I could do to repay them for everything they’d done for me—and for the way they’d given me another chance.
Work on the cabin had continued while I was in rehab, but there were still about eight weeks of work to go, what with plumbing issues and then some unexpected electrical problems, too. And Brennan and I had decided to include a last-minute addition, too, which had created some more bumps in the road, since so much had already been completed. The problems weren’t anything out of the ordinary, though—no job ever went off without some sort of hitch. And this one was coming out wonderfully. Enough that half of Brennan’s crew had already started work on the second cabin.
Right now, though, we were all just hanging out after the workday. I’d seen Nix’s truck out front when I’d walked up from the jobsite, and that’d been more than enough to get me inside and cracking a seltzer. I still cringed every time I saw the truck, though. Or worse—a borrowed bike. Nix had made it clear he wasn’t angry about losing the Sportster, but I knew he missed riding, missed having his own bike.
I had a plan to make amends for that, too. Personal amends. It was slow going, but I was getting there. If anyone was worth it, it was Nix.
I took another sip of the cold seltzer, savoring the crisp sensation of the carbonation on my tongue. It was funny how easily my urges were curbed by things like seltzer. Sometimes it wasn’t beer I wanted—it was just something cold and fizzy, signaling to my brain that the workday was done. A habit. I didn’t need beer—I needed something cold, and some good company.
Nix and the club easily provided both of those things.
The club members had gone above and beyond anything I ever expected in supporting my sobriety. Even now, on a cool evening after a long day, there wasn’t a beer in sight. Just seltzers, sodas, decaf coffee. I knew this wasn’t permanent. I didn’t expect—or want—anyone else in the club to quit just because I had. None of them needed to.
It was really fucking nice, though, to not have to stare at other people drinking this early into my sobriety. Eventually I’d have to get used to being around other people drinking, and I’d deal with that when that time rolled around, but for now, I appreciated their thoughtfulness.
But part of me was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. It couldn’t be this easy. I couldn’t get the club, and Nix, and a better life just like this. With just one stint in rehab and a low-dosage medication for my ADD.
But maybe that was the magic of sobriety. Maybe I’d just been playing life on hard mode for no reason, and now I could finally ease up and relax.
Or maybe the other shoe just hadn’t dropped yet.