As promised, Henry was nailing my prostate, hitting it over and over again, my cock brushing against Henry’s stomach as he moved andI was about to burst.

“Henry, I’m going to—”

“You need to come, darling? Are your balls about to burst?”

“Yes.”

“Then beg me for it.”

“Please, Henry,pleaselet me come, Ineedto—”

“Come,” he ordered against my cheek and I did.

Like he had a direct line of command that went straight to my balls, they tightened, my prostate singing, my insides contracting against Henry’s unrelenting length as ropes of come started bursting out of me in waves. One, then another, and another as Henry cursed and fucked into me once, twice,threetimes with short erratic thrusts.

My orgasm had triggered his own, and for a moment, I wished there was no condom between us so I could feel him deep inside, marking me.

Making me well and truly his.

“Fuck,” he whispered against my ear, sounding overcome.

And I felt the same. So with my arms, I surrounded his strong, wide, slightly sweaty shoulders and held him against me, cradling his head and holding onto him for dear life.

I never wanted to leave this moment, this closeness.

So I kept my eyes closed and imagined a world in which Henry Campbell was mine.

Chapter 27

Henry

Sex with Antony was Heaven on earth, but the cuddling, the closeness, being able to hold him against me right after? That was my personal paradise. So much so that words I’d never dreamed of telling anyone before were threatening to spill out of my mouth.

But I didn’t let them.

This was only post-sexual delirium. We were feeling high, like we’d inhaled helium, and nothing that we felt could be trusted.

Even if my body told me it was the truth, and it had been so all along.

Shut up.

“You’ll be sore tomorrow,” I told him as I held on to Antony’s cheek, caressing him absentmindedly. We were laying side by side, and I needed a dose of reality.

He snorted. “I’m sorenow.”

I immediately pushed myself up on an elbow, looking him up and down as if I could see the source of the discomfort.“Does it hurt really bad?”

“No.” His mischievous grin made my chest flutter, no matter how I told it not to. “I’m emotionally sore, mostly. That was intense.”

I could never get enough of this quiet honesty that Antony gave me. It felt so precious, sohim, it made it hard to speak.

“It was. That’s sex for you.”

“Is it? That’s how it normally feels like?”

His eyes were so green, almost glowing as the sun made its way down outside Antony’s bedroom window. He looked like a debauched god in tangled sheets, and I’d never forget this view for as long as I lived.

No. This wasn’t what it normally felt like. It had never felt like this for me. Everyone else paled in comparison to how good it felt to be with Antony, but I wasn’t going to tell him.