Page 79 of A Much Younger Man
We kissed our way from the kitchen to the hallway to the bedroom with Callie padding softly behind us.
“I could use a shower.” I hesitated in the bathroom doorway with a gracelessness that was new, even for me. A disquiet, which completely sucked. For once, I didn’t know how to act.
“Is that an invitation?” He eyed me. Christ, had I ever been that brave?
“Please.” He was beautiful. Seeing him naked with all the lights on only confirmed that.
Of coursehe was smooth and perfect.
I unbuttoned my shirt and let it drop, because if my, er,seasonedbody didn’t scare him off, then maybe he really did like older guys, and if it changed his mind? Well, that was one solution to my dilemma, wasn’t it?
He clucked his tongue. “You’re just on fire with all the guilt and indecision you have going on.”
“That fire might not be from guilt, actually.”
The look he shot me was fond. “Oh yeah?”
“God, you know what you are, right?” I asked hoarsely. “Do you know how amazing, how lovely, you are?”
He lowered his lashes. “I don’t think of myself like that.”
“I don’t know how to be the man for you, but I want to be.” I qualified the statement, “Tonight, I want to be everything you need.”
“That’s enough.” He glanced pointedly at the shower.
“Oh, yeah.” I got the water going and kept my hand in until the temperature was just right. After helping him inside the oversized shower stall, I grabbed washcloths from a basket I kept on the sink, then stepped in with him. “Do you want me to wash you?”
He smiled shyly. “I’d like that.”
I soaped up the cloth and began with his shoulders, having no clue how to do this. Assuming everything rinsed down, I took my cue and started at the top.
In the warm cocoon of my shower, the act of circling the soapy washcloth over his skin took on a meditative quality. I lathered the contours of his body. I circled each muscle, each knobby bone, the round sweet curve of his ass, his muscled thighs, his calves—until I reached his feet and took care with each toe. Even his feet were lovely. He held his hands out, and I worked the soap between his clever, rough fingers.
As I worked, his cock rose in the nest of curly hair around it. I cleaned between his legs, his taint. His hole.
“Under you go.” I helped him rinse himself after I washed his hair. A feeling like I’d never known came over me—a rightness—when he wiped the excess water from his face and lifted his gaze to mine.
“Thank you.” He kissed my cheek, then returned the favor, washing me. I sat down on the built-in bench so he could reach easily if he wanted to wash my hair.
Instead, he sank into my lap and tucked his face into my neck. It was humbling and so sweet to hold him. I didn’t overthink things for a change. My heart told me to wrap my arms around him and press my cheek to his temple. My heart told me to shut up and hold him because he needed that—he neededme—and I needed him.
This was like nothing I’d ever done before.
It was unlike me, but I let my heart do the thinking.
I tilted my head to look into his eyes. They shimmered like blue gems under clear water, and when I kissed his forehead, tears tracked down his cheeks. He swallowed hard.
“Oh, no. Hey. C’mon. Don’t cry.”
He shook his head. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. You’re okay, Beck.”
He cleared his throat. “I haven’t felt this safe in such a long time.”
“I’m so sorry.” I smoothed his wet hair off his face. “Things shouldn’t be that hard, should they?”
He shook his head.
