Page 59 of Mr Nice Guy

I was too focused on watching the expression on Tanner’s beautiful face as he orgasmed to consider trying to catch his load in my hand or something, so we’ve both ended up pretty well-covered. Fortunately, it only seems to be other guys’ cum that Tanner has an aversion to, so this shouldn’t cause him to freak out. I hope.

I smile down at him; he still looks completely blissed-out and it’s adorable. I lift my hand and brush a thumb over his cheek. “God, you’re perfect.”

“I’m a fucking mess,” he groans.

I’m not sure if he’s referring to the literal mess on his stomach, or his struggles with his mental health. Knowing Tanner, probably the latter. Actual messes, he’s okay with—they give him something practical to handle and direct his focus.

“So is “Bohemian Rhapsody”. So are all of Jackson Pollock’s paintings. And Picasso’s.” I offer a gentle smile. “Perfection is boring as shit, babe. You’re a masterpiece.”

I can see my words have affected him by the movement of his throat and the emotion swirling in his eyes; I’m glad, but I also don’t want him to feel like he’s under a microscope, with me just hovering over him watching his every reaction. Also, there’s an important matter to attend to. “Okay, I’m going to have to take my dick out of you now,” I tell him. “Otherwise you might end up with a cum-filled condom stuck in your butt.”

Tanner’s eyes widen in alarm. “Ah, okay. Yeah, we should probably avoid that.”

Ireallydon’t want to leave his body, but it’s not really an optional situation. So, with great reluctance, I finally pull out and duck into the bathroom to take care of the condom.

I return to find Tanner still lying on his back, his palm over his face as he draws in slow, even breaths.

“You okay, babe?” I ask warily.

He nods, but doesn’t move his hand. “Yeah.”

“Would it help to clean this mess up?” I suggest. “In the shower?”

Tanner finally moves his palm and looks up at me, brows knitted together. “What mess?”

I gesture to my abs first, then his. “That mess.”

His lips twitch and I’m thrilled to see a sign of amusement touch his features. “It might.”

CHAPTER22

TANNER

Deacon thinks I’m having an anxiety episode. I don’t know, maybe I am; but it’s not what he thinks. I’m not freaking out because of how intimate and intense our sex became. Or about the kissing. All of that was incredible. I’ve been needing a closer connection for a while now, but I haven’t really had the courage to pursue it. I kept worrying that I’d spiral like I did the last time things got so intense and I’d be back to square one. But after hearing the frank inevitability in Skyler’s tone today when he joked Deacon not being welcome at first base, I knew it was time to just man the fuck up and get over myself. And now I feel like a fucking idiot for waiting so long.

What I’m struggling with now is the realization that’s just hit me with the force of a Mack truck: I’m in love with Deacon Stapleton. And it’s scaring the shit out of me.

And this time it has nothing to do with attraction or gender or orientation. I’ve given up trying to figure out how I should identify, because it’s not important to me. As far as I’m concerned, I’m Deacon-sexual and that’s all their is to it.

Or all therewasto it. Now I have this love thing to deal with. It’s been a really long fucking time since I felt like this about someone. I definitely never felt it for Natalia. There were feelings there, obviously. But it wasn’t like it was with Leah. And it wasn’t like this.

“Here you go,” he says with a gentle smile, handing me a damp, soapy washcloth.

We’re standing in my wall-to-wall walk-in shower, but we’re not under the spray. I guess it’d defeat the purpose of this little exercise if the water cleaned the mess away before I can.

“Thank you,” I murmur, already feeling a little calmer from the mere act of wiping my cum from Deacon’s abs. The fact that he knew I needed this makes my heart grow about ten times it’s size.

Why does my head have to be such a fucking mess all the time?

I swallow hard as I recall his words, comparing me to arguably the greatest rock song of all time, not to mention two of the twentieth centuries most acclaimed artists.Perfection is boring as shit, babe. You’re a masterpiece.

How the hell does he always know the exact right thing to say? And why does it have to always be him reassuring me? He’s close to half my age—I should be taking care of him, not the other way around.

“Babe, are you okay?” he asks, concern clear in his features. “Is it the kissing? Tell me if that was too much. We don’t have to do it again.”

I give an adamant shake of my head, managing to conjure a soft smile. “No way, we’re not giving up the kissing. I’m such a fucking idiot for holding back on that for so long. I’ve wanted to kiss you every time we’ve been together since…well, that first time. But I just…”

He offers a gentle smile and lifts his hands to cup my cheeks, making me feel insanely precious. “It’s okay that you wanted to be sure. I’m glad you waited for that. But does this mean I’m allowed to kiss you whenever I feel like it now? Or would you be more comfortable if I waited for you to initiate it.”

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