Page 85 of Shades of Henry
“No!”
“And so do I,” Henry sighed. “I’m driving Galen around tomorrow. Apparently he’s got plans.”
“Aw, man!”
Henry kissed him then, and backed them both toward the mattress, their shorts and underwear left where they’d stood.
“I’m getting hard again,” he whispered in Lance’s ear. “I’ll never get to sleep like this. You?”
“God, no.”
Henry’s mouth still tasted like come. Lance had plans to taste that some more.
Ah! There was something so fulfilling about bare skin, about Henry’s hands touching himeverywhere.About their chests rubbing together, their thighs.
Their cocks.
Henry’s hands, palming down Lance’s backside made him almost delirious with want.
“Inside me,” he whispered. “I want you.”
Henry pulled back and frowned. “Are you sure?”
And if Lance had had the ex-monster there, he’d have killed him. “Yes, Henry, I’m totally sure.” Deliberately he walked to the couch and grabbed the lube from between the cushions, noting clinically that there was a lot less of it. He handed it off to Henry, who wrinkled his nose.
“Seriously?
“Who do you think?” Lance asked because he had to. “Zep and Fisher?”
Henry grunted. “Billy and Curtis,” he said, and Lance felt his jaw drop.
“No!”
“I’m saying—sometime in the last week, they both realized they were men who liked to have sex with other men, and they qualified.”
“Are you sure?” Billy who was almost subversively quiet and Curtis who was unapologetic about liking porn and…. “Oh!” Lance suddenly got it. “They were on the schedule together last week.”
“Hunh,” Henry said, and Lance frowned.
“What is that word?”
“It’s just a word. They seem to have a pretty powerful connection. Does that happen often?”
Lance shook his head. “Almost never. Johnnies is like the one place you can have really raunchy sex and not have to worry about strings.”
Henry’s eyes searched his face. “Unlike here, I guess.”
Lance’s breath caught. “This is home. This is having sex with someone in your home. That’s….” Oh, how embarrassing to say. “That’s magic.”
And suddenly, they were the only two people in the apartment again. The only two people in the world.
“It is,” Henry said. This kiss was untainted with memories of the ex-monster, unsullied with doubt. Lance wanted him. Therapy had left him cleaner than purging, an empty shell that yearned to be filled. Henry’s warmth, his muscular arms and solid chest—he was shelter and sustenance in the same hard body.
Lance fumbled the lube bottle into Henry’s hand and bent over the couch, tilting his head when Henry kissed behind his ear, down his neck, to the join of his shoulder. He made himself vulnerable, allowing for Henry’s strength and his bulk to have control. His gratitude, when Henry breached him with two slick fingers, was acute. Stretching was good, was more than foreplay, was invasion. Lance’s breathing quickened, and he bent over, giving himself to Henry who fingered him boldly, kissing along his spine, his shoulder blades, his triceps, as he thrust inside.
“More,” Lance breathed, not caring if it was more fingers or Henry’s formidable cock. Another finger breached him, and he hit the couch with his fist. “Good,” he moaned softly. “So good.” And while Henry thrust into him with his fingers, he continued the gentleness on the rest of his body. One hand made its way to Lance’s nipples, plucking that wonderful string that led directly to his groin, and he hit the couch again. “God! God! More!”
He was expecting Henry’s cock and got another finger instead. He buried his face in the couch cushion, gripping the sides of it with clenching fingers and let out a groan.
