Page 72 of Second Story

When he saw me on that beach and the first time I let Lenny see him.

Joe looks at me now as if he can’t believe his eyes or his luck, then kisses me deep and wet enough to drown in.

Don’t try to fucking save me.

I want to go under. Want to sink as deep as I can, as long as it’s with him. I don’t even need air. Joe will do my breathing for me.

“Yeah?” he asks again against my shoulder, and fuck knows what that is in response to. All I can do is nod and hold on.

He fucks me fast, then slow and gentle, and that’s good, but so is him rolling me over again so I’m back on knees that shake, then lock.

The wide head of his dick nudges my hole, slick with more lube.Joe pulls me back onto him, angled so this ingress is one long light show.

All I can do is feel—how we fit, how we sound, how him pulling me up so I’m back on his lap almost tips me over an edge. I’m so beyond full. There’s no end to him, no beginning to me, and his hand barely wrapping my dick spells game over.

I come so hard I can’t see.

Because of him.

Joe’s my cause. My reason. My definition of patience, who waits until I can urge him to finish, and so what if that’s flat on my face and I’m almost smothered.

What a way to go.

I’m blissed out for I don’t know how long after he rolls off to clean up. All I see is him sitting on the side of my bed, his back to me, complete with new marks and bruises.

Because of how hard I held him.

“I hurt you.”

“Hurt me?”

Joe meets my gaze, and all I see is softness. And care. So much so that his final statement becomes a promise I’ll keep forever.

“Mate, you couldn’t.”

20

JOE

I don’t hurt for days.

Even my damaged nerve endings must get the message. They don’t bother me if Isaac forgets to be careful. Honestly, I live for those hot and sweaty moments when it’s just him and me making up for lost time.

I can see a future through those jolts and tingles.

Yes, my courtroom clock will tick again tomorrow morning, but we’ve got a second chance here that I’ll treat the same way my father does a broken engine.

So what if Dad still does his best to avoid being in the same room as me. He showed me how to take care, and the longer I think about it, he did that with more than motors.

I’ll tune up what Isaac and I have started. Tinker with it and with my court workload until I can find a way for it to run smoothly instead of all that stop-start coughing like whenever Isaac starts his Transit. He’s my incentive to carve a space for myself here that I inject into helping Hugo divide and conquer his welfare workload. Doing the same with Charles and his three holy terrors is another pleasure I couldn’t have imagined backin knife crime central. The cherry on the top is sharing evenings that start with bedtime stories.

For three nights in a row, I get to listen to ones read by Lenny’s mum on speaker now that she has more regular phone access. She’s only allowed ten minutes at a time. I bet she counts every single second.

So do I each night with Isaac.

Thank fuck no one else stays in this old stable block. Otherwise, I’d need to cover his mouth while doing him like I used to dream of—against walls and doors and in a bathroom where the mirror over the sink reflects someone who once lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes like he didn’t trust me.

Isaac is the opposite of wary after waking on the last day of my stay. I’d extend my visit if I could. Postpone yet another attempt at a court visit. The memory of hot chocolate staining my shirt means the best I can do is push back leaving to the very last fast train scheduled for this evening.

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