Page 38 of Snow Storm

He fell back, boneless with a racing heart as Harley rode the last of his orgasm, and when it was over, he collapsed against the mess.

“Fuck,” Harley whispered in a trembling voice.

Claude grabbed him and held on tightly. He was terrified. Everything with this man felt so…right. It felt important—like if he let him go, he’d be spitting in the face of the universe for the gift it was giving him.

But logic and reason never listened to his intuition. He wasn’t ready to take the risk.

For now, he would just bask.

“Tell me you’re okay,” Claude murmured after a long while. Harley’s breathing was even, but it was still a little shallow.

“I don’t think I’ve come that hard before.”

Claude laughed. “Same.”

Lifting his face, Harley stared at Claude, his brow furrowed. He could feel Harley gently clenching around him. “You’re still hard.”

“I took something,” Claude reminded him. He traced a touch down Harley’s nose. There was a thick bump in the center,likely from where his glasses sat, and a constellation of freckles decorated his skin. “I don’t come the way you do anymore. Or, well, not very often.”

“But you did, right? Just now?”

“Oh, mon âme, I most certainly did.”

Harley bit his lower lip, then lowered his head back down. His ear was pressed to Claude’s chest, and then his fingers began to tap out the beat of his heart along Claude’s ribs. “Fast.”

“That was more exertion than I’ve had in a while. I might be a little out of shape.”

Harley snorted. “I guess we’ll need to do that again. Good for the heart and all.”

Claude laughed gently. It had been so, so long since he’d felt like this. Light, free. Happy? God, wasthishappy? He pushed his fingers into Harley’s hair. His curls caught, so he didn’t stroke—he just gently scratched at his scalp. He had a feeling if Harley could have, he would have been purring.

He arched into the touch like a man starved. Claude only knew because he felt the same way. He was surrounded by people who cared about him—people he considered family—but he was missing this. The easy, careless affection of someone who wanted to be held.

His chest ached at the thought of giving it up.

“I should get you cleaned up,” Claude murmured after a beat.

Harley lifted his head. “Yeah. Uh.” He licked his lips, and his gaze darted away. “Should I…do you want me to, you know? Go?”

Claude gripped him tightly again, then forced himself to loosen his hold. “No. I won’t be angry or upset if you need some space, but no. I’d like you to stay.”

Harley smiled shyly as he finally looked back into Claude’s eyes. “Then I’d like to stay.”

“Good. Let’s start the shower and clean up. The night’s still young, and I can think of several more ways we can feel good before we sleep.”

Chapter 12

Harley

For the firsttime in God knows how long, Harley woke up happy. It took him a while to remember why he felt so nice. Or why he was so deliciously sore and worn-out. Or why he wasn’t in the bed he was supposed to be in. But then he took a deep breath of Claude’s scent—the tea tree shampoo he used and the lavender bodywash he’d insisted would send Harley into a dreamless, restful sleep—and he remembered.

The night had gone on and on. He’d straddled Claude on his shower chair and let the man stroke him off until he was gasping into his mouth and coming all over his hand. Claude kissed him after that, then set him on the shower floor between his legs and washed Harley’s hair.

No one had done that for him before. Not ever. At least, not since he was very young, and even then, it had been a quick and perfunctory chore.

Claude treated him like he was a treasure—a thing to be savored. He took his time combing the tangles out of Harley’s soft curls while the water gently misted them.

He lathered his skin with soap and used wrinkled fingertips to ensure all the bubbles had washed away. And all the while, he tasted him—kissing his lips, his neck, his nipples, his stomach.He paid Harley attention in ways that would stay with him forever. Ways that had once only made sense in romance novels.

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