He silenced me with the gentlest touch—just his fingertips against my lips, then trailing along my jaw. "We don't have to figure it all out tonight." Then, he kissed me.
It was soft, deliberate, and patient. His lips were warm and tasted faintly of the coffee we'd shared after dinner. When I leaned into the kiss, deepening it, he whimpered softly, making my pulse race. His hand moved from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair.
We broke apart slowly.
"Eric," I whispered. "I've never told anyone those things."
"I'm honored you told me. I'm honored you trust me."
Trust. The word usually terrified me, but Eric changed that. I did trust him—with my story, my scars, and maybe even my heart.
He nibbled my earlobe. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
The stars wheeled overhead, indifferent to our human drama but somehow blessing the moment anyway. The lighthouse continued its steady rhythm, marking time while everything I'd believed about myself began to shift and change.
We moved slowly. Eric's hands found the hem of my jacket, and I let him push it off my shoulders. The October air was cold against my skin, but his touch was warm enough to chase away any chill.
"Here?"
"Here." I pulled him close, and we tugged part of the blanket up over us. "If you want."
"I want." He kissed me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine while he worked at the buttons of my flannel. "I want you."
There was something profound about baring our bodies under the vast sky, skin touching skin, with nothing between us and the stars. Eric's body was lean and strong, pale in the lighthouse beam that swept across us. His hands explored my chest, ribs, and the scar tissue around my knee that told the story of everything I'd lost.
When his fingers traced the raised skin where the surgeon had rebuilt my joint, I tensed.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore." The truth surprised me. "Not when you touch it."
The blanket slid as we shifted, the wool scratchy against my back but his body warm and smooth over mine. Each touch was deliberate—his fingertips brushing the line of my collarbone, the curve of my hip, and the places no one had ever touched.
My hands gripped his waist, holding him steady as he arched into me, causing our stiff cocks to rub together. His breath hitched, and I swallowed the sound in a kiss that deepened until it felt like we were made of the same breath.
The lighthouse beam swept over us again—bright, then gone—like the universe reminding us we were still here, still real.
Eric's palms cupped my backside, gentle and certain, and I groaned into the crook of his neck. I felt raw, open—butnot exposed. It was different with him. Nothing performative. Nothing borrowed. Just heat, skin, and the wild miracle of someone wanting me exactly as I was.
Eric's skin was soft under my hands, alive and responsive. He gasped when I touched him, and I smiled against his shoulder.
I closed my eyes and let it all happen—lethimhappen. Every instinct to hide or deflect dissolved beneath the rhythm of our bodies moving together, the friction, the closeness, and the wordless exchange of trust.
He didn't ask about penetration, and we didn't need it. Under the stars, we stroked each other to the edge. When release came, it was quiet. No fireworks. Just a long exhale into his shoulder, like something old and broken inside me had finally let go.
He didn't move. He wrapped both arms around me and held me like I was something precious.
"I'm here," he whispered again, voice hoarse against my ear. "I'm not going to leave."
And finally, for the first time, I believed him.
It felt like someone was taking a crowbar to my heart—not to break it, but to pry it open. To make room for something I'd forgotten I was allowed to want.
The ocean crashed against the cliffs below us, drowning out every sound except our breathing and the soft words we whispered to each other in the darkness. Eric repeated my name like it meant something.
We lay tangled together afterward, Eric's head on my chest while my heart gradually returned to something resembling a normal pace. The lighthouse beam continued its patient sweep, marking time while we existed in our bubble of warmth and satisfaction.
"Listen," Eric whispered.
