Saugatuck Summer (Saugatuck, #1)(31)
I floundered for something else to say, desperate not to let this end with us fleeing from one another in panic and revulsion, hating ourselves. Desperate to make us okay.
“How long— I mean, when— Why— Fuck.” I sighed, frustrated with myself. “When did this happen?”
I wondered if he understood what I meant. I couldn’t put words to whatever he felt for me, to ask when it began.
He shook his head, shrugging, echoing my sigh. “I, um, I know that night you went out for your birthday, and the next morning when you came back, I was . . . uncomfortable. I didn’t consider that it might be attraction, at first. I figured I was just uneasy with you being so open about your sexuality. I think I convinced myself that maybe I had a little homophobia lurking somewhere inside, so I made the decision to get to know you better, become more comfortable with you. I just didn’t want to be yet another person to make you feel you couldn’t be yourself. I wanted to be someone you could trust.”
I nodded slowly. “So it did begin with that woman on the beach.”
“No. The week before, actually. While I was in Ann Arbor. I, um, I dreamed about you. And I was so appalled afterward, just disgusted with myself. But I didn’t want to . . . to be awkward with you or avoid you. I feared you’d think you’d done something wrong if I did that, and damn it, I didn’t want to make you feel that way. So when I came back on Monday, I was determined that I was going to work on that friendship we’d established, reinforce those boundaries, keep that going until I was just comfortable with you again. But . . . I must have given something away there on the beach. She must have seen something I didn’t want to show, and she made you uncomfortable and I was afraid you’d think I was going to try something with you and—” He sighed again. “I didn’t know what to do, Topher. I didn’t know how to make it right. And now . . .”
“Have there been others?” I could barely raise my voice above a whisper, terrified of the answer.
“What? No,” he said emphatically. “In twenty-five years I’ve never once been unfaithful to my wife.”
“What about before? Were there other guys, or have you never—?”
He sighed again. “There was some experimentation with one of my roommates in college. I . . . didn’t treat him well.”
“Why not?”
“Well, thirty years ago, coming out wasn’t nearly as easy as it is today. I’m not saying it’s a picnic now, but back then . . . I buried my moments of attraction to men, and since I was never going to be unfaithful to Adele anyway, what did it matter how I identified myself?”
“And you’re sure there hasn’t been anyone else?”
“No!” He frowned, sounding annoyed. “I think I’d remember. Why—?”
“We didn’t use a condom last night.” Shit. If my math was right, he’d been experimenting right around the time the AIDS epidemic had first hit the headlines. “I know I’m safe, I get tested and I don’t take risks—at least I never have before. But—”
“Oh.” His brow unfurrowed, his expression smoothing. He nodded his understanding. “Um, aside from being monogamous, an HIV test was a part of my last life insurance physical, about five years ago. I swear, unless Adele has cheated on me—and I really have no reason to think she has—you have nothing to worry about. At least, not on that subject.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay.”
The silence that fell then was awful, filled with guilt and uncertainty, neither of us knowing what to say. I caved first, rolling away from him, huddled in on myself. Cold. So damned cold.
“I, um . . . I should go back to my room,” I murmured finally, though I made no effort to move. I guess I was still waiting for a Hail Mary play, some magical moment that would make us both comfortable and make this all right.
He moved behind me and I flinched when his hand landed on my shoulder, stroking down my bare arm. “Please don’t go,” he whispered, and then his breath and lips brushed along my chilled shoulder blades, and his body pressed warm and hard—very hard—against mine. “I have no right to ask, and I know we shouldn’t, but please . . .”
God help me, it felt good. My nerve endings awoke like a choir gestured to life by the conductor’s baton, drawing that first, deep, unified breath before beginning to sing.
He felt good, and why shouldn’t he? None of the reasons why we shouldn’t changed the fact that he was a warm, attractive man who’d been kind and even, I think, cared for me. Just because it was wrong didn’t mean his hands weren’t smooth and soft and stroking my skin with not-inconsiderable skill.
And then his kisses moved up to that sensitive place where back and shoulder and neck all meet and the rigid length of his cock rocked against the crack of my ass and . . .
I drew in a hissing, alarmed breath. That was so not happening.
“Too sore,” I whispered, lifting my upper leg. “Here.”
I reached between my legs and found his dick as he nudged me with it. I guided it into the space between my thighs and closed them, squeezing.
“There.” I gave a slight wriggle, feeling him pressed against my taint and balls. He didn’t move at first, so I did it for him. Just a fraction of an inch, not enough to dislodge him. Just enough to give him a hint of what he should do. I tightened my thighs as hard as I could and he grunted behind me, thrusting into that improvised cleft.