In the Middle of Somewhere (Middle of Somewhere, #1)(94)

He palms my ass, kneading the flesh and sliding down to lick at the head of my erection. He’s like a tornado, trying to engulf every part of me in sensation.

I can’t reach his pants to get them off and he turns around and pulls at them in frustration, swearing when they get caught around his knees. Every muscle in his back is tense and his hands are shaking when he turns back to me. I sit up and then go up on my knees so I can look him in the eye. He’s breathing heavily and his eyes are darting all over the room.

I put a hand on his jaw and kiss him softly. Something is definitely wrong. It’s like Rex was trying to distract me with his body so I’d forget about what he’d told me. I look at him. His muscles, his strength. Maybe they aren’t just to feel safe physically. Maybe his body is something he feels like he can offer even with his dyslexia.

“Thank you,” he says shakily. He sounds so nervous.

I cock my head to ask for what.

“Just… for not saying I’m pathetic or stupid.”

“Fuck, Rex, no way. You’re not! I could never think that.”

He’s nodding, but not in agreement. More to say, okay, whatever. I should know. I’ve done it often enough when I don’t really believe someone but want the conversation to go away.

I cup his cheeks and kiss him again.

“Shh,” I say. “It’s okay.”

I kiss one corner of his mouth and then the other, then I kiss him again. I kiss him over and over, each time a little longer and a little deeper until finally he opens his mouth. His tongue comes out to touch mine tentatively, like we’ve never done this before. I push Rex onto his back on the bed and his hair splays out on top of his sweater, the dark strands beautiful against the light wool. If this were a scene in a book, it would look like a halo.

I kiss Rex deeply, trying to put everything I feel into it—how much I want him to trust that I don’t think he’s stupid. How wonderful he is. How grateful I am that he likes me, for whatever reason. How strong he is. I kiss him until his arms come around me, heavy weights against my back, and he starts rocking his hips up into mine. His eyes are glazed and he looks tired.

I reach between us and cup his erection in my hand, stroking softly. A full-body shiver runs through him and he bites his lip.

“What do you want, baby?” I ask him. “Please, I’ll do anything you want.”

Rex opens his mouth and closes it again, hesitating. He closes his eyes and spreads his knees so that our erections rub together.

“I… I want.” His voice is scratchy and I can hear him swallow.

I brush his hair back and look into his eyes.

“You want me to f*ck you?” I ask, and his hardness jumps in my hand. His eyelids drift shut for a moment, then flutter open. He nods, shakily.

Arousal shoots through me at the thought of burying myself inside Rex’s tight body. The idea of opening him with my cock, turning all that muscle to a quivering puddle of pleasure makes me dizzy with lust.

“Oh f*ck yes,” I say, and I kiss him, letting him feel how much I want him. “I’ve thought about you like this so many times,” I say.

“Yeah?” His lips quirk into an almost-smile. “Usually people just want me to top,” he says, biting his lip, “but I—oh!” he moans as I palm his ass, enjoying the firm roundness and the incredible heat between. I can imagine that people don’t look at Rex and see someone who wants to get f*cked. But it was right there in his eyes. In how he trembled against me, so eager to give me pleasure like he thought it might be the only thing he could offer, but so heavy with the responsibility it required. He wants this, wants me to take care of him. And I need it too.

The dynamic between us has been the opposite ever since Rex found me in the woods all those months ago, and I’ve barely noticed because I’ve felt so messed up about everything else in my life, so off-kilter because of my feelings for Rex. I’ve let him take care of me or resisted it, but I haven’t been taking good care of him. And maybe before, I could tell myself it was because I didn’t know how. But right here, right now, in this bed, I know how to take care of Rex. I know how to take him out of his head and how to force him not to think about anything but the feeling of our bodies moving together.

I jerk open the drawer and grab the lube, determined to make this as good for Rex as he always does for me.

Richard liked it hard and fast, liked me to slam into him over and over, like I was the star of some rough-trade fantasy come to life. He’d jerk himself off, and if he came before I did, he’d pull off me, leaving me to finish myself off, uninterested in sex lasting for one minute after he was done. Something tells me Rex won’t be anything like him.

I roll Rex over onto his stomach with his knees spread and kiss the back of his neck, paying attention to how warm his skin is, how every tiny movement he makes ripples through the muscles of his back like a finely tuned machine.

“Daniel, I—” Rex starts uncertainly, but I don’t let him finish.

“Shh,” I say. “You just don’t worry about anything, okay?”

He moans, which I take as assent.

I run my hands along his rib cage and watch goose bumps rise on his arms. I kiss down his spine toward his gorgeous ass and watch the shivers ripple over his skin. I kiss the dimples just above the swell of his ass and then lick them. Rex groans, fisting the sheets, his face now buried in the sweater.