Page 73 of Rhett & Moses
When we finally lay together on the bed that had become the center of our shared home, moonlight spilling across tangled limbs and heated skin, I took a moment simply to look at him, this man who had shaped my past, transformed my present, and now represented my future in all its promise and possibility.
“What are you thinking?” Rhett asked, his hand trailing lazily up my side in a touch that was both soothing and stimulating.
“That you’re beautiful,” I answered honestly. “That I’m the luckiest man alive. That I can’t believe we’re really here, after everything.”
His expression softened, blue eyes darkening with emotion. “I think that makes us both the luckiest men alive. A statistical improbability, but I won’t argue with the sentiment.”
I laughed, the sound quickly transforming into a gasp as his hand drifted lower, fingers wrapping around me with deliberate intent. “Always the architect,” I managed, my voice already strained with pleasure. “Analyzing the structural integrity of my metaphors even now.”
“Not analyzing,” Rhett corrected, his touch growing more purposeful. “Appreciating. There’s a significant difference.”
Further verbal sparring became impossible as he shifted, replacing his hand with his mouth in a move that sent liquid heat coursing through my veins. I tangled my fingers in his hair, not directing but connecting, grounding myself in the physical reality of him as pleasure built with each practiced motion.
Rhett knew exactly how much pressure to apply, when to slow down, when to introduce a variation that sent fresh waves of sensation cascading through me. I surrendered to his expertise, to the focused attention he brought to my pleasure, to the overwhelming intimacy of being known so completely.
When I approached the edge too quickly, this night was too significant for such haste, I tugged gently at his hair, urging him back up my body. He complied, movements fluid and graceful as he stretched out beside me, his own arousal evident against my thigh.
“Not yet,” I explained, rolling to hover above him. “Tonight is too important for rushing.”
Understanding and agreement flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced by darkening desire as I began my own exploration of his body. I took my time, revisiting the landscapes I’d come to know and love over our months together, the sensitive spot at the base of his throat that made him gasp when kissed, the ridge of his collarbone that invited the gentle scrape of teeth, the planes of his chest that responded so beautifully to the lightest touch.
When I finally took him in my mouth, it was with deliberate slowness, savoring both his taste and the sounds my actions drew from him, the sharp intake of breath, the low moan, my name spoken with reverence and need. His hands found my shoulders, not pushing or pulling but simply maintaining connection as pleasure built between us.
We had learned each other’s rhythms over time, and had discovered the dance of giving and receiving that worked best for us. Tonight, that dance took on an additional meaning, each touch a promise, each response an affirmation, each moment of pleasure a celebration of the commitment we’d formalized before friends and family mere hours earlier.
When I eventually pulled away, both of us breathing heavily with desire and anticipation, Rhett reached for the bedside drawer without being asked. Inside were the supplies we’d kept there since moving in together, practical necessities transformed by use into intimate familiarities.
“How do you want me?” Rhett asked, his voice rough with desire but his eyes clear with the absolute presence he always brought to our intimate moments.
In answer, I moved to lie beside him, pulling him half on top of me in a position we’d discovered suited us perfectly, face to face, intimate, connected. “Like this,” I said simply. “I want to see you. All of you.”
His smile was both tender and heated as he reached between us, fingers slick and deliberate as they prepared me with practiced care. I watched his face as he worked, the concentration in his eyes, the slight furrow between his brows, the way his lips parted slightly with his own arousal. Even after a year of sharing a bed, the sight still took my breath away.
When I was ready, body relaxed and eager, desire building with each careful touch, I nodded, words momentarily beyond my capacity. Rhett understood, as he always did, positioning himself with careful precision before pressing forward with exquisite slowness.
The initial stretch and burn gave way quickly to pleasure, my body welcoming him with the familiarity of countless previous joinings. Yet there was nothing routine about the experience, each time we came together like this felt like a rediscovery, a recommitment, a reminder of the connection that existed between us on every level.
We moved together with practiced synchronicity, finding the rhythm that built pleasure gradually but inexorably. Rhett’s hands were everywhere, caressing my face, threading through my hair, stroking down my chest to where I was hard and aching between us. His eyes never left mine, maintaining the visual connection that heightened every physical sensation.
“I love you,” he said, the words emerging between increasingly ragged breaths. “God, Moses, I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” I managed, my own voice strained with mounting pleasure. “Always have. Always will.”
The declaration seemed to trigger something in him, a surge of emotion that translated into more urgent movement, deeper connection, intensified sensation. I matched his pace, hands gripping his shoulders as we drove each other toward completion with single-minded focus.
When release finally came, it was with an intensity that momentarily obliterated all other awareness, pleasure crashing through me in waves that seemed to go on and on, Rhett’s name torn from my throat in a sound that was part cry, part prayer. Through it all, I maintained enough awareness to witness his own climax, the way his eyes darkened almost to black, the tension that gripped his features before dissolving into pure bliss, the way he said my name like it contained the answers to every question he’d ever asked.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, heartbeats gradually slowing, skin cooling in the night air. Rhett’s head rested on my chest, his breathing becoming more regular as the moments passed. I stroked his hair absently, mind drifting through memories of the day, of our journey to this point, of the future that stretched before us, uncertain in its details but absolutely certain in its direction.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Rhett murmured, pressing a kiss to my chest without lifting his head.
“Just thinking about how far we’ve come,” I replied, continuing the gentle motion of my fingers through his hair. “From scared teenagers to this. It’s quite a journey.”
Rhett shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me properly. “Any regrets?”
I considered the question seriously, as it deserved. “About today? Not a single one. About the past? I used to have many,all the years we lost, all the pain we might have avoided with different choices. But lately, I’m not so sure.”
“What do you mean?” Rhett asked, genuine curiosity in his expression.
