Page 70 of Protecting the Nerd

And he did. His movements were jerky at first, but then he got in the groove. He sucked with a newfound precision, the tentative touches of his lips replaced by the sure strokes of someone who had found his rhythm. I arched my back, a silent plea for more as he explored the length of me, each movement stoking the fire blazing through my veins. My hands found his hair again, fighting the urge to pull him down on my cock. One day, maybe, but this did the job just fine.

“God, York.” I gasped, breathless, tightening my grip on his hair. The sensation was electric—his tongue, his hands, his breath working in tandem to undo me. My mind, usually so disciplined, unraveled with every confident pull, leaving nothing but raw need.

He glanced up at me, his brown eyes smoldering with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. No hesitation, no doubt, only a fierce determination to learn my body as thoroughly as he understood the complexities of his beloved equations.

“Just like that… Don’t stop.” My breathing became ragged while I punched my hips, seeking the warmth of his mouth. Control slipped from my grasp, but I didn’t care.

And as York’s confidence grew, so did his boldness. He experimented with pressure and pace, quickly learning what drew the most intense reactions from me. His name became a mantra on my lips, a vocal testament to the pleasure that spiraled tighter and tighter until it burst.

“Coming,” I said between clenched teeth. “Fuuuuuck…”

York moved back, holding the tip between his fingers. Pleasure shattered through me, a cataclysmic release that left me gasping and shuddering as my cock spurted its load into his hand. By the time I was done, I was out of breath and boneless, sagging back onto the mattress.

York’s eyes, wide and luminous in the dim light, met mine as he eased up from his position, his breaths coming in short bursts that spoke volumes of our shared intensity.

“Wow,” he murmured, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“More than wow,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Thank you.”

“No, don’t. Don’t thank me. I loved this. Loved doing this for you and with you.”

“You needed little instruction after all. Guess you’re a natural,” I teased him.

He shrugged, his cheeks reddening. “I went by instinct.”

“Go wash your hands.” I caught the way he looked at the drying cum. “And then I want to snuggle.”

He smiled as he rushed out of bed. A minute later, he came back with a warm washcloth and shyly cleaned my cock and balls. “This good?”

“Perfect.”

He dropped the washcloth back in the bathroom and slid back into bed. I pulled him close, needing the contact of his body to ground me after such a soaring experience. We molded together effortlessly, skin on skin, the heat between us not just from desire but also from a connection that felt as necessary as breathing.

York laid his head on my chest, his ear over my heart, listening to the rhythm that returned to a semblance of normal. I ruffled his messy hair, absorbing the contentment radiating from him.

As the minutes slipped by, our breaths synchronized, a silent lullaby that calmed my senses. The restlessness plaguing me earlier had dissipated, replaced by a tranquility I attributed to York’s presence. His body was a balm to my frayed nerves, his heartbeat a steady reassurance against my side.

Eventually, the pull of sleep became a gentle tide, coaxing me toward the shores of slumber with the promise of peaceful dreams. With one arm wrapped possessively around York, anchoring him to me as if I could keep the world at bay by holding him close, I finally surrendered.

23

YORK

Iwas happy.

It was the strangest feeling, maybe because I’d never fully realized how not happy I was until now. Not even unhappy. Just not happy. Not like this, this sensation of floating through my days, of unexpected daydreaming when I should be working, of looking forward to being with Quillon, to spending time with him. I’d never been a people person, but I sure as fuck was a Quillon person.

I was in love.

I was happy, and I was in love—two things I’d never thought possible. Somewhere along the way, I’d concluded I was destined to stay single for the rest of my life. Seriously, who the fuck would be crazy enough to want to be with me?

Quillon was. I still couldn’t believe it, but I knew it to be true. He loved me. He wanted me. Hell, for reasons that defied all rationality, he thought I was sexy. If not for the fantastic sex between us, I would’ve suspected he’d told me a white lie, but no one could fake that. Also, Quillon didn’t lie. Not to me, but also not in general. He was a straight shooter, one of the many things I loved about him. Jesus, he’d turned me into a love-sick sap, and I didn’t mind that much.

We were in bed after an afternoon nap. I’d been tired, and Quillon had crawled in beside me. We’d both been surprised when he’d fallen asleep as well, but it was a good thing because he still wasn’t getting enough sleep at night. At least he’d caught some extra Zs now.

He lay on his back while I rested my head on his shoulder. Whenever I did that, he’d wrap his arm around me, and I felt so protected, so safe. So cherished. That was the right word. When we were lying like this, I felt cherished.

But despite all the happy flutters, I couldn’t ignore the dark cloud hanging over us. “I can’t wait till all this is over,” I said softly.

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