Page 35 of Gay for Pray
Tonight, I embrace my sins.
Chapter Nineteen
Jude
THEODORE LETS ME TOUCH him for most of the night. It’s all hands and mouths, but it never gets old no matter how many times I taste or feel him. We even get our clothes off at some point, and I lavish his body, adoring every piece of him from his firm, furred chest to his strong thighs. We spend hours touching and exploring and kissing, stretching out the night as long as we can, exploring each other’s bodies as though tomorrow will never come. Some of it isn’t even erotic in the strictest sense, more like fascination, the way you’d admire a priceless painting, the way you’d admire a perfectly cooked meal before diving in with your fork, the way you’d stand at the top of a mountain and simply breathe in the awe of existing at the peak of the world. We kiss and touch and tangle around each other, orgasm falling to an afterthought at times and surging to desperate importance at others.
It’s the most incredible night of my life, and it happens withTheodoreof all people.
Eventually, we pass out, naked and exhausted and spent in a dozen different ways, but that doesn’t necessarily mean the night is over. Theodore reverses our positions from the last time he was here, holding me all night, wrapping his larger body around mine. Waking up with him draped against my back fills me with warmth as soon as I’m coherent enough to realize he’s still here.
His arm lies over my body, and I slot my fingers between his, touching him with fascination. Despite all we did last night, a part of me needs to feel him to believe it. It’s surreal, even with my body wrung out from staying up so late and having come more times than I would have thought possible. I worked out all the frustration of the past year in a single night, and in the most unlikely way ever.
I still don’t know what things will be like when Theodore wakes up. He ran to me last night, and it some ways it felt like he never slowed down. He was constantly moving, constantly doing, almost frantic in the way he touched me. I’m scared that the slow, creeping light of morning might awaken things within him that he managed to suppress in the dark.
The fear knots in my gut. Surely even Theodore can’t deny what we did. He accepted my invitation and came here on his own. I didn’t trick him into going into that practice room with me. I didn’t lure him here through sleight of hand.
I know that won’t stop him from regretting this.
Theodore groans against my back as he wakes. I try to keep myself from tensing, focusing on the hand I’ve been clasping. Theodore breathes in deeply, snuggling closer and squeezing my hand. The stubble on his cheek scratches my bare skin, and warmth blooms as he gets even closer.
It makes my head spin to reconcile this guy with the one who’s probably going to be terrified of this the second he leaves my room, but I set aside a piece of myself to brace for that impact. If I don’t, he’ll blindside me with it. At least this way I can cushion some of the inevitable blow. I wish I didn’t have to, that I could embrace this for everything it is and everything it promises to be, but that would be foolish with what I know about not just him, but this entire university. The odds are stacked against me, and the best thing I can do is live in the moment.
“Morning,” I say to test the waters.
“Morning,” he grumbles sleepily.
He shifts like he’s trying to get even closer, but there’s no space left between us. We’re body to body, as connected as possible…and it’s having an effect on him first thing in the morning.
Maybe I’m an idiot. Maybe I’m trying to prolong this while I can. I let myself push my hips against him, and sure enough his cock responds. He groans, but his hips start moving with mine, both of us shifting under the sheets to rub on each other. I know I’m chasing the fantasy, clinging to the dissipating smoke of a pleasant dream, but I can’t help myself. I’ve wanted something like this so bad for so long, and now it’s here and even better than I thought it would be. I have to seize every scrap before it slips between my fingers.
I reach for my nightstand and the bottle of lube we abused last night. Theodore groans when I pop the cap. I’ve trained a Pavlovian response into him in the span of a single night, a fact I’m more than a little proud of.
Lube in hand, I spread it on my thighs. This is another new thing for him, but Theodore’s a quick learner. He doesn’t need any guidance to fit his cock between my legs. He moans when I squeeze around him, then crushes me against his chest as he starts to thrust.
I stroke myself as he picks up speed, savoring the friction, the frantic need in the way he holds me, the gust of his hot breath against my back. When I clench my thighs tighter, he whimpers like he’s on the verge of tears, and it inspires all sorts of ideas about how far we could take this if we only had time. I don’t actually know if I’ll get that opportunity, however. This could be it. This bit of thigh fucking could be the last time he ever touches me. I’ll have no idea until it either happens again or it doesn’t.
The uncertainty leaves me desperate. I stroke myself harder, faster, bucking my hips to push into my fist. Theodore burns mythighs with his thrusting, nearly squeezing the breath out of me as he hugs me tighter.
“God,” he groans, and it’s the single most unholy sound I’ve ever heard in my life.
Then he comes between my thighs, his body exclaiming what his mouth will probably never dare. He jerks against me, aftershocks rocking both of us as I stroke and groan and arch and finally gush over my own hand while grinding a moan between clenched teeth.
We lie in my bed panting, frozen in a rictus of pleasure as the waves wash through us. The sheets are stifling, and we’ve ruined them so thoroughly between last night and this morning that I certainly have an unplanned laundry day in my future, but for a moment we can’t tear ourselves away from any of it. It takes several panting breaths before we calm down enough to begin untangling ourselves.
And that’s when the spell starts to unravel.
I sense it the moment we climb out of bed to clean ourselves up with a cloth that should probably go straight into the trash after the abuse it’s suffered over the course of the last ten hours. Theodore is awkward and hunching. He doesn’t look at me as he takes the cloth, just mumbles a thank you and puts his back to me to start cleaning up.
My heart sinks, but I don’t fight it. What would be the point? I knew this was coming before he ever arrived. He got himself here last night, talked himself into it however he needed to, but now it’s morning. Now this is real. Now it’s time for the guilt to bulldozer that incredible night we spent together.
He starts getting dressed without a word, and I throw on briefs and sweatpants just to feel less ridiculous. When he faces me, I’m glad I didn’t bother with a shirt. His eyes skim over my bare chest before he manages to drag them up and offer me a watery smile.
“So this, um, this was a lot,” he says.
“Are you feeling okay about it?”
He pauses, eyes falling to the floor. I let him muse, churning over the question. I love the thoughtful way he approaches everything. He could have given me some kind of reassuring platitude, but that’s not Theodore. He’s going to think earnestly through everything he says, even when it’s something he doesn’t want to admit.
