7. Declan

The second the door shuts, Grant spins around, fear in his eyes, grit in his voice. "What's wrong? Just tell me. I can't take it anymore. I know you didn't want to be there. That you were having a shitty time. And that you were faking it for me," he says, the words spilling out like a five-car pileup.

"Fuck," I mutter as I stalk away from him. I head to the living room, sinking on the couch with my head in my hands.

"That's not helping," Grant says, following me.

But he doesn't sit. He stands.

I raise my face, looking at Grant. His arms are crossed. His eyes are hurt. "I'm sorry, babe."

A spark of relief flashes in his blue eyes but then vanishes. "Why are you sorry? What's going on, Deck?"

I try to sort through the mess I've made of tonight. "It's not you. I swear."

A shaky breath passes his lips. "It's not you, it's me?" he repeats, incredulous. "Is that where we're at? Is that how this works? You feeding me a breakup line? Are you breaking up with me?"

I gape at him. That's the other side of the planet from what I'm thinking. "No. God, no. I didn't mean it that way. Jesus... I'm just... I'm trying to figure out what to say."

"Try harder," he bites off. "Because you're freaking me out."

I can't tiptoe around this anymore. I just have to rip off the Band-Aid. "I hate dancing. I hate clubs. I hate crowds like that."

His lips part, his jaw coming unhinged. "That's what you were in a funk about?"

"Yes. I feel stupid in places like that, when everyone is looking at me, and I don't know what to do. It reminds me of how shitty I felt when I was younger and my dad would show up at my games... and you know." I let out all the awful emotions and memories until they trickle off. "You know all of that."

"I do," Grant says softly. "But why didn't you just tell me that?" He sounds wildly relieved, but hurt too.

My shoulders unknot momentarily. I've lifted a weight off them, but it's not all the way gone. Dragging a hand across my forehead, I rise, take a steadying breath, and cross to where he stands. I stop when I'm a foot away, but I don't touch him. Funny how we did nothing but touch at the club and I felt completely disconnected to him. Already I feel more connected in our home, and we haven't touched once.

"Because you were looking forward to it so much," I say heavily. "That's why I didn't say anything."

"Sure, I wanted to go, but not to the point of making you miserable."

"But you're so... social. You're outgoing. You love all that." I flap my hand in the direction of the club. "The crowd, the people, being on display—it's who you are." I push past the discomfort because it's a relief to say all these things that have been weighing on me. "And you're so good at that. I love that you're so bold."

He stares at me, still worried. "But . . .?"

"Babe," I say, clasping his shoulders. Grant needs touch—it centers him, reassures him, and he deserves that. "There is no but for me. I love you so much, and I also don't want you to resent me down the road. I don't want to rain on your parade."

His arms slide around my waist, but we don't embrace or fall into each other. "Don't leave me," he whispers, his voice shaking.

My heart craters. I grab him, curling a hand around the back of his head as I pull him against me. "Never," I murmur, then kiss his forehead. I thread my hands through his hair, pressing another kiss to his cheek, then his lips. Grant is such a physical person, even more so than I am, and I want to speak his language—a sentence of gentle touches that translates as hope.

But this is also a time for us to talk, starting with me. "Is that what you thought? That I'd leave you?"

Grant shakes his head, then nods, then shakes it again. "I don't know." He lets go of my waist, his hands crawling up the front of my shirt to take hold of the material. "You freaked me out."

"I just feel like such a boyfriend fail tonight."

A soft laugh falls from his lips, then he lifts his chin. "Join the club."

"I should have told you," I say, stroking his cheek.

His expression softens into a sympathetic smile. "I should have realized it would trigger you."

I wince, hating that word, but knowing he's right. "I don't want to be someone who's triggered," I mutter.

Grant wraps a fist more tightly around the top of my shirt. "You can move on from your past, you can be stronger because of it, but you can't ever erase it. It's okay if there are things you don't want to do because they remind you of shitty times in your life. And I don't want to put you in that position again."

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. When I open them, I tug him close. "Thank you." I take a beat, then push on. "Sometimes, I just want to be alone with you. I don't always want our relationship to be a cause. I just want it to be just... ours."

His lips curve into a slight grin. "You mean you don't necessarily want to be a gay ambassador?"

I laugh lightly then tap his nose. "Exactly. I don't mind the pics you post. I love going out with you. But sometimes, maybe most of the time, I just want it to be you and me."

Grant looks me in the eye, a touch of hurt lingering. "Just tell me next time, okay?"

I nod, doing my best to agree, though there's a part of me that fears I might be keeping him from the big, loud, vivacious life he wants to lead. But my man is looking at me with such love that I need to set those concerns aside. "I will. I promise," I say.

"I'm not going to be upset, Deck," he says. "I want to have fun with you. But it's about both of us having a good time. So, next time, let's talk first."

With hindsight, I can see how the club could have gone differently. "If I told you from the start that I didn't want to dance, I could have just, I dunno, had an iced tea at the bar and watched you."

Grant gives me a you've-got-it smile. "That's what I'm talking about. I'd have danced with my ladies and put on a show for you."

"We can make going to a club work," I say. "Together."

"And if we can't, we can have fun in other ways," he says.

Oh yes, we can.

It's time to focus on Grant—on the one thing I can give him that no one else can. I press my lips to his, kissing him gently at first, soft and tender, reassuring him with my mouth that I'm not ever leaving him.

How could I?

This man is the love of my life.

But I also want him to love his life with me.

I desperately want to be enough for him.

I let those thoughts slink out of my head as we kiss. My mind goes hazy, my body turns warm. Soon, his hands are pulling at my shirt. I break the kiss as Grant groans a low note of desire then yanks hard on the fabric, ripping off the buttons so they fly across the floor.

Ping, ping, ping.

I give an appreciative whistle. "You're in some kind of feisty mood."

His breath comes in a harsh pant. "Need you. Need you now."

I slide a hand over the hard ridge of his cock then squeeze his dick. I let go, spinning around, pressing my ass against his crotch. "Have me."

That ought to make clear what I want tonight.

Grant runs a hand up my back and into my hair, pulling the strands, running his nose through them. "Mmm. You still smell all shower clean and sexy. But I like you dirty too." He presses a hot kiss to my neck, and tingles rush over my skin. "I want to show you how good I can make you feel when it's just you and me."

"You don't have to prove anything," I say, but it's a feeble protest—I crave all the good things he's offering.

"But I want to," he says, sweeping more kisses along my neck as a warm flush spreads over my skin. "Let me show you how good I can make you feel in our home. It's ours, Deck. Ours."

"I know," I murmur, giving in completely to Grant's kisses, to his lips, to his tongue as I sink against him, my head falling back, my hands clasping his where they wind around my waist. "It's ours. And I'm yours tonight."

We make quick work of clothes, stripping to nothing. I spread a blanket over the couch then pull him on top of me, my gaze sweeping over his chest, his arrow ink, the sun and moon on his hip, then the compass on his wrist. Grant straddles me, heat in his eyes, looking determined to make me feel like a king.

He makes me feel better than I've ever felt in my entire life.

Especially when he rubs his smooth-shaven cheek against my trim beard then travels down my body, taking the scenic route, kissing my throat, my shoulders, my chest, my arms. His lips visit everywhere. Sparks ignite in my blood, turning hotter as he goes lower, kissing the ladder of my abs, then my groin.

I need even more. "Babe, give my dick some attention," I say, demanding but pleading at the same time.

"With pleasure." Grant grasps the base of my cock, then kisses the head.

I groan so loudly I could put a porn star to shame. Only there's no acting. This is all real, and it feels so damn good to be touched like this especially after the dance floor. "Play with my balls too," I command, and he does, caressing them with his strong hands as he worships my shaft with his mouth.

It's heady, the way Grant's treating my body. He lavishes attention on me, giving a long, luxurious lick from base to tip. A deep desire ripples through my body. "Take it. Suck me deep."

"I always do," he says, then brings me deeper, deeper, until every inch of my length is encased in the hot, wet heat of his talented mouth.

Grant knows what to do to me. He's always known what to do to me, from the very first night we spent together. He owns my body and my goddamn heart too, and he licks and sucks me like he knows it. With such fervor, such passion, it's like his mouth is making love to my cock.

His murmurs and moans send me spiraling into both heaven and hell. It feels so insanely good, but I have to make him stop or I'll shoot too soon.

I groan, fisting my hand in his hair again, yanking him off. "Stop, babe, or I'll come."

Grant pouts as he lets me fall from his mouth, but then his blue eyes twinkle with mischief. "Turn around," he tells me.

My skin buzzes with excitement. A high-voltage charge ricochets through me as he sits up on his knees, giving me room to move. I shift to all fours, then lower onto my elbows.

A hot shiver rushes down my spine as his hands curl over my cheeks. I shudder at the prospect of wicked pleasure. My guy is aces at this.

"Yes," he moans approvingly as he massages my ass. "So fucking sexy."

My dick twitches hard and heavy between my legs as he roams his hands over my flesh. Then he squeezes hard and smacks a palm down on one cheek.

"Yesssss," I grunt, eyes squeezing shut. Seconds later, a shudder rolls through me as he licks a path along my flesh, then whispers in the sexiest voice ever, "Declan Steele, I'm going to make you feel so fucking good."

Grant delivers on his promise a second later when he flicks the tip of his tongue against me.

I groan like an animal.

I feel like an animal, all primal instinct and desire.

All heat and lust.

I am nothing but pure arousal as he kisses me. I rock my hips shamelessly, buck against his mouth eagerly, and I let the first part of the night fade into a distant memory as we come back together.

Like this—lovers who give each other everything.

Who fuck fearlessly.

Who love boldly.

Who can't get enough of each other.

That's how Grant makes me feel, licking and kissing like he's obsessed with my pleasure.

He's driving me utterly insane with lust.

Pleasure throbs in every cell, and still, I want more. I want everything. With my weight on one arm, I reach behind me, grab his head, bury him deeper. He answers me with a hungry kiss, a sizzling moan. The sound he makes is wild, a man possessed by his lover's bliss.

"Yes, that's so good," I groan, keeping him up close against me. That's how we do it. That's how we like it. That's how we love to fuck.

And I love every single thing about this moment.

A haze of bliss envelopes me. My dick has never been harder, my balls never tighter.

I'm pulsing with pleasure, not sure I can hold off.

"Grant," I beg.

He slows, stops, flips me to my back. My skin is still tingling everywhere, my dick throbbing. Grant looks like a man consumed as he pushes my thighs apart. Grabbing the lube, he coats his fingers, slides one inside, then another. He crooks his fingers perfectly, sending a torrent of pleasure spinning through me.

I shudder everywhere, and I moan like crazy because everything feels incredible. My whole body has gone to a sex fiesta, and I don't want to stop the celebration.

Grant's gaze remains locked with mine as he plays with my ass. "You taught me to do this," he rasps out.

"I know, and you're so fucking good at it," I say as he twists his fingers inside me, his other hand traveling up my chest, kneading my pecs.

He breathes out hard, his eyes blazing with desire. "Want to know why I'm good at it?"

"Why?" I groan as he hits my prostate again and again.

"Because I love making you feel good, Deck. Just love it."

"Me too," I whimper as I push down on his fingers, seeking more heat, more pleasure. "Need to jerk, babe," I say, reaching between my thighs.

Before I can grip myself, his hand curls around my shaft. Then, holy fucking stars, he crooks his fingers inside me just so.

"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck."

Electricity crackles down my spine, a high-voltage charge of pleasure as he demolishes all my walls. With his passion, he breaks me down, makes me never want to keep secrets from him again. Never want to crawl into that box again. Makes me want to tell him everything.

So I do, rasping out, "You make me feel so good, babe. Love what you're doing. Love it so much."

Waves of bliss crash into me and I'm too close.

"But if you keep that up, I'll come. I'm warning you," I tell him as he torments me with pleasure.

"Don't come till my cock is buried in you," he says as he gives a nice, slow stroke up my length.

"You're making that really fucking hard, Grant,"

Everything feels electric, and agony spirals exquisitely as my man works me over, takes me apart, and wrecks me with bliss.

When I'm this close to losing it, he stops, eases out his fingers, staring at me with fire in his eyes. "Let me fuck you hard, babe. Let me fuck you and make love to you and come all over you," he pleads.

We've never used those words before.

Make love.

Make love is too soft for us. Too old school. Too straight.

But hell, if that isn't what we're doing.

We are fucking and loving.

"Have me," I say, and it feels like a brand-new start.

It feels like I'm letting him inside me in a whole new way.

Like we need to show each other that, though we can bend, though we can buckle, we can't break. I want to demonstrate with our bodies that we can be everything for each other.

Because he's everything to me.