Page 194 of Gym Bros
His bare upper body gives nothing away. His wide-legged linen pants blow in the warm breeze that catches me now, too, through the open door. I finish taking off my shirt to the tune of the first song we danced to at Fantasma. The playlist is chronological, to the best of my ability, with some sentimental favorites of his and mine thrown in here and there.
We don’t have a song, per se, but we have a vibe. Carnal. Hungry. Sexy. Soft.
On the terrace, I put my hands on his waist and drop a kiss to his neck. He leans his head to make more room for me, his hand sliding up my cheek.
It’s hard to make sex between us all that “special,” even here. There’s no spot in this suite of rooms we haven’t gotten off on. The pool is a favorite, meaning the appropriate lube is already out here, but I need a moment just to breathe him in first and enjoy this incredible feeling. That we belong to each other. For real. Forever. For good.
“What did you think of it?” I ask him.
“Perfect. Every second,” he says. “You?”
“A hundred percent. Thanks for going through with it.”
He turns to face me. He’s older now—almost thirty, and it shows in the sharpness of his jawline, a new crinkle around his eyes when he smiles. None of this makes him any less stunning. He still turns heads everywhere we go, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
But there’s a warmth and playfulness in his eyes now—one that wasn’t there when I met him. There’s a deeper understanding of himself that speaks of maturity and maybe even wisdom. Most of all, there’s a gentleness that shows his innocence—his willingness to keep learning, keep trying, keep dreaming. The flame that was so burned out when I met him has long since come back to life, and he’s all light and love. Curiosity and adventure.
“Was it that hard to talk me into it?” he asks.
“You had me sweating for hours,” I remind him.
“I just wasn’t expecting it. I thought I was getting a new watch, and you handed me a ring.”
This all happened last year, a few feet from where we’re standing now. “I was on a knee.”
“You’re on your knees all the time,” he laughs, the sound like pure joy on the cloudless night.
I kiss him, trying like hell not to unleash all my lust at once. I can feel his restraint, too, like he’s determined to keep pace with me and not rush this night. My hands explore his arms and face and hair while my lips move slowly with his. If I thought winning the UFC title was a good feeling—it’s honestly got nothing on this. Because no one can take this away from me. I’d die before I let that happen.
I guess love isn’t all that hard for me. I’m used to it, but Calyx taught me not to take a second of it for granted. He’s still teaching me that in all kinds of ways from mindful breathing tothe long, quiet conversations in bed where he’ll talk about his mother or father and his ongoing struggle to forgive them.
Watching my parents get divorced after a twenty-eight year marriage taught me a few rough lessons, too, and Calyx has certainly spent his fair share of time listening to me go on about that, as well.
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” I tell him.
“I know. You mentioned that earlier—in front of all our friends.”
“I meant it.”
“I hope you always think that,” he says.
“Are you saying there might be something better out there for me? That’s kind of an exciting thought.”
He tickles my sides to shut me up, and it works because my mouth lands on his again, but this time, I don’t stop there. I can’t. I need to know what his pants are hiding. I already know it has to be white—his pants are nearly see through.
I bend to kiss my way down his neck and chest, and then I’m on my knees, opening him up like a wedding present.
White lace, silky to the touch. Boy shorts that fit him perfectly. The prefect blend of masculine and feminine, just like he is. “These feel expensive,” I say, glancing up at him.
He gives me a fond smile. “I hope they’re not too boring, but yes—very expensive.”
“On you, nothing’s ever boring,” I assure him. And then, when I pull his pants down his legs, I find two matching lace bands around his thighs. Garters. I bite my lip and run my thumbs over them, taking in the whole, beautiful picture. I might even growl.
His hand moves through my hair, pushing it back as I lean in and run my open mouth along the bulge of his cock. His hand curls into a fist, giving a slight tug on my scalp.
I get busy touching him, running my hands up and down hislegs, over his ass. I mouth his balls and lick at the lace. I kiss his thighs and slip my fingers beneath the lace garters, snapping them against his smooth skin. It’s simple, but Jesus, it’s sexy. Beautiful, even.
He’s so fucking beautiful.
