Page 128 of Missed Sunrise
Not even when I rose back onto my knees, grabbed Liem delicately by the throat, and pulled him forward, slamming my lips against his.
Not when, with only a few slides of my fist over my hard-as-steel dick, I painted my release on Liem’s stomach.
Or even when Liem laughed in wonder against my mouth and tangled his tongue with mine.
But when he nipped at my bottom lip and pushed his forehead against mine, seeming content to just breathe the same air as me and in no rush to leave.
I started to believe it then.
It was real.
This would—could—be my life.
I kissed Liem again then, slowly and with my eyes open, desperate for each detail of him. From the corner of his mouthto the healed cut through his eyebrow. The way his eyelashes fluttered when I kissed the tip of his nose. The quick inhale when I kissed his jaw. The sigh when our mouths met again.
I took the time we didn’t have exploring his perfect lips, his beautiful mouth. To let him taste himself on me in a way that I hoped said, “This was the way it should always be. How it always should have been.”
He had always been my peace, but he hadn’t been mine.
But as everything does, the record scratched on our moment as the Young the Giant EP that had been playing came to a close.
With a sigh, I kissed Liem one more time and then took stock of our surroundings.
We were a mess of paint, cum, and risky decisions.
“Let me get you fixed up,” I murmured, running a finger over the dried…everythingon Liem’s stomach.
He shivered but nodded in agreement.
I tucked myself away and zipped up my pants, then motioned for him to stay while I went to the sink and wetted a couple paper towels.
“Handy,” I mused with a small smile when I returned.
His pants were back in place, but he’d wisely kept his shirt up. Crouching down, I dragged the cold cloth across his stomach, causing his abs to contract and a gasp to fall from his lips.
I grimaced. “Sorry, baby.”
Time stood still as I froze and so did he, the rise and fall of his chest pausing. Licking my suddenly dry lips, I flicked my gaze to his face to gauge his response.
He tilted his head to the side, sending his messy braid over his shoulder, and regarded me intently.
Then he smiled.
Not the small, amused one I knew well or the mischievous one, full of beautiful ideas I craved to know.
It was a slow one, starting with the faintest twitch in the corner of his swollen lips before it spread, forming deep grooves in the corners of his mouth as his eyes sparkled.
I resumed cleaning him then, lowering my gaze back to his stomach and finishing up quickly, the sudden shyness that creeped into me not quite intense enough to stop me from leaving some of the paint behind as evidence of what happened here.
“There,” I said, tossing the towel up onto the nearest paint palette. I wiped my hands on the front of my jeans and drank in every ridge, shadow, and line of his body as I reached out and skirted them up the center of his chest, then lightly brushed my thumbs over his nipples. He dropped his head back in pleasure, and I clenched my jaw in restraint as I regretfully tugged his shirt down.
I stood up and pulled him to his feet in front of me, eyeing his obviously wrinkled shirt, the deep, pink flush of his skin, and his disheveled hair.
There was only room for pride right now. Pride that I had done that.
It would be impossible to be mad at anything right now.
Glancing around the room, I fumbled for what to do next, but Liem spoke up, saving me from stepping onto the hamster wheel.
