Page 101 of Falcon

“Exactly. And I know I never met your parents, but Nora has told me so much about them, and I know, without question, both of them would be so proud of who you are now.”

This man, this beautiful man, harbors so much guilt and sadness under such a stoic surface. He keeps it inside until he can let it out in the Octagon. I know that now, and it makes so much sense. That’s why he doesn’t want to give up fighting. That’s why he is scared to move forward. He’s scared of where that sadness and emotion will go without the Octagon.

I lean forward and rest my forehead on his. Our breaths start to mingle and so much is being said with just those sounds alone.

You’re amazing.

I understand you.

I think I’m falling for you.

That realization sinks into my chest like a ton of bricks. Am I falling for him? Is that what this is? The butterflies. The tingling skin. The excitement. The inability to let him go?

Oh my God. I’m falling in love with him!

My hands begin to shake and I squeeze my eyes closed.

He must sense the shift in my demeanor, because he cups my cheek in his strong, rough hand and slides his thumb over my skin. My breath hitches at the contact. It’s like I can feel him all over my body. It’s an electric tingle mixed with a warmth, like I’m being dipped into a hot tub slowly.

He scoops me up, like I weigh no more than a feather, as he rises from the chair. I curl my arms around his neck and hold on to him for dear life.

He carries me into the bathroom and without an ounce of lust, he undresses me, and I him. In this moment, what we need is thick in the air.

To care for one another.

We take our time in the shower, washing each other, scrubbing the day away, laying chaste kisses on shoulders, necks, chests, backs, but it doesn’t grow from there.

Sure, our bodies are responding to the sensations, my entire lower body contracts inward and is weeping with need and his cock rock-hard and bobbing as he moves, but we don’t try to take advantage of the situation.

This is what we need.

Simple.

Easy.

Us.

“Falcon...” I whisper when he lays a kiss to my neck.

“Marco. I want you to call me Marco,” he says.

My heart explodes right where I’m standing. His walls have dropped; the mask is gone. Since the moment I met him, Falcon was his preferred name. He trusts me enough to be himself. He wants me with him.

He wants me to know him. See him. The real him.

The man. Not the fighter.

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