Page 116 of Worthy

He nods seriously, so I can see he means it, then makes a pleading gesture. “Fuck me, Jamie. I need to make you feel good.” Being me, I want to stop and argue that he already made me feel good by making him feel good, how his simple existence makes me feel better than I ever have in my life, but even I can recognize that this isn’t the time.

As I swing my leg over him, he wraps his hands tight around my hips and examines my bare torso. I’m fit but not chiseled, with some softness around my middle, but he marvels at me like I’m a porn star. His fingers dig into my skin as I lean down and take him in another kiss. This one is slow and tender and deep. There’s something dangerous about it, like a promise that we can never go back, that this means something more than blowing off steam. Our tongues slide together and my dick rubs against his hip as he consumes me in every way.

“I want you so bad,” he murmurs with a reassuring smile. Spreading his legs in invitation, he closes his eyes and groans when the head of my cock finds his entrance. This hole doesn’t need as much prep as his ass, but I move slow, opening him up until I’m buried to the balls in tight heat, my face pressed in the intoxicating scent of his hair.

“Oh god,” he chokes, tightening around me as I slide out and thrust in again. “Does it feel good?” The raw vulnerability is impossible to hide.

I shift my weight so I can comb my fingers through his tousled hair. “You’re so fucking perfect. You feel like heaven.”

Cupping the back of his neck in one hand and supporting myself with the other, I drop kisses on his face as my hips find a driving rhythm. His body grips my cock like he’ll never let me leave as he whimpers and twists his head to find my mouth. Our sweaty bodies intertwine in the dark, our gasps and grunts and the slapping of skin filling the quiet room.

Even with the condom, it’s only a minute or two before my balls are drawn tight and the slightest movement will undo me. “I’m going to come.” For some reason, I always feel the need to inform people. Sometimes they laugh at me and ruin the mood.

“Fuck me,” Kota breathes against my lips. “Claim me.” It’s just dirty talk, or at least it ought to be, but right now I can’t stand the thought of another man ever having him, not when he’s so perfect and so afraid to be hurt.

In three quick thrusts, my limbs turn to liquid and I come hard, cursing and dropping my face into the hollow of his throat, drinking in the scent of his arousal. His fingers weave into my hair and hold me close until the waves of pleasure die down. Careful not to hurt his chest, I shift to the side and slip between him and the back of the couch as I pull my cock out.

His wide, soulful eyes search deep into mine as I stroke his shoulders and neck and hair, savoring his soft skin. My thumb brushes his parted lips, swollen from so much kissing. “Are you alright? Are your incisions hurting?” He shakes his head to the second question, glancing down at my chest as he traces the backs of his fingers along it. Sadness fills his face. “Kota?”

“Don’t go,” he whispers.

“I’m right here.” I tuck him closer against me, wrapping my leg over his.

But he doesn’t smile. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Right.” I drop my head back, staring into the dark. “I don’t know what to do. This isn’t— This shouldn’t be— I don’t know.” I hate those three words. When I don’t know something, I aggressively research until I have all the answers. In a world that doesn’t operate on the same wavelength as me, knowledge is the tool I use to get by. But no one has yet written the part of this story where we find the answers.

“I don’t either.” His hand catches the side of my face and tilts it toward him, his fingers stroking my jaw. “Just promise me we’re not going to pretend this was an accident. Even if we decide to end this, I’d rather know that we both felt something and tried to make it work first.”

“Maybe.” I rub my tired eyes. This feels like madness—my daughter’s coming home in the morning. But the smaller body in my arms feels like courage and Brendan and light, things I thought I had lost.

His fingers lace between mine, and he bends his arm just enough to rest our joined hands on his chest, over his binder. “I have to go home tomorrow, so let’s take time to think it over. But promise me that when this comes off, we’ll go on a real date.”

“I promise.” Squeezing his hand, I lean down and kiss him painstakingly, not a sex kiss but a kiss that exposes the raw nerves around my heart the only way I know how. I can feel a smile on his mouth as he kisses me back.

Chapter seven

Three weeks later

Jamie

I’ve never really felt the butterflies in my stomach that everyone talks about—not for surprise birthdays, hot hookups, or the unveiling of buildings I designed. Not even for the birth of my daughter. Until today. While I might look calm and collected, my heart and mind are both racing out of control. I nearly rear end someone as I try to parallel park on a busy street in downtown Seattle, and when I get out, I almost fumble my keys into a storm drain. A truck slams its brakes and honks as I jog recklessly across the street to the crowded park.

Sticking my hands in my pockets and taking a deep breath, I slow down and scan the area for a flash of ginger hair. Most of the overwhelming number of people are here to snap selfies or photos of their kids in front of the cherry trees, which have broken out into a riot of delicate pink blossoms that flutter when the breeze picks up.

True to our agreement, Kota and I haven’t seen each other in person for almost four weeks. Because Mallory is so important to us both, we want to take the time to think things over and get to know each other outside of physical proximity before deciding if we want to pursue something real enough to tell her. That hasn’t stopped us from exchanging texts every moment of every day, ranging from mundane to flirtatious to deep, as well as a couple of very explicit video calls. Despite all that, I’ve missed him so much, his smell and his warm skin.

I’ve been trying to get out of the house more, going into the office or doing my own shopping, but mostly I’ve been reminded that the world is full of very annoying people. Every time I get frustrated and stressed out, I wish Kota were here to make me laugh about the situation. Now that I’m about to have him in my arms again, I can’t stop worrying that he changed his mind and has been waiting for this moment to tell me.

Squinting in the warm sun and feeling overdressed in my slacks and polo, I wish I had just asked if we could meet at my house instead. Then a lanky figure jumps up from a bench, tosses back his coppery hair, and pulls off his sunglasses. He’s wearing small nylon shorts and a loose tank top that highlights his flat chest and exposes the freckles covering his shoulders.

When Kota’s eyes meet mine, he breaks into a run, scaring some geese and nearly trampling a family’s picnic. I spent the whole day wondering what to say to him, but now it’s so simple. All I have to do is spread my arms as he throws himself against my chest, then wrap them around his slender body and pull him firmly against me, resting my face on his shoulder. As he squeezes me with his full strength, rocking us back and forth, I can feel that he’s no longer wearing a binder.

He tips his face up with a hopeful question in his eyes. When I smile, he rockets up onto his toes and presses his lips to mine with all the sweetness and fire I told myself I must have exaggerated in my memory. The real Kota is brighter and more remarkable than any exaggeration. I kiss him back deeply, struggling to keep the display appropriate for a public park.

“I missed you,” I murmur close to his ear.

He laughs quietly, his fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. “This whole not seeing each other thing? So not cool, and not happening again. Agreed?”

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