Page 126 of Puck Struck
He sounds so certain. It makes my chest tight. "You don't know what you're signing up for. Weeks of me being useless, cranky, in pain?—"
"I’ve already experienced you being a cranky bastard. I survived it." His lips quirk up. "Besides, someone's got to make sure you don't drive yourself insane trying to control your recovery from a hospital bed."
I roll my eyes. "I don't try to control everything."
"Logan, you arranged your sock drawer by color and fabric weight yesterday. While on pain medication."
"That's just efficient."
"That's obsessive." He leans down and brushes his soft lips against mine. "It's also one of the things I love about you."
My hands find his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. Two weeks ago, I thought I'd lost him. Now he's here, choosing to stay, choosing me.
Choosing us.
"I love you," I say, because it's true and because tomorrow is going to be hell and I need him to know.
"I love you too." His voice drops to a whisper. "And I want to show you how much before you're stuck in a hospital bed for the next week."
"Cam, you're still healing?—"
"I'm fine. Sore, but fine. And I need this." His hand slides down my chest, fingertips grazing my stomach. "Need to feel close to you before everything gets crazy."
I take in a sharp breath at his touch, my skin on fire as he drags his fingers tauntingly down the sides of my torso. It's been awhile since we've been together like this, two weeks of careful hugs and light kisses while he healed. But the need and want in his eyes tells me he's ready for more.
"You sure?" I ask.
"I'm sure." He slowly pushes his boxer briefs to his ankles and I pull them off one leg at a time. Then he climbs on top of me, straddling my hips carefully. "Let me take care of you tonight. It’s your turn to rest and relax.”
I reach for him, my hands sliding under the hem of his shirt. I carefully remove it and drop it onto the floor next to the bed. My hands caress his smooth skin, his warmth radiating into my palms. I trace a path around the scars over his abdomen, thin pink lines where James's knife cut deep.
"Don't look at those," he murmurs. "They're ugly."
"No. They're proof you survived. Proof you're strong enough to fight for what matters." I lean up and kiss one of the scars. "They're beautiful because you're here."
His breath hitches, eyes drooping closed. "Logan..."
"You're here," I repeat, my voice rough, thick with emotion. "You could have run after William Keating started his smear campaign. You could have requested a trade, disappeared, didwhat you needed to protect yourself. But you stayed. You fought. You chose us."
"I chose you," he corrects, dipping his head toward me. He cups the sides of my face, his green eyes fierce, a flicker of hunger gleaming in the depths. "I'll always choose you."
I grab the lube on my nightstand and coat my fingers before circling his tight hole. When I press into him, he gasps. Then he leans closer, crushing his lips against mine, deep and desperate. I lose myself in the minty-fresh taste of him. We move together slowly, carefully, aware of both our injuries, but unable and unwilling to resist the magnetic pull between us. His mouth on my skin, my hands in his hair, the soft sounds he makes when I take his earlobe between my teeth and then nip the sensitive spot on the side of his neck.
I slide my fingers out of him and grasp his thick cock, stroking him hard. When he sinks down onto me, when I'm buried deep inside him, the rest of the world disappears. There's no surgery tomorrow, no recovery, no panic or fear. Just us, connected, moving together like we're trying to memorize every detail about each other.
"I love you," he breathes against my neck as we rock together. "God, I love you so much."
"Show me," I gasp, my hands gripping his hips. "Show me how much."
And he does. With his body, his voice, the way he looks at me like I'm everything he's ever wanted.
He clamps down on my cock, pulling me deep. Each thrust makes him tremble. He digs his fingers into my sides as I drive into him, hitting his spot. Sparks in my groin fire, shooting to the tips of my toes and the ends of my hair. My balls tighten as he draws the orgasm from me, his ass so tight around me. Ropes of his cum spurt across my chest and spill over the sides of my hand, and I finally let go, filling him witheverything I have. When he falls against my chest, panting hard, I hold him tight and try to memorize this moment.
This feeling of being whole.
I’ve never felt it before Cam. And I never want to forget it.
"Whatever happens tomorrow," I murmur against his ear, "this was worth it. You're worth it. And I can’t be without you."
