Page 27 of Rhett & Moses
The honesty of the question demanded honesty in return. “No,” I admitted. “It never did. I tried to forget you, tried to move on. There were others, men, women, but none of them were ever...” I trailed off, unable to find words adequate to express what I meant.
“Me,” Rhett completed simply. “And no one else was ever you.”
The truth of it hung in the air between us, twenty years of separation and longing distilled into those simple words. I didn’t know who moved first, maybe we both did, but suddenly his lips were on mine, and everything else fell away.
The kiss was both familiar and new, like returning to a place you’ve only visited in dreams. His lips were softer than I remembered, his technique more refined with age and experience, but the essential chemistry remained unchanged, explosive, all-consuming. My hands found their way to his hair, threading through the now-shorter strands, as his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, I rested my forehead against his, unwilling to move any further away. “We should talk,” I murmured, though my body was screaming for anything but conversation. “About what this means, about where we go from here.”
“We will,” Rhett promised, his voice rough with desire. “But right now, if you’re willing, I’d like to make up for twenty years of lost time.”
His meaning was unmistakable, his eyes dark with want as they searched mine for permission, for reciprocation. And God help me, despite all the reasons to wait, to be cautious, to protect my heart that had been broken once before, I couldn’t deny him, or myself, any longer.
“Yes,” I breathed, and it was all the encouragement he needed.
His mouth found mine again, more demanding this time, a hint of teeth grazing my lower lip in a way that sent shivers down my spine. I responded in kind, years of restraint crumbling as I allowed myself to want, to take, to give without reservation.
Our hands grew bolder, seeking skin beneath layers of clothing. Buttons were undone with fumbling eagerness, fabric pushed aside to reveal what lay beneath. When my palm finally made contact with the warm expanse of his chest, I gasped into his mouth, overwhelmed by the simple pleasure of touching him after so long.
“Too many clothes,” Rhett muttered against my lips, tugging at my shirt with impatient hands. I couldn’t agree more, helping him remove the offending garment before attacking the buttons of his own.
Soon we were skin to skin, the heat between us building as we explored with hands and mouths, relearning each other’s bodies with the appreciation of men who understood the value of what they’d once lost. Every touch was electric, every kiss a revelation.
He pressed me back onto the bed, his weight a welcome anchor as he moved his attention from my mouth to my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. Each brush of his lips drew sounds from me I might have been embarrassed by under differentcircumstances, desperate, needy sounds that seemed to drive him wild.
“Do you have any idea,” he murmured against my skin, “how many times I’ve dreamed of this? Of you, like this, beneath me?”
“Show me,” I challenged, arching into his touch. “Show me what you dreamed.”
And he did, with devastating thoroughness. His hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere at once, finding sensitive spots I’d forgotten I had, drawing out pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. When his lips finally wrapped around me, the wet heat of his mouth nearly sent me over the edge immediately. Only his firm grip at the base kept me grounded, prevented me from ending things far too soon.
“Rhett,” I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair. “I can’t... It’s too much...”
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his own dark with desire. “It’s been twenty years, Moses. We have time to slow down later. Right now, I just want to watch you come apart.”
The rough hunger in his voice, the naked want in his expression, was my undoing. When his mouth returned to its task, I surrendered completely, letting the pleasure build and crest until I was calling his name, back arching off the bed as release crashed through me like a tidal wave.
As I lay there, trembling in the aftermath, Rhett moved up to capture my mouth once more, letting me taste myself on his tongue in a kiss that was possessive and tender all at once.
“Your turn,” I murmured when I could form coherent thoughts again, pushing against his shoulder to roll him onto his back.
His smile was wolfish as he allowed me to reverse our positions. “I’m all yours.”
“Yes,” I agreed, trailing kisses down his chest, his stomach, following the dark trail of hair that led to where he was hard and aching for me. “You are.”
I took my time, savoring the weight of him on my tongue, the salt-sweet taste of him, the way his breath hitched when I found just the right rhythm. His hands in my hair, gentle but insistent, guided me without forcing, a partnership even in this most intimate of acts.
When he came, my name on his lips like a prayer, I felt a fierce triumph that had nothing to do with pride and everything to do with connection, with the knowledge that after twenty years apart, we could still give each other this kind of pleasure, this kind of release.
Afterward, we lay tangled together among rumpled sheets, his arm around my shoulders, my head resting on his chest where I could hear the steady beat of his heart. The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows, painting the room in golden light, a stark contrast to the shadowed, rushed encounters of our youth.
“So,” Rhett said eventually, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my bare shoulder, “about that talk...”
I chuckled, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Now you want to talk?” I asked in surprise. “After thoroughly scrambling my brains?”
I felt rather than saw his smile. “Best way to ensure complete honesty, don’t you think? Post-orgasmic clarity and all that.”
He had a point. In this moment, sated and content in his arms, I felt more honest, more open, more myself than I had in years. “What do you want to know?”
