Heartbeat Repeating - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,55
of physical affection and plenty of orgasms.
“I’m sorry,” he says very softly. It’s clear Alejandro is suffering, and he didn’t mean to make it worse.
Alejandro makes a strangled noise and shakes his head, sitting back in the chair. His fingers are tapping out his rhythm again, and he knows it calms him because it starts off almost frantic, and then he watches the line of tension in his body start to soothe. He wonders if that one is maladaptive or not.
“I’m not very good at this,” Alejandro says once his breathing has gone steady again, and Avery almost laughs because that is understatement of the year. “I can’t make up for the past months where I fucked up.”
“I don’t need you to,” Avery answers, and it’s true. He’s not a delicate orchid that only blooms under the most perfect conditions. He’s a fucking dandelion. He’ll burst through cement cracks on his reach for the sun. He’ll get stepped on and crushed, and his petals will reform, and he’ll survive off scraps and drought. “I told you before, I didn’t have any delusions about what this was. It didn’t exactly live up to my expectations, but I adapted just fine.”
Alejandro heaves a sigh like Avery’s being unreasonable, but he doesn’t push the issue.
It bothers him though, because Avery can accept that half of Alejandro’s issues are due to trauma. But he’s not sure he how to deal with a version of Alejandro who wants to be vulnerable, because he’s never been very good at being kind to people.
He’s sharp. He’s blunt. People think he’s unkind because of the way honesty trips off his tongue, the way he says what he means because it feels like he’s literally choking on his words when he tries to lie. It doesn’t pave the way for strong friendships, and it definitely doesn’t make him the guy that his friends all come to when they need comfort.
And yet, as he sits there, staring across the table at this man who looks like he’s starting to crack, he feels a want that’s entirely new. It’s warm, and it’s careful. It simmers under his skin. It makes him need more than just being thrown onto his belly and fucked within an inch of his life. It makes him crave soft lips against the back of his neck and bruising fingers that are also tender as they move across his bare skin.
“Will you take me to bed?” he asks, knowing the cost of dragging this out.
Alejandro’s fingers spasm on his wine glass, and he tips it toward his mouth like he’s going to drink then changes his mind halfway. It hits the table with a soft plink, then he pushes to his feet. His hands are trembling faintly as they reach for Avery, but they steady the moment their palms touch.
Avery stands then takes a single step forward before Alejandro tugs him the rest of the way. He lands against that hard, sculpted chest, and he breathes him in. Alejandro smells like Merlot and cinnamon, and when he bends down to claim a kiss, Avery tastes the same thing. He loses himself in it, in the demanding press of a hot, slick tongue. He lets himself be molded and shaped—his head tipped back, a thumb on his chin urging his mouth wider—wider. He groans, and Alejandro swallows down the noise, then presses his hard dick to the cut of Avery’s hip and thrusts. It’s just once, but it’s enough for pleasure and anticipation spiral through him.
“Please.” The word tumbles from his lips, unchecked, unbidden. Alejandro swallows that down too, and then digs the fingers of his hand not holding Avery’s face into his ribs. It hurts and it doesn’t, and Avery wants to push into it.
“My room,” Alejandro says.
It’s an honest surprise, and he can’t help his eyes from opening because he was expecting to get fucked in the guest room he’d claimed earlier. He’d chosen it half in hopes the memories would torment Alejandro, and half because he just wanted to bask in the ghost of his time with Alejandro. He wanted to see if the smell of them lingered and maybe roll around in it so it didn’t feel so much like a mirage.
It’s hard to keep a coherent thought now with Alejandro feasting on his mouth. It’s impossible to keep his mind focused on one thing when a warm hand is pushing up his shirt and scraping nails over the knobs of his spine. And what