Page 98 of How to Say I Do
I remembered another night in a faraway place, on a beach beneath tropical stars. I’d wished on forever that night, and had asked those shooting stars for somehow, some way, for Noël and I to turn those handful of days into something that lasted. Maybe there was magic in those old balls of flame after all.
Eventually, the night caught up with us, and Jason ambled back to the porch and tucked himself into Liam’s lap with droopy eyes. He still had his telescope in hand, curled firmly into his chest.
Noël and I walked Liam and Savannah out to their truck, and by the time Jason was buckled into the back, he was out cold. We said our farewells, and we watched them drive off from the front door, listening to Liam’s tires chew through gravel and crunch over fallen oak leaves.
Liam’s dirty dish from breakfast was still on the kitchen island. I ignored it. Sometimes, brothers had to work things out between them. I wasn’t going to get in the way of Noël and Liam.
My bedroom was lit by moonlight and shooting stars and the glow of Noël’s eyes. They gleamed like gems pulled fresh from a fire. I took his hands. “I love you,” I whispered. “I love you, Noël.”
We undressed each other slowly, peeling away shirts and leaving behind kisses on clavicles and the curves of each other’s shoulders. I dropped to my knees and unbuttoned his jeans, pushed my face into his heat and his musk. He sank his fingers into my hair and groaned as I mouthed the shape of him through his briefs.
This wasn’t our first time, but it felt like it. We explored each other with lips and fingertips, with kisses and caresses and sighs, as if we were newly discovering each other’s soft spots and secret places. The inside of his elbow, the curve of his taut hip. The smoothness of his inner thigh, and the way he shuddered and gasped when I rubbed my stubble along his low belly. The sounds he made when I sucked him, and how his legs fell open when I took his hands in mine and pressed them to the mattress. The taste of his kiss, and how it felt when we were pressed so closely together I could feel his heart racing against my ribs.
There was a languidness to our lovemaking, an unhurried rhythm, as if there wasn’t a world outside of this night. Nothing else mattered but this, and us.
I rolled onto my back and pulled Noël into my lap. His fingertips traced the arc of my ribs, danced across my stomach, and then hooked on my hips as he settled himself. I fumbled in the dark for the lube in my nightstand. He bit my nipple as I tossed tissues, eye drops, cough drops, and a spare phone charger onto the floor, groaning, my brain shorting out, before finally coming back with the lube. He took it from me with a kiss.
I stroked the length of his spine, from the small of his back to the nape of his neck, and gnawed on my lip to keep my whimpers in as he slicked me and then opened himself. He tossed the lube aside, then leaned over me, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, kiss to kiss, as he lined us up—
God,perfection. Absolute perfection, him and me, the two of us, making love. His knees closed in tight against my sides as he rocked on top of me, sliding up and down my cock and taking me all the way inside of him. His fingers gripped my hair, and he clung to me as he rode me, long and slow and smooth. I followed his lead, my feet flat on the mattress, knees bent and rising to meet him, then sliding away, then coming back together again. I took hold of his hips, moving us as one until we were both panting, riding out wave after wave.
We rocked together, each thrust bringing us closer to the edge. I rose off the bed, sitting up and pushing into him, needing more of him. His breath came in splintered, choked gasps, and he wrapped his arms around my shoulders as his head fell back and his eyes squeezed shut. A long, unbroken moan tore out of him. I cupped his face in both hands and pulled him down so our lips met again.
I wanted to make love to him all night and into the morning, and all day tomorrow.Stay like this, stay just like this.I tried to hold on, to cling to these seconds. Noël, my first, the first man I’d ever made love to. Theonlyman, if this dream of mine held its fragile shape. My racing thoughts and galloping emotions mixed and melded with the feel of his body. Me inside of him, his lips pressed to mine, his breath across my lips, and his fingers in my hair. Too much, God, too much. I was tipping over the edge, groaning his name, my face pushed into the hollow of his throat.
Our skin was slick with sweat. I felt his every shudder and tremble, every gasp, every clench and quiver. We were both so close. I could feel it rising, bringing us closer to the edge.
“Oh, God, Noël…”
“I’m close,” he breathed. He rode me harder, brought me deeper inside of him. I gripped his hips and thrust, my rhythm broken and erratic. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out, just a rush of moans and gasps.
“Together,” he whispered.
“Together,” I whispered back.
Lightning sparked a brush fire inside my soul, then shot through every part of me. It rushed over me with each thrust until I was drowning in Noël’s moans and my own cries. Noël took my face in his hands and seized my lips, kissing me wildly as he sank a scream into my lungs. Wet heat erupted between us and soaked my stomach.
Aftershocks rippled through him. He stole a kiss, and then another, breathless little things that made our lips cling. His fingers drifted down my cheeks, and we stared into each other’s eyes.I want this whole life to be shared with you, Noël. Tell me you want the same. Tell me you want me forever, too.
Noël was trembling when he slid to the mattress. We lay facing each other, my hands trailing from his thighs to his hips to his sides, tracing his ribs and playing with the hair scattered in the center of his chest. I loved the way his body felt against mine, and how his breath hit my cheek in hot little puffs. He was sweaty and warm, soft and pliable, cuddly in a way he wasn’t during the daytime, when he wore his labels and his sarcasm and his distance like layers of intricate shielding. I was the only one who got to see him like this, mellow and serene, languid and open.
He stroked his thumb over my cheekbone, back and forth, back and forth.
I closed my eyes and tugged him closer, until we were inseparable and indistinguishable.Stay in the sky, moon,I pleaded.Let this night last forever because I don’t want to let him go.
He planted gentle kisses on my eyelids. “Wyatt, I love you.”
Then let’s build this life, Noël.I wouldn’t let the words out, but I still thought them.Stay. Stay with me, Noël. Love me so much that you’ll stay.
I didn’t say it, though. I didn’t say it because all those fears I’d had months ago, and all those sleepless nights I’d spent lying awake and spinning around the words he’d written in his emails, chewing through his own anxieties and uncertainties and unknowns, were still alive between us. What had been true then was still true now. If Noël wanted to be with me, he had to be the one to decide that. I was here, standing in front of him with my heart bared, and I’d laid out a possible future between us in little hopes and wishes that he could pick up and examine. If he wanted those dreams, too, then we’d build them together, hand in hand, moment by moment.
I’m here, I thought, while the starlight swayed between the shadows of the oak branches and our sweat began to cool.I’m here. I’m waiting for you, Noël.
Noël’s breathing deepened. I kissed his forehead and cradled him. Outside, the night wavered on, lulling us both into a serene stillness, and, finally, we fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Noël’s phone rang at 3:41 a.m.—4:41 a.m. in Manhattan. The sound was a drill bit digging into my brain, and I grunted into the pillow as Noël scrambled out of bed and pawed through his jeans.
He yanked out his phone and answered naked in the center of my bedroom. “Hello?” He sounded disbelieving, like his phone ringing was an impossibility that shouldn’t be happening. I’d rather have chucked it out the window than answer it, but I didn’t have hundreds of millions of dollars in business on the line.
