Page 98 of Grave Misgivings
“Fuck, the first chance you gave me to step up...” He runs his hand over his weary face.
“I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that,” I state, feeling my own sense of guilt. “I just...”
He glances down at me with watery eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he cries.
He fuckingcries.
“Can you forgive me?” His voice shakes, and I come undone.
I wrap my arms around him, nodding my head as my own tears stain my cheeks.
“It’s okay,” I assure him, my own voice shaking. “You’re okay. Of course, I forgive you.” Tears are coming to my eyes like rain as I bury my face in his chest, the thick hair tickling my jaw.
I let his intoxicating scent fill my lungs, let his warmth envelope me. Regret swells inside of me, for words never said, actions never taken.
I made a choice all those years ago, and that choice cost me everything I held dear to me.
My family, my best friend.
I don’t want history to repeat itself.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the mid-life crisis taking hold since my birthday is only three days away. But whatever it is, I don’t fight it.
Because it feelsright.
“I love you,” I whisper, and the silence is deafening. I slide my hand over his pecs, feeling his heartbeat beneath my palm.
His hand grabs mine where it lays.
“Zeb, I?—”
“I have always loved you,” he says as he squeezes my hand, his lips finding mine, and he tastes like cherries and sin, like heaven and hell.
His kiss burns through me like an eternal flame.
He grabs my face in his hands, his fingers sliding along my neck and into my hair.
Everything is a blur as the heat of our truth takes hold. His hands pull at my shirt, I pull him by the waistband of his boxers, and we crash into chairs, bump the counter, and nearly take out the framed artwork in the hall as he opens his mouth, sliding his tongue into mine in languid, messy strokes.
I run my hands over his body, afraid if I can’t feel him beneath my fingers that he’s going to slip right through them.
I slide both my hands beneath the waistband of his boxers and I shove them down, freeing his perfect cock.
His fingers fumble with the button on my jeans and we both hobble around, knocking into walls and doors as our mouths and tongues fight for dominance as we shed our clothes like snakeskin, needing to evolve.
To become something new.
Zeb breaks away for a moment, staring down at me.
His hand slides between us, his fingers stroking me, the pad of his thumb collecting the fresh blossom of precum that’s already gathered at my tip.
I let my head fall back as the haze of alcohol and sex forms a fog around me.
His lips assault my neck as he takes both of us in his hand. The feel of his bare cock against my own, combined with the way his mouth works its way down my throat, makes me see stars.
“Make it up to me,” I breathe, finding his mouth once more.
