Sweat drips down the back of my neck, my breathing coming out in harsh pants as I work us closer and closer to the edge. He’s pushing back, meeting me thrust for thrust. I’m very quickly losing all composure as heat spreads under my skin, pooling at the base of my spine.
“Oh,fuck, I’m close. Keep going,” Bodhi cries out, hand snaked underneath him as he strokes himself. “Oh, fuck, daddy. I’m coming… fuck,I’m coming!”
My balls throb, muscles tightening, as his release sets mine off. Holding on to his hips, I pound into him once… twice… three more times before spilling into his guts. My head throws back, a guttural groan ripping from my throat as he wrings me dry.
We collapse onto the bed, uncaring about the mess we made. Bodhi curls up to my side, his head resting on my chest as we work to catch our breath. After a while, we jump in the shower together, where we wash one another, before getting back under the covers and falling asleep wrapped up in each other.
It’s the best sleep I’ve had in months.
Chapter Forty-Two
Bodhi King
The hard, naked body draped over mine and the hot breath covering my neck in even, shallow puffs bring a smile to my face before my eyes even have a chance to peel open. Images of last night replay in my mind like a movie made of my deepest desires.
Four months is a long fucking time when you’re missing somebody, and I spent many, many nights missing the feel of Jules. The taste of him. Missing the way his presence alone has the ability to calm me and make me feel wanted in a way I’ve never felt before.
Turning until I’m facing a sleeping Jules, I wrap my arm around his middle, burying my nose in his neck. He smells of the sandalwood body wash I massaged all over his skin last night in the shower, and that memory has arousal swirling around in my groin. Memories of me using my soap-lathered fist to jack him off, despite him coming not even twenty minutes prior, as he moaned incoherently about how good I was and how much he missed me, until he came all over my stomach. Once I finished cleaning him off, he took his time washing every inch of my skin before dropping to his knees and making me come with my cock in his throat and two thick fingers massaging my prostate.
An ache makes itself known between my legs, my balls throbbing as I grind against his thigh, seeking a friction only he seems to be able to give me. My lips press down against his overheated skin, teeth nipping at the pulsing vein in his neck, causing him to stir. Jules’s hand automatically goes to my hip, his leg pushing against me like he knows exactly what I need.
“Good morning.” His voice is thick with sleep and raspy, the sound vibrating into me.
“Morning,” I reply, but it comes out more like a moan.
Our lips manage to find their way to one another, morning breath be damned, as I lose myself in the feeling of Jules. The kiss is gentle, yet demanding, as his tongue glides along mine, wrapping around it and sucking softly, pulling a needy whimper from me.
Jules reaches between us, wrapping a strong, large hand around our lengths, stroking us together while we continue to make out like teenagers. My head feels light, heart racing in my chest as he breathes his love into me with each stroke of his tongue.
It took a lot of time alone—and with my therapist—to come to terms with my inability to accept love, and subsequently, learn to work through it and allow myself that. Because he does; Jules loves me, and now that I’m not drowning in a pit of self-loathing and despair, I can see it clear as day in the way he looks at me, the way he touches me, the way he speaks to me, even the way he kisses me.
Jules’s grip on us tightens as he swipes his thumb over our leaking slits, using it as a natural lube. His lips leave mine, making their way across my jaw, nipping at the skin of my lobe before sucking on my neck. He’s marking me, and it sends a thrill down my spine, landing in my balls. His quiet possessiveness is such a turn on.
Bringing his mouth to the shell of my ear, he mutters, “Such a perfect way to wake up.” Nipping at the skin, he adds, “Your hot, tight body pressed against mine, needy and desperate. I could get used to this.”
My chest swells as I’m hit with an overwhelming amount of intense emotions. I’ve thought a lot about how I would finally say this to Jules, how I’d finally work up the courage to say the words I’ve never spoken to another person. In the middle of sex was not in my plan, but as he’s working us closer to nirvana, whispering into my ear, and talking about a future, I can’t fathom going another second without him knowing in pure clarity how I feel about him.
As if this epiphany is what I need to launch over the cliff into oblivion, my cock—very unexpectantly—erupts all over us as I find his lips, sealing mine to his, but not before breathing, “I love you,” into his mouth. His breath hitches as he hears those words, but he doesn’t falter. Jules works me through my orgasm before sinking into his own while destroying me in an earth-shattering kiss.
Resting his forehead against mine, he chuckles softly. “Did you really just say ‘I love you’ for the first time as you were coming?”
I wince, cringing inwardly. “I know, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stand to go another second without you knowing.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, pretty boy.” He presses a quick kiss to my cheek before pulling back to look at me. “I love you too. So fucking much.”
**
After we cleaned up from our morning rendezvous, Jules and I decided to order room service for brunch. It’s already warm and stuffy out, given that it’s practically summer now, a thin sheen of sweat forming on my body as we sit on the balcony. He ordered the French toast, and I got the egg and sausage plate.
Eating full meals is still weird to me, and a challenge sometimes, but I do it because I don’t want to wind up where I was four months ago. Dr. Fuller opened my eyes to the fact that in high school, when I stopped disordered eating, I just traded one issue for another. Sure, I stopped binging and purging for several years, but I replaced it with a calorie deficit diet that was way too low for how much I was running.
A lot of time at Blackwood was spent doing cognitive-behavioral therapy. It forced me to deal with the underlying thoughts and feelings that led to my issues with eating. In reality, my issues had little to do with the actual food and weight gain, as they did my other unresolved trauma. I was extremely hesitant to open up in both private and group therapy. In fact, I convinced myself that I would never speak up in group, but about halfway through my stay, I finally did, and it helped. A lot.
It surprised me how many people were in similar situations as me, and while knowing they went through horrible trauma didn’t make me feel good, itdidmake me feel not so alone. Also, getting stuff off my chest that has never been spoken out loud was immensely cathartic.
The food is brought up. Jules makes us a round of mimosas, the zesty flavor of the orange juice lighting up my taste buds. We had a bottle of wine last night before going up to the room. It wasn’t a lot, but it gave me a headache this morning anyways, so I’m hoping this cures that.
Jules clears his throat, his thumb rubbing along his bottom lip. “So, I don’t mean to dampen the mood, but I have to ask you something.”
