18. Adrian

Ten o'clock creeps up a lot faster than I'd like it to. I didn't expect to lose track of the passing time like I did, but I've been so relaxed tucked under Jamie's arm. I can't even remember the last time I cuddled with someone (not Casey or Sophie) without sex immediately preceding it. I think I kind of love it, though. It makes me feel safe, cared for, which I desperately needed after my day at work.

I surprised myself when Jamie was the first call I made when I got home today. But ever since Casey told me to "shoot my shot", I've started letting him in more. At pride last month, I barely hesitated to reciprocate his affection while we were in public. I find myself reaching for my phone to tell him little things about my day a lot more frequently. And when I had to tell that poor girl that there wasn't much else we could do for her oldest companion, the only person I wanted to seek comfort in was Jamie.

Of course, I chickened out the moment he answered the phone, all happy to finally have an evening off after working so hard the past month and a half. But in typical Jamie fashion, he showed up at my door with lasagna and wine, ready to try to make my day better. It's something a real boyfriend would do, not a fake one. Although, I have to admit this is starting to feel less and less fake by the day.

The credits roll on the fourth episode of The West Wing we've watched, and he presses pause to prevent it from auto-playing the next one. Reluctantly, I extricate myself from under his arm.

He yawns and stretches a little. "I should probably get going," he says, although it sounds like that's the last thing he wants to do, if I'm not reading into it.

But I nod anyway and stand to walk him to the door. Instead of bending to slip on his shoes, he reaches forward and grabs my hand.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asks.

I do my best to smile. "Yeah, I'm already feeling better. Thank you."

"Of course." He squeezes my hand for a brief moment, then goes to pull away, presumably to put his shoes on so he can leave.

Except I don't want him to leave. I didn't want him to leave the last time we were standing here by my door, either. Or the time before that, if I'm being truly honest with myself. I just convinced myself of the opposite because it was the safer option. I've lived my life picking the safer option, avoiding things that could hurt me—people that could hurt me—and pretending I'm happier that way. But I'm not. So screw it, why shouldn't I just let myself have this?

I tighten my grasp on his hand and croak out a quiet, "Stay."

He looks at me, his usually emotionally-transparent face unreadable.

"I don't want you to go," I say with more conviction. Then I take a deep breath and take a step closer. "Stay the night. Please."

His breath catches. "Are you sure?"

"I'm tired of pretending I don't want you," I say, barely above a whisper.

A ghost of a smile passes over his lips. "I'm tired of pretending, too."

"So you'll stay the night?" I ask, needing the clarification.

His hand cups my cheek. "I'll stay for however long you want me to, sweetheart."

Of course, just when I thought I'd gotten at least semi-immune to the effect "darlin'" had on me, he breaks out a new pet name. One that makes me a little weak in the knees, and all I can do is lean in and kiss him. It reminds me of our first kiss, gentle and slow. Except this time, there's a familiarity to it, and not just because we've done this before. I've had my fair share of recurring hook-ups and friends with benefits, where the newness fades into familiarity with the other person's body. This is different. I know Jamie's mind and he knows mine.

With a sigh, I try to deepen the kiss, taking my free hand and pressing it to the middle of his back to bring him closer. He smiles against my lips, and I think I'm a little obsessed with it. But after a few seconds, he pulls away. He studies my face for a moment, still smiling, before returning his lips to mine with renewed fervor. His hand slips into my hair, fingers tangling with the strands as he pours the last five months of tension into the kiss. His tongue flicks at the seam of my lips, coaxing me to open to him, and I follow him willingly.

A voice in the back of my mind tells me to take control, like I always do with sex. But it's the same voice that always tells me not to let anyone get close, so I shove it down. I don't need to take control right now. I've always done it in the past because it helps me maintain a sort of emotional distance during an objectively emotionally-charged act. It helps that some people like it, too—Jamie did, especially. But he also seems to want to take the lead, and I want to let him. I don't want to put up that emotional wall between us.

His fingers tighten in my hair, pulling gently in a way that sends shivers down my spine and makes me break the kiss with a small gasp.

"Sorry, is this okay?" he asks.

I nod. More than. "Take me to bed?"

"We should clean up first," he says. When I grumble in protest, he chuckles and presses a quick kiss to my lips. "Go head in. I'll deal with leftovers and meet you in there."

I nod, and after he gives me another quick kiss, this time to my cheek, drag myself away to my bedroom.

I wasn't expecting anyone over, so my bed isn't made and there's a pile of not quite clean but also not dirty clothes on the chair in the corner. The room is otherwise relatively clean, though. Molly is curled up on one of the pillows as usual, having long won the war of whether she's allowed to sleep on the sheets. But I definitely don't want her on the sheets, or in the room at all, once Jamie gets in here, so I scoop her up and give her a snuggle in an attempt to prevent her from sensing she's about to be kicked out. It fails, of course, because when I pad back into the living room to set her on the cat tree, she glares at me.

"Don't glare at me," I say, a little indignant. "I don't want you watching like a creepy little voyeur."

"Are you talking to your cat?"

I turn to find him by the coffee table, turning off the TV.

"Yes?" I feel my cheeks heat a little at being caught.

But he just grins. "Cute. Now come on," he says as he rounds the table to take my hand and lead me back to the bedroom.

The moment we cross the threshold, he turns and pulls me into him. His fingers dip under my sweater, lightly trailing across my skin. "How do you want to do this?"

"However you want to. I know last time I took the lead, but now that I know I'm the first guy you've been with—"

"Darlin', I liked that you took charge. A lot," he says with emphasis.

The corner of my mouth lifts in a small smirk. "Yeah, I know."

"Then how do you want to do this?" he asks again. "I want to make you feel good."

Heat licks up my spine, and I'm tempted to crush my lips against his and tell him exactly how good he is. But I hold my ground, telling him gently, "I promise whatever you want or feel comfortable doing, I will enjoy it. So I want you to take the lead this time. Tell me what you want."

"Okay," he whispers, a little hesitant.

His forehead comes to rest against mine, and I can tell he's working up the courage to voice whatever it is he wants. I let him take his time, though, simply enjoying the feeling of him idly tracing shapes on my skin.

After a moment, he takes a deep breath, as if to steel his nerves. "Can I fuck you?"

Oh.

That is not what I expected him to say, but arousal immediately pools in my core all the same. My surprise must be written all over my face, though, because he immediately starts to backpedal.

"Or not, if you don't—you know. You could also fuck me. Obviously, I've never done either, so I don't know for sure, but I'm pretty sure I'm good either way. Or we can do something else, if you aren't into penetration at all," he says, all in a rush.

"Baby, breathe." I rest my hand on his cheek to interrupt his panic.

He inhales sharply.

"Any of that sounds good to me." I brush my thumb along his cheekbone. "But tonight, I want the first thing you said. I want you to fuck me."

His eyes darken, then it's like a switch flips, and his lips are crashing against mine. I yield to him immediately, opening my mouth under his as he pushes me back toward the bed. We collapse onto it sideways, but he seems too intent on kissing me to bother adjusting our position. And I want this too much to care.

I don't think I've ever wanted anyone this much in my life. I'm dizzy, almost drunk with it. And the single glass of wine I drank was nearly three hours ago, so this is all him. My skin burns as his hands push my sweater up my torso. When his lips disappear from mine to pull it over my head, an almost desperate whine falls from my lips.

He hovers above me for a moment, searching my face with a look of almost wonder. "Fuck, you're really something else, you know that?"

I don't trust myself to use words at the moment, so instead I grasp at his shirt, yanking it up over his head. My palms run down his back, then I press him closer to me, relishing in the way his skin feels against mine. His face drops to my neck, and I can't help letting out a small moan as his teeth scrape against my skin.

God, I missed this.

"Me, too, sweetheart," he murmurs.

Shit, did I say that out loud? Embarrassment starts to surge up through me, until I process what he said—that he missed this too. My stomach flutters, and I shove my hands into his hair to drag his lips back to mine.

His teeth pull at my bottom lip, and another moan escapes me.

"Okay," I pant as I pry myself away, "I think I need for you to move things along, now. Otherwise, this might be over embarrassingly quickly on my end."

"Really?"

If I didn't know better, I'd worry he might be mocking me. But he isn't. His look of surprise and delight is genuine, so I nod. "You're driving me crazy."

His breath catches. "Are your supplies still in your bedside table?"

"Condoms are, but my lube is in the shower."

His eyes widen. "Okay, yeah, we really do need to hurry because now I have an image of you in the shower with your fingers wrapped around your cock in my head."

"That's not where my fingers were," I say with a small smirk.

His eyes slip closed with a groan. "Jesus Christ, you're gonna be the death of me, I swear," he says before kissing me quickly. "Take your pants off. I'll be right back."

I nod, and he scrambles backward off the bed. As he beelines toward the bathroom, I grab a condom from my drawer, then fumble with my pajama pants and re-situate myself on the bed, laying on my stomach with my head pillowed on my folded arms. Less than thirty seconds later, he's back. He tosses the bottle of lube and a spare hand towel from under the sink on the bed next to me, then shucks off his jeans and kneels on the bed.

His hand settles on my lower back, and he dips down to press a kiss to my shoulder blade. "On your back, darlin'. I want to be able to see your face."

Smiling, I flip onto my back and look up at him. He smiles back and settles over me, his hands cupping my face as he kisses me. It's slower this time, less frantic, and it makes me melt into the mattress.

After a moment, I hear the snick of the cap, then pull back to look at him. "Do you need me to guide you at all?"

"Not for this part." He warms the lube up between his fingers and brings them between my legs.

A small gasp escapes me as his finger lightly circles my entrance.

"I've practiced this on myself," he continues. "But I'll need some guidance for what comes next."

An image of him on his back, fingers buried between his legs, flicks through my mind at the same time he presses a finger into me, ripping a low moan from my throat. I arch my back, already wanting him closer. Somehow able to read my mind, his mouth seals over mine, swallowing another moan. I thread my fingers through his hair to anchor him in place, but I don't think I have anything to worry about because he makes no move to pull his lips from mine.

I'm so overwhelmed by everything that is Jamie that I have no idea how much time has gone by as one finger becomes two, then three. But then, he crooks his fingers, and I'm suddenly brought back to my body as stars burst behind my eyes.

I break the kiss with a gasp. "Jamie—"

His lips immediately find the sensitive spot on my jaw, just below my ear. "I've got you, sweetheart," he whispers as he crooks his fingers again.

Another wave of pleasure ripples down my spine, heightened by the feeling of his breath ghosting across my skin. "Fuck, I'm ready."

His fingers still, and he props himself up on an elbow to look at me. "Are you sure?"

I nod. "I want you inside me."

A sudden wave of uncertainty passes over his face, but he nods and slowly slides his fingers out of me. As he wipes his fingers on the hand towel he grabbed earlier and reaches for the condom on the pillow next to my head, I notice his hand shaking ever so slightly.

Gently, I cup his cheek and brush my thumb along his cheekbone. "Hey."

His eyes flick to mine as he leans into my touch.

"We can stop if you no longer want to do this," I say.

"No, I want to," he says a little too quickly.

"Jamie."

He takes a deep breath, then lets it out in a small huff. "Sorry, I'm just a little nervous."

"You don't need to apologize," I tell him, which is exactly what I said when he tried to apologize during our first night together. "Do you want to tell me why you're nervous?"

"I guess I just want it to be good for you, but I've never done this before," he murmurs.

"Baby," I say, before sliding my hand into his hair.

His breath hitches slightly, and I can't help the satisfaction I feel. At least I'm not the only one who's weak for a pet name.

"It's already been good for me," I continue, pulling him in for a kiss. "You've been so good to me."

His breath hitches again, and he surges forward to kiss me again.

With him distracted, I grab the condom and rip it open. "Now it's your turn. I want you to feel good. I want to make you feel as incredible as I do right now."

He nods furiously. "God, darlin', you—"

"May I?" I ask, reaching between us to grip his neglected cock.

"Yes," he whispers, his eyes fluttering shut as I stroke him a few times.

Carefully, I roll the condom down his length, then coat it in a layer of lube to be safe. I wipe my hand off on the hand towel as he positions himself at my entrance. "Ready?" I ask as I rest my hand on his lower back, ready to guide his pace.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" he tries to tease. I give him a leveled look, and he laughs nervously. "Yeah, just let me know if—"

"I will," I promise before pressing gently on his lower back.

He presses in slowly, and although he did a thorough job prepping me and this is far from my first time, I still gasp. His hips halt for a moment as he scans my face for discomfort.

"Keep going," I breathe, wrapping my other arm around his shoulders to pull him closer.

He nods, dropping to his elbows as he works his way deeper. With a low groan, he brings his forehead to rest against mine. "Fuck, darlin', you feel unreal."

A breathless laugh escapes my lips. "Likewise, baby."

And I'm not even saying it to indulge his praise kink—although the way his cheeks flush at the compliment is always a sight to see. He really does feel incredible. I've never wanted anyone as badly as I want this man, but I also don't think sex has ever been quite this good with anyone else, either. With every slight move of his hips, sparks dance up my spine. My skin tingles wherever his hands touch—my waist, my thighs as he repositions my legs to get a better angle. I can't get enough. And I'm so keyed up, it doesn't take long before I'm barreling toward an orgasm.

I arch my back, and a particularly well-aimed thrust tears a whine from my throat. "Fuck, right there."

He lets out his own soft whine and mouths at my neck. "You are so fucking beautiful. God, I can't believe how lucky I am that I get to have you like this."

A shudder runs through me, and I dig my fingers into his back. Well, fuck. Maybe he isn't the only one who responds to praise. I never have before, but then again, I've never been with anyone that makes me feel as safe and treasured as Jamie does. Maybe that's it—the intimacy, not the praise. Either way, it propels me that much closer to the edge.

My breath hitches as he nips at my neck. "I'm close."

He hums and kisses his way to my lips. "Me, too," he murmurs. Then, his hand is smoothing down my chest and wrapping around my dick. "Go ahead. I've got you."

That and a few strokes are all it takes to pull my orgasm from me. My vision almost goes white as I come with a soft cry, spilling over his hand. His lips seal over mine as he works me through it, attempting to maintain the pace of his thrusts and his hand. But then his movements become more uncoordinated—his hand more clumsy, his hips erratic.

After a few moments, my pleasure gives way to oversensitivity, so I gently bat his hand away. His hips still, but I wrap my legs around him to encourage him to keep going.

"Adrian—"

God, he sounds wrecked.

"It's okay, baby," I say, cupping his cheek. "Let go for me."

He lets out a shuddered breath, then pumps his hips two, three more times before he spills into the condom with a soft moan.

I surge up to capture the sound with my lips. The kiss is messy—more teeth and panting into each other's mouths than actual kissing. But after a few seconds, it turns soft as he comes down from his orgasm. His hand covers mine where it rests on his cheek, and he holds it in place as he turns his head to press a kiss to my palm.

My face breaks into a smile, and he does it again. Then he brushes his lips against my wrist and my forearm, kissing his way along my arm until I let out a breathy laugh. I feel him grin against my skin, then his lips are back on mine for a moment.

"I'm going to pull out and deal with the condom, okay?" he says.

I nod, and brace myself for the uncomfortable empty feeling that always comes after sex. Then, with another quick kiss, he rolls off of me and disappears into the bathroom. I lay there for a moment, letting myself bask in the afterglow until the sticky feeling on my stomach and chest becomes impossible to ignore. I grab the hand towel, but before I can do a cursory wipe of my chest and between my thighs, Jamie reappears in the doorway with a washcloth in hand.

"No, let me," he says, hurrying back to the bed and kneeling next to me.

I prop myself on my elbows and reach for the washcloth. "It's okay, you don't have to—"

"I want to," he says, cutting me off with a peck on the lips. "I didn't really get to last time because I wasn't sure how welcome it would be. But I like this part—the after care."

My stomach does a little flutter, and although this is entirely uncharted territory, I find myself nodding.

He grins, then starts gingerly wiping me down with the washcloth, which is perfectly warm, and somehow the little detail makes my stomach flutter even more. I try not to dwell on it though, not wanting the little voice in the back of my head to ruin this moment between us.

Once I'm at least mostly cleaned up—I'll need a shower, but that can wait until morning—and Jaime's thrown the towels in the hamper in my closet, we find our way under the covers. I expect him to pull me under his arm, like he did on the couch, but he surprises me by snuggling close and resting his head in the crook of my shoulder.

"So, was that—how was that for you?" he asks after a long, silent beat.

On a reflex I didn't know I had, I press my lips to his forehead, letting them linger. "It was amazing."

He lets out a pleased hum. "Okay, good."

"And for you?" I ask, feeling suddenly uncertain—which is not usually a feeling I have after sex.

"Incredible. Better than I could have imagined—and I've been doing a lot of imagining," he says.

I can't help laughing. "Really?"

He lifts his head to look at me, a teasing smirk on his face. "Darlin', I've had a crush on you for months. I didn't think I was being all that subtle."

He wasn't, but that still didn't stop my brain from convincing me I was reading things wrong.

Before I can say anything, he stifles a yawn and settles back against my chest. "Mm, sorry. I think the post sex exhaustion is setting in."

"That's alright." I reach over to shut off my bedside lamp, and right on cue, Joseph jumps onto the bed. "Joseph, not tonight—"

"It's okay," Jamie mumbles. "He can stay."

Permission granted, Joseph immediately settles in the space between my feet, which will make it difficult to move when I eventually need to. But for now, I'm content exactly where I am.