Page 39 of Worth the Wait
His face drew tight. Guilt. Fear. Shame. Love, maybe. None of it spoken. None of it safe.
“Please.” Nathan’s voice was barely a whisper. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
Freddie didn’t think.
He stepped forward. Two strides, and he was right there, toe to toe. He kissed him. Hard. Desperate. And he went straight for Nathan’s belt, fingers fumbling, as if he could prove it, force it,feelit. That this was real. That Nathan wanted him. Not just needed him. Butwantedhim. Like this. Wanted Freddie around him. Hands, mouths, maybe more than what they’d already done if they were given the chance. Freddie would get on his knees for this man. All fours. Whatever he fucking wanted.
And for a heartbeat, maybe two, Nathan let him.
He kissed him back. Mouth hot and trembling. It wasn’t soft. It was messy. Frantic. A collision. And fuck, it felt good. So damn good. But Freddie was still furious. Bone-deep, blood-hot kind of mad that made everything sharper, and he yanked at Nathan’s zip-up, ripping it offhis shoulders and letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Then his mouth found Nathan’s throat, sucking hard, marking him, as if he needed to leave something behind. Proof that he’d been there. That thishappened. That it meant something.
He then slipped a hand beneath Nathan’s waistband, fingers seeking heat, connection, anything that might make sense of the mess in his chest. And when he did, and his palm met hard flesh, Freddie’s whole body coiled tight, clenched with hope and hurt.
But Nathan gasped, jerking back to tear Freddie’s mouth from his neck. “Fred—don’t.”
Freddie caught him by the hoodie, yanking him closer, breathless and wild. “You want this,” he rasped, groping Nathan’s semi as if he could bring back what they were losing with sheer stubborn will. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t fucking lie. I can feel it.”
“I can’t….” Nathan closed his eyes, a slight moan trembling from his lips as Freddie stroked him.
“Yeah, you can.” Freddie jerked him faster, but it wasn’t enough, and he dragged his hand out of Nathan’s underwear to fall to his knees, fumbling to get Nathan’s jeans down.
“Fred, stop.” Nathan gripped his belt, holding his jeans in place.
So Freddie stood back up, kissed him again instead, deeper this time. Then dipped his hand back inside Nathan’s boxers and gripped his erection firmly, breath stuttering in his throat. Nathan groaned then grabbed Freddie’s wrist, but he didn’t pull his hand out. Didn’t move away, either. And Freddie knew he didn’t want him to stop. He never had before.
So Freddie didn’t.
“Oh, God, Fred…please…”
Was it an ask to stop or a beg to continue? Freddie couldn’t tell anymore. Couldn’t read the lines between hunger and hesitation.
Then they collided.
Bodies. Breath. Heat.
A shove melted into a clutch. Into a kiss. Frantic, burning and unfinished. Clothes bunched in fists. Fingers skimming skin. A mess of motion and heat and confusion where Freddie couldn’t tell the difference between anger and ache.
It wasn’t a fight. Not really.
It was everything they hadn’t said colliding all at once. Love tangled with lust. Fear knotted tight around want. A desperate, breathless mess ofdon’tandplease, of pushing and pulling and not knowing which one would hurt more. It burst out of Freddie between Nathan’s grunts of,“please, Fred”then his gentle, quiet utterings of,“don’t stop,”and when he slipped his hand in Freddie’s trackies, seeking his erection too, Freddie couldn’t stop. They jerked each other off between shoves that Freddie met with a kiss and each kiss Nathan returned, harder, stronger. It wasn’t violence. It was need. Raw, ugly and beautiful all at once. And it spilled out in touches too rough to be gentle but too desperate to be anything else.
Until Nathan said, “Stop.”
And Freddie lashed out.
His fist connected with Nathan’s jaw with a sick, heavy thud.
Nathan stumbled back, hand flying to his face, more stunned than angry. His lip split. Blood welled in the corner of his mouth, and he dabbed it, then looked at the red smearing his fingers. “What the fuck, Fred?”
“You’re a coward,” Freddie spat through his breaking heart. “A fucking coward.”
Nathan looked at him then. Not with anger. Nor hatred.
But with the hollow, gutted expression of someone who’d already lost everything and was now losing more. He didn’t say another word. And he turned, opened the door, and with his belt flapping and jeans half undone, he walked out.
Leaving Freddie standing there with his hand still curled into a fist, Nathan’s zip-up discarded on his floor and watching everything he’d ever wanted walk away from him.
Present day…
