Page 71 of After the Rain

“Ezra—” he cried, breath breaking. “I—fuck—I’m?—”

“Let go,” I said, thrusting harder. “Give it to me.”

He came with a shout, thick ropes spilling across his stomach and chest, his hole tightening around me so hard it dragged me over the edge. I came with a groan, burying myself deep inside him as my whole body trembled with the force of it.

For a moment, the world disappeared—just the heat of our bodies, the wild beat of our hearts, the breathless tangle of limbs.

After, I collapsed beside him, pulling him into my arms, our bodies sticky with sweat and come and something that felt dangerously close to forever.

Wade traced lazy circles over my chest, his breathing still uneven. “What do we even call this?” he murmured.

I kissed his temple. “Home. We call it home.”

The next morningbrought the surreal pleasure of waking up in Wade's bed, his arm around my waist, morning light filtering through curtains I'd helped him choose during a stolen afternoon of domesticity. He was still sleeping, his face peaceful in a way I'd rarely seen during our months of careful friendship.

I watched him wake slowly, golden morning light cutting across the bed as Wade blinked himself into awareness. His eyes found mine with immediate warmth, no hesitation—just the soft glow of someone exactly where he wanted to be.

No awkwardness. No regret. Just that quiet, shared knowing:we chose this.And we’d choose it again.

“Good morning,” he murmured, voice still gravel-thick with sleep, his face soft and stunning in the early light.

“Good morning yourself.” I reached over to touch his cheek, letting my thumb graze the stubble there. He leaned into the touch like he didn’t want it to end.

There was a pause, long enough for us both to hear the rhythm of each other’s breathing. Then Wade leaned in, slow and sure, and kissed me. Just once. Then again, deeper.

The second kiss lit something between us, warm and patient—but hungry too. When his body shifted over mine, I didn’t hesitate for a second to open up beneath him.

But Wade paused, bracing himself on his forearms as he looked down at me, lips flushed, breath uneven.

“I want to do this right,” he said quietly. “Last night… we didn’t really think about anything exceptfinallyhaving each other. But this time…”

He trailed off and leaned over to his nightstand, opening the drawer and rummaging around until he found a small, bottle of lube. He held it up sheepishly, like he wasn’t sure if it was presumptuous.

He slicked his fingers and reached between my legs, his touch gentler now, slower. His fingers circled my hole with reverence, spreading the lube, teasing me open with a patience that made my whole body melt into the mattress. He took his time, one finger at first, then another, watching every twitch of pleasure that passed across my face.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, almost reverent. “I can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

I moaned softly, my hips rocking into his hand, aching for more.

“Wade…”

“I’ve got you,” he promised, leaning down to kiss the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, then the sensitive spot just below my ear.

When he finally lined himself up and began to slide in, I felt everything—every stretch, every inch, every beat of his heart pounding in sync with mine. His cock filled me so perfectly, gently but with purpose, and I exhaled a shaky breath as he bottomed out.

“Jesus, Ezra,” he groaned, forehead resting against mine. “You’re so tight. So fucking perfect.”

We stayed still for a moment, just breathing, letting our bodies learn each other again—but this time softer, more grounded. Then he began to move, slow and deep, every thrust a deliberate act of devotion.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him closer, needing him deeper.

His rhythm built gradually, dragging his cock along that perfect place inside me again and again, sending waves of pleasure through my body that made my toes curl and my back arch.

“Just like that,” I gasped, my hands gripping his shoulders. “God, Wade—don’t stop.”

His mouth found mine again, swallowing every moan, every gasp. “You feel so good,” he said between kisses, his voice a broken whisper. “Your hole’s so warm, so fucking sweet around me.”

I moaned louder, lost to it, lost to him.

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