Chapter 22

Icould tell Oscar was having thoughts and feelings that were making him incredibly uncomfortable. For some reason, the more restless he became, the calmer I felt. His agitation was an indication he was affected by this the same way I was.

He cared.

And, honestly, I'd never doubted for a minute he'd cared about me. He might never have used the l-word, and still might not be ready to, but as often happened with Oscar, his true feelings for me were right there in his actions and had been from the beginning. When my sister had been in the accident, he'd dropped everything to take care of both of us. When I'd needed a shoulder to cry on after Louis betrayed me, he'd picked up the phone. When I'd needed a date to Abby's nacho party, Oscar hadn't hesitated.

But more than that. He'd tried at every step to manage my expectations to keep from hurting me, even when it meant staying away from me. He was protective, considerate, and kind. The man hoarded Girl Scout Cookies to help kids, he invested in underprivileged youth with big ideas and little exposure to opportunities, and he hand-fed a hedgehog mealworms when Frank wasn't feeling well.

This prickly man, wounded from all his attempts to find someone to love him thoroughly, was mine. And I was going to make sure he knew it.

I pulled back from the kiss in the still night air. "Get inside, Oscar Overton. I have plans for you tonight."

I tugged him the rest of the way to his huge house and in through the front door. Once we got to the bedroom, Oscar grabbed me and tried kissing me again, but I pushed him away.

"Nuh-uh. No kissing until you get naked. I want you in bed, and I want you spread out for me." I began stripping off his clothes, starting with his jacket and tie, before tackling all the little studs and buttons on his shirt.

Oscar looked half-terrified, eyes wide like prey being stalked. It was almost enough to make me laugh. "You look like you're in pain," I said, finally pulling his shirt off.

He swallowed. "No pain. It's good. I'm good."

As I continued to remove his clothes, his eyes followed me with intense scrutiny. He was being entirely too serious, like he was coiled too tightly, a brand-new industrial spring.

"Are you having a medical event?" I teased in hopes it would relax him. After I pulled my own clothes off, I pushed him onto the bed and knelt next to him before reaching out to feel his forehead. "You're hot."

"I have a naked man on top of me," he said, breath becoming ragged. "Of course I'm hot."

I leaned in and kissed beside his ear before murmuring, "You're freaking out." I kissed him between breaths. "You're having a lovemaking crisis."

He huffed out a laugh. "Please. I've fucked more times than you've clicked the shutter button on your camera."

His attempt at changing my description of lovemaking to the baser "fucking" didn't go unnoticed. "Oscar Overton, you are a terrible liar."

He opened his mouth to argue his point, but I slapped a hand over his lips.

"I don't mean about the fucking. Fine, you've worn out your Grindr app. I get it. Thanks for mentioning it during sex, by the way. Super classy. Two out of ten stars."

He exhaled from his nose, the warm air gliding across my fingers as I pulled them away. "Sorry," he muttered. "That's not what I meant. I… I'm feeling… I don't know."

He knew. He definitely knew. It was obvious he was feeling utter, soul-deep terror at what was happening between us. His vulnerability and his willingness to let it show with me made me want to reassure him.

I moved my hands to cup the sides of his face, squishing his cheeks a little until his lips looked like a fish's. "It's just us, Oscar. Just us. I don't have any expectations," I said softly.

"Great," he grumbled. "The bar is very low. Got it."

I couldn't hold back a laugh. I felt light and free. For the first time in bed with Oscar, I felt like this was the beginning of something, not the inevitable ending of it.

I glanced down at him, naked and sexy as hell on the crisp sheets of his large bed. The hair on Oscar's chest drew my attention down across his belly and into the thatch of hair surrounding the base of his cock. I reached down to stroke his thick length, feeling it harden in my grip.

Oscar peeked up at me, cheeks flushed with desire or nerves, I wasn't quite sure which.

"You're the sexiest man I've ever been with," he said, arching into my grip. "You could give me a subpar hand job, and it would still be one of the top ten sexual experiences of my life because it's you."

"Only top ten?" I teased, even though his words made my stomach tighten with need and want. "Considering the ‘fucked more times than the camera shutter' thing, that's mighty impressive."

"Forget I said that. I'm an ass." His eyes never changed their intensity. "Change the offering to something involving that tongue of yours and your potential moves up. Make it your ass and sky's the limit."

Oscar's breathing had quickened, and the barest hint of shiny moisture appeared in his slit. I kept my eyes locked on his.

"You don't want my ass tonight," I said, more sure of this than anything.

"No," he said on a soft inhale.

"You want me inside you."

"Yes." Shaky exhale.

My own dick filled, drawing up my balls in anticipation of entering him, of feeling the heat and clench of his body around me.

"You sure?" I asked. I was willing to do anything to please him, anything to make him feel good, to feel loved.

"Since when are you the one who hesitates?" he whispered.

Emotions tightened around my chest like thick straps. "Maybe I don't want to scare you off."

I could see by the expression on Oscar's face he was unsure how to respond. I could tell he wasn't ready to talk about our relationship status, and that was okay with me. His face softened, and he seemed to relax again.

"Just be you," he suggested gently. "That's all I want right now."

His words didn't do as much as his reassuring smile did. The kindness and affection in his expression reminded me of who this man was at his core and why I loved him the way I did.

I leaned down to kiss him. Then, I refused to think of anything other than bringing him pleasure and showing him with my mouth and hands and body just how much he meant to me.

By the time he was prepped and begging for me from his hands and knees, fists clenched in the crisp white sheets and tendons straining behind his knees, I was so delirious with my own need I didn't have room enough left for fear.

I grabbed his hips and pressed into him, watching my body become one with his.

One of his hands came around and clutched at my thigh, signaling when he was ready for more. By the time I was fully seated inside of him, Oscar's grip pulled me closer until I fell over the top of him and pressed my front along his back.

My lips brushed the back of his ear. "You're fucking beautiful."

He let out a rough sound and moved his hand up to grab the back of my head. "Hugh," he breathed in a voice pulled slowly across tumbled rocks.

I moved in and out of him slowly… methodically. With every stroke into him, I pulled at his hard cock with my free hand while supporting my weight with my other. The damp heat of his skin against mine, the light scratch of his body hair against mine, and the synchronized drumbeat of our frantic pulses swirled together to overwhelm my senses.

This was everything I'd ever wanted with a man. The intimacy, the connection, the clear mutual admiration, no matter how scared either of us was to admit it.

"Thank you." I didn't realize I was saying it out loud, a low repeated prayer of gratitude to him, to the universe, maybe even to myself for finally knocking down the wall held so strong for so long by his stupid pride and stubborn fear. The words were a surrogate for the ones I really wanted to say, the ones I held back with endless patience because I knew there would be time for them in the future when Oscar was ready.

"Hugh," he breathed again. "Hugh, god. You…" He groaned as his head fell, chin to chest, as he blew out a breath and sucked in another. "You feel so fucking good."

There was no way he felt as incredible as I did, but I didn't have the words to express it. All I had was my touch, my mouth on the back of his neck, the age-old rhythm of hips against hips.

Much later, after we'd sleepily showered and curled around each other in the darkness, I pressed my nose to the back of Oscar's neck, inhaling deeply, wanting to remember this moment forever.

His breathing was soft and even in sleep, and I snuggled closer to him, wrapping him up in my arms.

"I love you," I whispered into his skin. "This is the only happily ever after I'll ever want."

In the moment, I felt the truth of those words to the depths of my soul.