I clasp a hand over his, kissing him back, stopping him.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispers, breathless. When he pulls back, his face is instant concern, like he could ever have done a thing wrong.

  “Nothing.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” I lean in, and he takes my mouth again, like he owns the damn thing, which he does. But then that hand on my buttons. I catch it.

  He breaks the kiss. This time he says nothing, that too-bright mind working it over. Then, “Are you shy?”

  His words are half disbelief, but good-humoured. We both know how ridiculous this situation is. In theory.

  “Um. No.”

  That sly grin of his. “I’ll go first.”

  His top’s on the floor in a second, and that is not helping. This man has muscles all down his arms. He’s firm and delicious in places I didn’t know people could be firm and delicious. His skin’s tanned and fully naked on top. I feel like I’m in the wrong place. Like I’m the coffee boy who’s accidentally walked onto the set of the hottest porno ever made.

  August shifts a little closer, his knee resting across my thigh. “You don’t need to be shy with me.”

  “That’s very easy for you to say.” I can’t help the way my eyes dip to his bulging chest as I say it.

  That head tilt he does. I wish I could bottle it. His tongue passes lightly over his lips, and he focuses on my top button, fingers working it slowly. “This is my body. You know that.”

  “It’s not.”

  “It is.” The first button comes undone, and even if I’m anxious, I don’t stop him this time. “It’s just skin and muscle.” The second button, and I almost pause him, but he’s gentle, and he’s so kind. “It’s just sit-ups and time, and a lot of protein. It doesn’t change what’s underneath.” The next button falls away with so many guards I’ve tried to put up between us. “It’s you I like, August. I like your brain…” Another button, “I like your eyes, and I like your words, and I like the way you treat me…” Another button, with a kiss and the closely whispered words, “I like your mouth when it’s on my cock.” With the final button, he rips my shirt wide open, taking in my exposed body with a hungry look. “And I like that you’re really fucking hot.”

  His head dips, teeth clamp down on my nipple, and— “Fuck, August!” I cry out.

  A finger on my lips, his face close, his smile cheeky. “Shhh. I have neighbours.”

  He clearly gives zero fucks about that, because he kicks the coffee table away from the couch with a crash, then drops his track pants to the floor. I have mere seconds to take in the beauty of his naked form before he falls down between my knees and rips my belt open.

  “August,” I sort of vaguely protest.

  Then my pants are undone, and his gorgeous wrist muscles are flexing as he yanks my trousers down. All the way. Down and off and gone, and we’re both naked, and he shoots one enticing, desirous, gorgeous look up at me, then takes my dick.

  Holy fuck. There aren’t words to describe this. His mouth feels like all the ice of my soul melting into his fire. Every piece of me dissolves into him at the first touch. My eyes drop closed as he works a trail of pleasure through my core, up my back, down my arms, my thighs screaming for him when he sinks his fingers in, pushing them wide, my toes curling, all of me taut and coiled and ready to shatter.

  It’s too much, instantly and all at once too much, and all I can do is hold on to him, ground myself through the strands of soft hair, force my eyes open to break back into reality.

  Bad idea.

  August’s stretched out, his back long and all muscle, his ass on display, moving with the rhythm of his lips. I want to sink into him. I want him to scream my name when I fuck him. But my eyes flutter closed again, and it’s flashes of him in his tight crop top, his eyes just before I kissed him, when he knew I was about to, his smile, always so bright, that little frown when I was sucking his dick.

  I can’t do it. I can’t take this. “Let me fuck you.”

  A knowing chuckle vibrates through my dick, but he doesn’t change his madness-inducing movement. Why is he so good at this? Is it practice? Or…

  Then it occurs to me.

  He knows exactly what I like.

  He knows the perfect pressure, the perfect speed. It’s not just the best blowjob of my life because it’s August, or because it’s been years, or because his mouth is the most wonderful thing in all creation.

  This is tailor-made sex.

  And if he can do this for me…

  “Slayer, come up here.”

  He kisses the side of my cock. “Slayer? I like that.”

  “Let me fuck you.”

  “If you can resist me.” His thumb and index finger, slick with spit, form a tight ring that runs down my dick. His mouth follows firm and fast, and I can’t even resist fucking into him. He pulls up and does it again, the sound of it filthy and divine, the feeling beyond tolerable. He cups my balls, and I’m close to losing control, when he pushes his finger up my ass, and how the fuck does he know all the things?

  Yeah, I know, but fuck!

  “August!”

  He grunts out a response that dares me to coat his throat with cum. The only thing that stops me is that view of his ass. Nothing on this planet could keep me away.

  I slap his hand off, grab the back of his head, and sink my cock deep as I thrust forward. He gags on it, and it’s the hottest sound I ever heard, because his fingers sink into my thighs, and he wrenches me closer for more, begging me to punish his throat.

  I oblige, shifting forward on the couch. My hand cracks down on his ass, and my dick hits the back of his throat when he jumps. I take my hand between his ass cheeks and pull him around roughly. My dick’s still deep in his mouth, he’s working me mercilessly, but now I’ve got him. I sink my thumb deep into my mouth, then press it to his ring.

  He loses some of his determined concentration when I massage him, firmly, just pushing in a little, and that’s good. I want him to lose himself completely. I take the back of his head and push him a little harder, his ass rising up to me in response. Now it’s my index and middle fingers I take in my mouth, wishing they were his cock. My tongue coats them, indulging in the image in my mind as he indulges in me. But I need more. I slap my hand back down on his ass, expecting the little cry now and living for it.

  I do it again, and his eyes flare at me, lust-fuelled vengeance written in them. This man could make a fortune if coquetry were his profession.

  I wrap my hand over the curve of his ass, pull him closer again, then let that first finger sink. His eyes roll back, lids fluttering closed, and though I’m nearly drowning in the pleasure he’s giving me, the image before me takes over, and I want nothing more than to watch him.

  I’m playful with his ass, sinking that first finger in and out, just toying with his sweet spot. He’s wild for it. Every time I stroke that spot with my fingertip, I feel him double down on my cock. It’s barely resistible. In fact, it’s not. And before I know it, the next finger’s pushing inside. The vibration of his groan runs through my whole body. I’m careful with him. I want him to love this, but I know I’d like it a little rough, so I don’t hold back. “You like that, Slayer?”

  He whines around my wet cock, and I curl my fingers, pulling him wide. His tight tunnel resists me, but I can do this all night if he keeps making that sound. I scissor my fingers, easing him open, dreaming of the moment my cock’s going to slide in. But it’s not necessary. The way his tongue wraps me is all the pleasure I need. The feeling of his hair against my thigh. Making him happy tonight is enough to last me the rest of my life.

  “August,” he whispers, breaking off. Then he sucks me down again, and I fuck him a little harder with my fingers. “August,” he tries again, so I press a third in, and he almost falls on the floor, his arm days at the gym saving him at the last. But I slip down behind him. My hand wraps around his shoulder, and I pull him up onto his knees, then fuck him deeper again with my hand. “August,” he begs. But I know I’d want more, so I pump into him, curling, pushing, and he’s a wreck. It’s a mess of my name, and cries of “please” and “fuck me,” and my name and his name and all of it mingled together until I can’t take another second.

  I let him go, and he whirls on me, lips smashing into mine. I fall back against the floor, barely supported by my elbows as he comes down on top of me.

  “I didn’t come here,” I try, through more kisses, “planning to do this.”

  He shoots me a half-bewildered look, then another kiss, then, “Why not?”

  “What?” More kisses. “What do you mean, ‘why not?’ Have you seen yourself?”

  “Every time I look at you. And if I look half as hot as you do right now, I would have come here to do this. We need to do this.”

  He wrenches me to my feet, always deploying that immense strength at the most unexpected but wholly necessary times. He doesn’t let go, turning, locking my hands around his waist, walking backwards and leading me to the bedroom while he kisses me.

  He makes a sharp turn, twists me, and throws me down on the bed. Then he yanks the cupboard door open and pulls out a small orange box. He upturns the contents onto the bed, and my heart slams into my throat.

  Yes, there are condoms. Yes, there’s lube, several varieties of it. There are handcuffs. Three vibrators of different sizes. Anal strings, cock rings, and I don’t even know what half the other stuff is.

  He clambers on top of me and says, “Anything you like. We’ll do anything.”

  Well, that’s terrifying.

  I don’t know how to use half this stuff.

  And he doesn’t help when he qualifies that with, “Except the sounding rods. I am not into that. They came free in a package.”

  “I don’t know what a sounding rod is.”

  “Lucky for you.” He glares at some colourful sticks. “But if there’s anything else⁠—”

  “August, no. Please. I just want you.” He stills, looking askance at his pile of treasures before settling slightly wary eyes on me. “Is that dull? Sorry. You probably want to⁠—”

  “No. No, it’s not. I like you so much. I’ve been thinking about you honestly non-stop since we met. I’d really like to just… I want you to enjoy it.”

  “Me too.” When he kisses me again, it’s softer, slower, and for the first time, I understand the tension that’s been in him too. To please. To be perfect. To be enough. As hard as it is to believe he could feel that way, looking like he does, he is me. And he deserves all the love and reassurance that… maybe I do…

  I take my arms around his neck, and they feel good there. They feel right there, holding him close, his heart beating against mine. The way I wish it would beat for mine. That it could ever happen for us.

  He reaches across, and there’s a tinkle and rustle as his hand sinks into the mess on the bed. He comes back with a condom, sits up on me looking exactly like a god, then rips the package open with his perfect white teeth. “So, is this going on me, then?”

  I actually feel the blood drain from my face. “No.” The word drops from my lips as though I’m pleading for my life.

  “Same sexual preferences.” He shrugs. “And it’s pretty clear you like to top, so…”

  No. The night cannot end like this. Not with him here, on top of me, in his bed, the best sex of my life literally within my reach⁠—

  That grin.

  I shove him over, clambering on top of him. “Do you think that’s funny?”

  “I think that’s hilarious.”

  I kiss the smirk off his face, then grab some lube, what flavour or type, I have no clue. I kick the rest of his sex cache to the floor, then flip the lid open.

  “You know,” he says, shifting his cock up against mine. “If I like it, there’s every chance you will too.”

  “I haven’t tried it,” I admit.

  “Come back and see me tomorrow.” I dive in for a kiss, terrified and turned on by the idea, and by his confidence in the suggestion. I sink my coated fingers down, and arch into his when he fits the condom on me. I kiss him, work him for a time, until he begs, “Please, August. I’ve waited long enough.” Softly, eyes deep and unfathomable, “I’ve waited for you.”

  Those last words curl around my heart. He pulls his arms around me, trapping me on every side. I take hold of his shoulder and press forward. A sweet sigh breaks out of him as he arches, opens for me.

  He is the most beautiful man.

  His eyes are closed, his eyelashes flutter. He’s heat and heart and the home I’ve always wanted.

  “I’ve wanted you,” he whispers. “Nights I didn’t even know you existed, I’ve wanted you, August.”

  It’s nonsense. Pillow talk. He cannot mean a word of it.

  “You’re my missing piece, and I don’t want you to go.”

  Tears pierce the back of my eyes, so I close them, letting August rip through me, his soul and his spirit, finishing me. Taking every piece of me that’s left. It’s his. All of it. I’m nothing, and he’s everything.

  I open my eyes and see the tear on his cheek. Not his. Mine. He grabs me and pulls me down, into him and through him. He’s me so completely, and my soul is at peace for the first time. If I could stay here. If I could be him, held and made whole by him. The missing piece of myself. Me.

  His hands run over my body, like a sculptor, pushing and pulling the clay of me, remaking me, forming me into something new and beautiful. Beautiful like him. Put together like him. The words he speaks are all adoration and longing, all the loneliness of our lives done up in this neat bow, this perfect moment. And we’re both pretending. For both our souls and for both our sanity, we pretend.

  I tell him I want him. I tell him he’s all the world to me. And it’s true when I say it. It’s the truest thing I’ve ever said.

  It’s not sex. It’s not. There’s no simple word, nothing that can describe the transcendent nature of being with him. He consumes me. And I let him. I become him. He’s all there is.

  And my mind’s made up.

  I don’t tell him I’m falling in love. I’m not worthy of that for him or from him.

  All we have is this one night. I won’t make it weird or hard or sad. I’ll just be here for him. And I’ll show him. I’ll show him what he means to me.

  August is life beneath my hands, every flex and cry of pleasure. He’s lost to ecstasy, but he holds me always, so close. The movement of his body against mine reaches a point beyond exhilaration, beyond ecstasy. It’s a belonging. Fingers in my hair, kisses like every one is the last, August’s voice turns frantic. “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

  I adore him. More than I thought was possible. I will love him. And I will save him.

  Fingers sinking into skin, I thrust into him, every atom in my body vibrating with the pleasure of his movement against me, with me.

  “This is…” His head rolls back, eyes shut, voice wrecked. “It’s too good. August… It’s too…” He clamps his lips shut over a groan of pleasure.

  My body is pure light being flung in a thousand different directions, but all of it bliss, like I’m falling into the galaxy, burning stars, all of me violent, fiery, beautiful.

  But he’s right. This isn’t normal. This isn’t sex. This is…

  The room hums, a background at first, then louder, louder. The sound thrums blue, like every particle of air is lit from within. He breathes them deep into his chest, then moans them out, and I swallow them whole from him. His air is mine, he is mine, and it’s blue, and it’s orange, and it’s red.

  His eyes flutter open, he takes in the room with his desperate, harried gaze. “What’s happening?” But he grips me tighter, pulls me into him.

  “August…” It’s all I can say. It’s all there is. “August.”

  “Don’t stop,” he begs.

  And it’s white, and it’s blinding. And it’s yellow and it’s exquisite. And it eviscerates us, while he screams, “August! August!” Our name, filling the air, taking on a life of its own, deafening, consuming. “August! August!”

  He arches, perfect, his orgasm bursting through my fingers, smearing hot between us as I fuck him, fuck him, harder and for all time, until he cries out, grabs the headboard, and thrusts his hips forward so exquisitely it rips the orgasm out of me. I come deep inside him, and it’s all beauty, August stretched out, broken in his enjoyment, my hands tracing the gorgeous ripples of his abdomen, his thighs wrapped around me, his arms reaching for me.

  I’m pulled into an embrace that I never want to leave, kisses hotter, more passionate, expressing every longing we’ve tried to keep under wraps.

  He locks me in, his breath shuddering, fingertips tracing lines over my skin, up my back, over my shoulders, to my cheekbone. He raises his eyes to mine. “Was that… interdimensional sex?”

  “Yes?” I whisper out breathlessly, as shaken as he is. “Yes, I think so.”

  “That was incredible.” He plants another kiss. “Can we do that again? We need to do that again.”

  I only nod, shocked by what just happened.

  He smiles, then gives me another kiss, slow and lingering, and the very essence of loss.

  I pull out, settle down next to him. But he’s August, and his body turns to me immediately, fingers stroking the damp hair back from my temple as he tangles our legs together, moves as close as he humanly can. “You’ll stay with me?”

  It’s a plea that breaks my heart. It’s a lie we both know we need. So I kiss him again. “Okay, Slayer.”

  A smile. The drop of a tear onto his pillow. Then he gets out of bed to freshen up.

  The me who walked into this place hours ago might have left now. Written a nice note to tell him how much I want him, how much I adore him, but that it had to be this way. That he knew it had to be this way. That I had warned him.

  But no.

  Everything’s changed.

  I will leave. Tomorrow. When the sun comes up.

  I’ll leave forever.

  But I’m not leaving him. I’m leaving everything.

  And I’m doing it for one reason only.

  This August is going to live.