Chapter 21

21

YORK

I 'm interested in you, nerdy, and that means wanting to hear anything and everything you're fascinated with .

Those words kept reverberating in my head, their impact as powerful as a slap to my face would have been. They'd been so simple, so heartfelt, yet they'd shocked me to my core. How many times could the realization that my parents had never given two shits about me distress me? Apparently, I hadn't reached my limit yet.

How could one experience intense joy and profound sadness at the same time? I wasn't sure, but those two emotions were warring with each other. Quillon loved me, and gratitude and wonder filled me that this man had chosen me. Yet my heart was also squeezing painfully with the sorrow of parental rejection. Or maybe the better description was indifference.

My parents didn't care, and they never had.

I'd thought deciding to let go of them was a onetime thing, but I'd been wrong. It was a choice I'd have to make again and again and again until the pain had subsided and become bearable. In the meantime, I'd have to focus on the good things, on the worthy things, on the positive things.

On Quillon.

I pushed back slightly from his embrace and looked up at him, not caring that my emotions would show in my eyes and on my face. "Will you take me to bed, Quillon?"

It wasn't just about physical need, though that was undeniable. It was about wanting to be close, to feel that connection that surpassed anything I'd ever experienced. It was about the desire for intimacy, for the vulnerability and trust it entailed, a gravitational pull too strong to resist.

Quillon hesitated, and I could almost see the gears turning behind his thoughtful gaze, the way he considered my request. Something shifted. A subtle release of breath, a softening around his eyes as if he'd found the answer or at least an explanation that assured him I was asking for the right reasons.

"York, are you sure?" Those four words held a depth of emotion, a silent echo of the care and intensity I'd come to associate with him.

"Surer than I've ever been about anything," I replied, my voice gaining strength.

A moment passed, and then another, but finally, Quillon's lips met mine with a gentleness that wrapped around me like an embrace and ignited my senses as if every nerve ending had been dormant until this very moment. I absorbed him, the bitter taste of coffee on his tongue, the lingering scent of his cologne, the citrusy smell of his shampoo. Everything else faded.

He took my lips with more greediness, surging into my mouth with his tongue, chasing me until I surrendered. His hands found my ass again, fondling and caressing, squeezing and massaging. I slipped mine under his shirt.

"Quillon," I said between kisses, grappling for purchase on the planes of his back, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt. He answered without words by delving his tongue deeper, engaging in a dance as old as time yet as fresh and exhilarating as if we'd invented the act.

My fingers itched to explore further, to chart the landscape of his sleek body. A small tug on the hem was enough to make him step back and whip the shirt over his head. We stood naked chest against naked chest, and my nipples hardened against his rough hair, which felt amazing.

How could I have thought I was straight all this time when I wanted nothing more than to get my hands on this man? He was six foot two of perfection with those moss-green eyes that saw everything, those straight pearly whites with the little gap between his front teeth, those miles and miles of skin, and those sinewy muscles of sleek sexiness. Everything about him was masculine, and I'd never wanted anyone more.

Driven by an urgency that seemed to mirror the pounding of our hearts, we stumbled toward the staircase. I bumped into a doorframe. He tripped over a rug. We kissed on every step of the stairs, unwilling to let go of each other long enough to hurry. Time held no meaning when every second was consumed by the taste, the touch, the intoxicating presence of him. The hunger, raw and insistent, demanded to be sated yet deepened with each kiss, each caress, each stroke.

"Nerdy," Quillon murmured against my neck, and shivers cascaded down my spine. "You feel so fucking perfect in my arms."

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," I whispered. Was that husky voice mine?

Our ascent was a blur of movements—hands roaming, tugging at fabric. Soft sighs and moans punctuated the air. Every brush of skin against skin felt like a revelation, each discovery a piece of a puzzle I hadn't known was incomplete until Quillon came along.

We stumbled into my bedroom. Our bedroom. Between kisses, Quillon explored with deliberate care. His touch ignited a trail of fire along my skin. His hands, calloused yet astonishingly gentle, traced the waistband of my boxer briefs like he was teasing me to unveil a treasure.

My cock was rock hard and leaking for him, ready for him. But when he dragged my underwear down, he barely touched it, and I mewled out of protest. He nipped at my bottom lip. "Be patience, nerdy. I'm gonna take my time with you."

He kissed me again, roughly invading my mouth with his tongue as he held a hand tightly around my neck. He had a touch of dominance in bed, a way of taking charge and having me submit to his lead, and I loved it. I trusted him like I had never trusted anyone else.

The deep, passionate kiss sent shivers up my spine. He guided me onto the bed, and I stretched out on my back, not hesitating to subject myself to his perusal. Laid bare before him, I saw a hunger in his moss-green eyes so intense it seared straight through to my soul.

With considerably less finesse and more speed, Quillon stripped himself of his remaining clothes. As he stood there, gloriously naked, I let my gaze roam over his body, drinking in every detail—the ripple of his abs, the curve of his hips meeting his thighs, the powerful lines of his shoulders. Desire pooled hot within me, and the same emotion was reflected on his face. The man looked like he wanted to feast on me, and I was all on board with that. Every inch of my skin ached for his touch.

He stretched out next to me, and our mouths met again as if pulled toward each other by an irresistible force. After a thorough exploration of my tonsils, he moved farther south, trailing his hands over my skin, igniting trails of heat. He induced a constellation of sensations across my body as he mapped every crevice and plane with a deliberation that was both tender and torturous. His lips followed, blazing a trail of fire that threatened to consume me.

"Tell me what you like," he murmured against the shell of my ear, his breath hot and heavy with promise.

"Everything."

"Everything?"

"I doubt there's anything you could do to me that I wouldn't love…"

Quillon's eyes, those deep pools of moss green, seemed to absorb my confession, understanding the complexities of my mind as easily as he navigated the contours of my body. With a nod, he lowered his mouth again, this time to the sensitive skin below my collarbone.

He was driving me crazy, yet I couldn't get enough. "Will you fuck me? Please?"

He stopped and pushed himself up. "We don't have to?—"

"I want to. I want to feel you inside me."

He groaned as if he were in pain. "I want that too, nerdy, but only if you're sure."

"There's lube in the drawer. Do we need condoms?" We might as well get that out of the way. "I haven't had sex since my last test, and I was negative."

"Same." He swallowed. "Jesus, nerdy, I haven't gone bare with anyone in…ever. You'll be the first."

I liked that. I liked that a lot.

He found my hand and laced our fingers as if weaving our mutual consent into something tangible. With a smile that held nothing but promises, he shifted, his movements purposeful yet unhurried as he opened the bedside drawer and retrieved a small bottle of lubricant.

I watched, fascinated, as he coated his fingers, his gaze never leaving mine. His look held a thousand unspoken vows, assurances of care and tenderness. I felt exposed yet safe under the intensity of his attention as I pulled up my legs and spread them.

"Relax," he whispered as if reading the tension within me. He circled my hole with his slick fingertip, teasing, coaxing, pressing at the threshold of my body.

My breath hitched, and I focused on the ceiling. Breathe out, bear down. I'd read the advice online, wanting to be prepared. It was easier said than done, but I managed. Quillon was patient, slowly invading me and giving me plenty of time to adjust.

"Okay?" he asked, his probing softened by the concern etched in his brows.

"More than okay." And it was the truth. The sting wasn't unpleasant, already mixing with the promise of pleasure.

Quillon took his time and prepared me with a gentleness that belied the strength of his warrior hands. My body responded, opening and yielding to his expertise. He made what could have been clinical or even cold into something intimate and special as he watched my every reaction.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"I think so."

"We'll go slow."

I smiled. "I don't think I've ever seen you go anything but slow. Do you even have a different setting?"

He chuckled, a low, sexy sound. "You'll find out one day…but not today."

I spread my legs wider in a wordless invitation, and he moved closer, aligning his body with mine in a way that felt both new and achingly familiar, like it was meant to be. And that was coming from a man who didn't believe in fate. This connection between us defied logic and rationality, but for once, I was okay with accepting what I couldn't explain.

He pressed against me, and I let him in, surrendering to him in every way. I focused on breathing, on relaxing, on keeping my heart rate within healthy boundaries as he worked his way in. The first inch stung, but then the muscles loosened, and he slid in all the way.

The room contracted to the point where nothing existed beyond our intertwined forms. The sensation was profound—a slow, deep merging that echoed in my blood and bones.

"York," he whispered against my lips, and my name on his tongue sparked a wildfire within me. "My sweet nerdy."

The words rolled off my lips like I had said them a thousand times. "I love you."

I hadn't thought it possible, but his eyes softened even more. "I love you so very much."

Another kiss, but this time as delicate as a feather, soft and sweet.

"I wanna feel you," I said. "Let me feel you."

The languid rhythm he set was a testament to his control, but it also leveled all the barriers I'd built. Each deliberate thrust knocked down another brick from my walls, leaving me exposed in ways I'd never been. But I was okay with that. I trusted Quillon.

The soft rustle of sheets, the slick slap of skin on skin, and the intimate chorus of our mingled moans crescendoed to a concert of our union. Every thrust brought a delicious sting, a burn that spread outward through my ass, where it transitioned into electric sparks of pleasure. My cock, which had flagged a bit, surged back to life, the unmistakable evidence my body was wholly on board. And how could it not be when I was being worshipped?

"Quillon." I clutched his shoulders, grounding myself in the reality of his touch. Our movements synced, a push and pull that drew us closer together like we were truly one body now. I kissed his neck, acutely aware of the strength of his arms, the scent of his skin, the taste of salt. And beneath it all, the steady beat of his heart against mine, a reminder that this intimacy was more than physical.; it was a sharing of souls.

"Look at me," he commanded, and I did. His darkened eyes reflected the naked intensity of my feelings, mirroring the surging emotions. Pleasure, yes, but also something more profound—a connection that bound me to him in a way that was entirely new.

"Quill…" I murmured as another wave of pleasure crested within me. He responded not with words but with a deepening of his caress, his hips guiding us toward a precipice I was all too willing to tumble over.

He encircled my cock, hard as a rod, and pumped me in the same steady rhythm as he was fucking me. I had to close my eyes to block out everything else and focus on all the sensations coursing through my body. I'd wanted to share this with Quillon, but I had never expected it would feel this good. Like my body was made to be merged with his.

The pleasure became so overwhelming my brain stopped working and went blissfully blank as my climax hit. I arched beneath him, lost in the storm, my body convulsing as my cock spurted out hot jets of cum over Quillon's hand.

He never let his gaze waver from me, his needs set aside to shepherd me through the tempest. As aftershocks rippled through my frame, he quickened his pace, the energy within him building like a storm about to crash everything in its wake.

"York," he groaned.

"Let me feel you come." I pulled him into a searing kiss that spoke of shared passion and mutual desire.

Our lips clashed with the same intensity that had marked our movements, and his body trembled against mine as he crossed the threshold of his release. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, shaking, pressing his body against mine in pure connection. His warmth spilled inside me, a new sensation and more intimate than I had expected, but one I loved.

In the quiet aftermath, our panting breaths echoed in the room. After a minute, he pulled out, and I winced. This part wasn't fun. My ass was sore, the sting a reminder of what we had shared. But thankfully, Quillon didn't get up yet. I couldn't have borne his absence, not even for a minute.

Quillon lay beside me, an arm draped over my waist, his chest rising and falling in a calming rhythm. I turned to face him and traced the contour of his jaw, rough with evening stubble. He smiled, a lazy, contented curve of his lips.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice husky from exertion.

"Hey yourself," I replied, not quite steady. The emotional whirlwind that had swept through me was settling, leaving in its wake a profound sense of peace.

Something unspoken passed between us—a shared understanding that what had happened went far beyond physical satisfaction. "Did I…?" How did I phrase the question bubbling inside me?

"Was it good for you?" Quillon asked quietly.

"It was perfect."

Quillon pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. His touch was gentle, almost reverent. "I love you."

My heart did a little dance. "Love you too."