Page 16 of Mixed Motives

I thrust into him deep, hard, and stay there, pulsing as I orgasm, emptying into him, feeling the full release: body, brain, spirit.

I keep rocking into him slowly as I come down from the high, and I eventually pull out of him with a pop.

“Stay there,” I order, kissing his shoulder, and I hop off the bed to deal with the condom. When I return with a washcloth, I see that he hasn’t moved—he’s still on his knees—and something even stronger moves in my heart.

His obedience is utterly adorable.

He’s utterly adorable.

I want him to stay with me. I want him in my bed. I want him in my life.

I know this is only our first date, and I don’t fucking care. He’s mine, and I’m keeping him.

After I clean him up, we lie under the covers, side by side. I draw him to my chest, and he cuddles into me. For a moment, I’m worried about whether I did okay. I haven’t had performance anxiety in a long time, but I also haven’t had sex in a while, and I’m hoping I didn’t fuck this up.

“You good?” I murmur, needing to know more than that. Needing to know if what I’m feeling for him is reciprocated. If we have a chance together. If we can navigate the obstacles between us and deal with, oh God, my son.

Henry moves to straddle me, still naked, and his smile is so beautiful. “Yes. So much yes.”

“And would you want to do it again?”

He grins. “Again, yes. So much yes.”

“Good,” I say, and tug him down for a deep kiss.

CHAPTER 7

HENRY

I’ve never had better sex. Keane was fabulous—he’s big and powerful, but gentle. He was commanding, but he listened. He gave and took pleasure in equal percentages.

In short, I’m fucked. In all the ways.

Now I’m feeling shy. I want to ask him things. Can we go out again? Can we stay in again? How often can I come over? Do you want to come to my place?

Will you be my boyfriend?

Are we moving too fast? Even though I’ve known you for two years?

But with all the excitement of the day, I find myself dozing off.

When I wake up, it’s early evening.

“What happened?” I mutter.

“You stole the blanket,” Keane says, a note of amusement in his voice. He’s cuddled up behind me, holding me in his arms, and I’m pretty darn happy. His biceps are so much bigger than mine, and feeling one like an iron claw around my waist makes me feel secure.

I look down. I totally did steal the blanket. It’s sort of under me and over my legs … and not over him at all.

“Is that a deal-breaker?” I turn over and study his face.

“Kind of. I’m not fond of blanket hogs.”

My heart sinks, and Keane looks immediately worried. “I’m kidding. Well, I’m not kidding about blanket hogs, but I’m immensely fond of you.” He stares at me meaningfully. “Immensely. I’d like to see you again.”

“I don’t want to ever leave,” I blurt.

“Good,” he whispers. “Don’t.”

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