Page 57 of Pages of My Heart
Thomas
Thomas fumbles with the room key, his hands shaking as he tries to fit it into the keyhole. His mind has been on sex all day, all the ways he wants to take Charlie apart playing in his mind on a loop the entire train ride from Chicago, but right now, now that Charlie is actually right here in front of him, he realizes all he wants is to look at him and hold him and breathe in his scent. Finally getting the door open, he pulls Charlie inside, tosses his hat, and slams and bolts the door behind them.
“Charlie, my darling,” he sighs, taking his husband’s face in his hands and firmly pressing their lips together. Tears fall freely as relief floods his body like a rainstorm after a two-month drought. Charlie’s arms circle around his waist and the warmth allows Thomas to relax for the first time in nine weeks, his frownfalling away as he opens his mouth and welcomes the soft slide of Charlie’s tongue against his own.
“Sweetheart,” Charlie murmurs against his lips. “Let me look at you.”
Thomas pulls back but continues to cradle Charlie’s face. His own eyes greedily roam over all of Charlie’s familiar features—the sharp slope of his nose, the fullness of his pink lips, the softness in the depths of this stunning blue eyes. He also takes in the neat cut of his hair, shaved short at the sides, and the way his shirt pulls tight against his chest, fuller than it was before he left. He’s breathtaking.
“You look so handsome in your uniform. Christ, I missed you so much. I don’t know how I’ll survive when you ship out.”
Charlie takes Thomas’s hands, kissing each palm, then threading their fingers together. “You will because you’ve got no choice. Now no more tears. We need to enjoy every minute we got.” Charlie brushes the tears from Thomas’s cheeks. “Jesus, I missed this sweet face.”
Thomas pulls Charlie back in and kisses him, gently at first, then more insistently as the heat builds between them. He backs Charlie up against the wall, pressing his thigh between his legs and kissing down the column of his throat. “I want to take you to bed.”
With more and more urgency, they discard their clothes, items dropping to the floor as they shuffle toward the double bed in the center of the room. Thomas’s hands roam over Charlie’s heated skin, his mouth exploring the familiar dips and curves with brutal yearning. Under his touch, Charlie sheds the tough exterior he projects to the outside world, revealing the softness underneath reserved only for him.
Tangled naked on the bed, Charlie sighs in response to Thomas’s ministrations, his body so open andready to receive. Every touch between them is transcendent. Every kiss sets Thomas’s skin ablaze.
He rocks slowly in and out. Charlie is tighter than usual, and his pale blue eyes turn dark with need—a need only he can satisfy. He pins Charlie’s hands to the bed and holds still, buried deep inside, fighting for a sliver of self-control. Their thirst for each other is infinite, and Thomas knows he will take Charlie over and over again in a futile attempt to ease the never-ending hunger.
Charlie pulls him down so they’re chest to chest and clings to him desperately, almost painfully, screaming out his name as his body climaxes. Thomas gasps, the scent of their sex filling his lungs, his own climax savage and untamable. When the waves of pleasure ebb away, he kisses every inch of Charlie’s face with loving devotion, remaining inside him, unwilling to separate.
“Charlie, I love you with all my heart.” He’s on the verge of tears once again, and he berates himself for being so weak.
“Relax and just let me hold you.”
Thomas collapses his weight onto Charlie’s chest, face burrowing into the curve of his neck. Charlie strokes up and down his back and then into his hair, calming him almost immediately. This is what he’s missed most—the intimate moments. Holding each other in bed, eating together, laughing, their playful roughhousing, or just sitting together listening to the radio. The simple things.
“Are you hungry?”
“Not really. But I bet you are.” He nuzzles further into Charlie’s neck.
Charlie chuckles and squeezes Thomas’s ass affectionately. “Let’s get cleaned up and find a diner. We’ll need energy to get through the night. I’m almost certain you ain’t finished with me yet.”
Thomas finally lifts his head and smiles down at him. “No, I certainly haven’t finished with you. Come on, then. I’ve missed bathing with you.”
The motel room is clean, but basic. It doesn’t have a shower over the bath like they have at home—a luxury he knows they’re lucky to have—but Thomas thinks bathing together is far more romantic anyway. He starts to fill the tub, which is adequately deep but lacks in length. While they wait, they unpack their toiletries, keeping connected with soothing touches and sweet kisses. They still haven’t spoken much. Thomas isn’t sure why, but he’s not concerned. The love emanating from Charlie is loud and incontestable.
Turning off the taps, he steps into the warm water and holds his hand out for his husband. “Come on, while it’s nice and hot.”
Charlie takes his hand and joins him. “You sit in front of me this time.”
Thomas tilts his head to the side and frowns at him in question.
“Please? I want to.”
They shuffle around to change places, then he waits for Charlie to sit down before squeezing in between his legs. His feet end up hanging over the edge and they laugh at the absurdity of them both trying to fit in the tiny tub. It feels so good to laugh, and it breaks some of the tension between them. Thomas relaxes back against Charlie’s chest. It feels a bit odd to be in this position, but he cannot deny he enjoys how Charlie’s arms feel wrapped around his body. Nor does he mind the nurturing kisses Charlie slowly peppers from his temple down to his jaw.
“What did you tell the other boys in your company?”
“Told ’em I had an old friend who lived here in Bloomington who was puttin’ me up for the weekend. So if we bump intoany of ’em tomorrow, just say you used to live in Chicago and we were buddies back in middle school.”
“Okay. That’s a good story. What time is your bus on Sunday?”
“1400 hours.” Charlie gives Thomas’s hair a light tug. “Don’t be fuckin’ counting how many hours we got left.”
“I wasn’t.” But he was.
