me. The rain pounded on the windows and the cats purred. Heaven couldn’t offer more. I blinked back unexpected tears, dreams I hadn’t let myself entertain for years crowding into my imagination.
What would it be like to wake up with Eric on a Sunday morning? Would we read the paper? I bet Eric liked bamboo sheets and soft blankets. Would we spend the day in bed before going to our parents’ house for Sunday dinner? Good lord, I could imagine antiquing with the man. I was losing my mind.
But even so. What would it be like to have a real partner? Eric would call me on my bullshit, pull me out of my head when I got trapped there, the way he always had. And I could give him that direction and sense of purpose he lacked. I’d help him dream bigger than he’d ever imagined, and we’d follow those dreams, wherever they led.
Wherever this day led.
The way Eric kept combing his fingers through my hair, occasionally tugging on the longer strands, was giving me ideas. His fingers trailed down behind my ear, and I stretched my neck obligingly to give him more room. My cock started to take an interest when his fingers slipped under the neck of my T-shirt. I made a sound in the back of my throat.
Eric inhaled sharply.
God, the way these simple touches affected me. They had me aching for that heart-stopping mix of fear, want, and excitement that accompanied those fumbling experiments where everything was for the first time. The first time Eric touched me, the first blow job where I’d thought my heart might actually explode when Eric kneeled between my legs and bent his head to take me into his mouth.
Neither one of us was paying attention to the movie but we had to act as if we were. That had been part of the game back then. If we didn’t say anything, if we kept looking at the television, then it wasn’t really happening. We could have some kind of plausible denial.
I didn’t want that now.
I rolled onto my back, apologizing to the cat, who just went with the roll, ending up on my shins. “That can’t be comfortable,” I said, reaching down to pet him.
“You can kick him off,” Eric said as he finally looked down at me. Holding eye contact, he slid his hand down my shirt, palm down.
“Trying to get to second base?” I asked and, reaching up to hook my hand around the back of his neck, pulled him down for a kiss.
It was as good as it could be from that angle, and we were both breathing hard when we separated. Risking the wrath of Godzilla, I kicked him and the blanket both to the floor. My erection was clearly visible through the borrowed sweatpants. I took Eric’s hand.
“Jake,” he breathed.
I kissed his palm and he shivered. He broke eye contact, turning back to the television to buy some time. “Oh, this is your favorite part.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
“I meant the movie,” he said with a flash of a grin.
“I didn’t.” I pressed my thumbs into the fleshy part of his palm, massaging out the constant stiffness he had from years of clutching a hockey stick.
I was far from a virgin. I’d seduced and been seduced. But except for the first times with him, nothing had ever had me trembling with want like this. Eric gently pulled his hand out of mine, placing his hand flat on my belly. His fingers toyed with the elastic band of my sweatpants, caressing the line of hair descending from my navel.
I pressed my hand over his. “Eric,” I said. “Look at me.”
He did, blue eyes dark with desire, his mouth serious. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked.
I sat up so we could be face to face for this. “God, no. But I do want you to be here with me. To know it’s me. Thirty-year-old Jake. I don’t want some kind of nostalgic hand job. I don’t want this to be about the past, I want it to be for the future.” Why couldn’t I just shut the fuck up and let it happen? By reminding him of who I was now, I was risking so much. “See me. Carson Grieves, not just Jake. Not twenty-two hours ago you said you had a whole list of reasons why you couldn’t kiss me.”
“That was then. Fuck, Jake, you know I could never resist you for long,” he said.