Mom always leaves one of the small kitchen windows cracked when the weather is nice, and tonight the sound of the crickets is coming in gently through the opening.
I reach in and locate the water pitcher, pulling it out and placing it on the counter, and Wes quietly shuts the fridge.
And then we’re in the dark. Only a small glow comes from the window, and I hate that he still looks fucking perfect in that low light.
My chest aches as I look at him.
Physically fucking aches, in a way that confuses me and almost angers me, like I have no control over it.
He came here because he gave a shit about me.
His mom fucking died from the same type of pills my mom has struggled with. He knows how bad this feels.
He knows me. Understands that part of me. A part I’ve felt like no one possibly could.
“You okay?” he says softly.
“I’m very okay,” I tell him.
He’s leaning back against the kitchen counter and I put my hands to his waist. I lean in and rest my forehead against his, exhaling like I can finally relax.
When I’m this close to him, nothing else enters my mind.
The gentle pressure of my head against his. His fresh scent, becoming familiar to me.
And the way he hesitantly, slowly reaches out, putting his hands to my waist in the same way I’m doing to him, like he’s not even sure if he’s allowed to.
“Fuck,you drive me crazy, Knox,” I let slip.
“I’m sorry, I?—”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
I press my lips to his before he speaks again.
The kiss is so gentle it almost feels illicit, like we’re together in the dark with a secret neither of us will ever tell.
His lips are warm and even softer and more supple than they look, and a current fills every cell in my body like I’ve just accessed something forbidden and far too good.
I slide my hands further along his waist, around to the small of his back, pulling him closer to me without thinking.
He moans, so softly it’s barely audible in the air, but it’s enough.
Every fucking sound he makes like that goes right to my cock, and this time is no different.
Holy fuck, Weston.
13
Weston
When my lips part for Sev, just a little, the flood of heat from his tongue is almost too much to take.
It feels like he’s saying it with his whole body, in the way he clutches at me:I’ve been waiting for this.
And God, fuck, I’ve missed him, too.
I just can’t say it out loud.