Page 167 of Mending Hearts
Our eyes stay locked as he strokes himself once, twice. He doesn’t rush. He never does when he’s like this—focused, deliberate, watching me the way he does onstage right before hesteps into the spotlight. He holds steady, giving me the chance to lick his precum.
I love his flavor. The taste is familiar. Mine. Ours. It hits something deep in my chest, something older than the years we lost. Something that says we found our way back anyway.
His breath stutters when I look up at him again. There’s no hiding from each other now. No pretending that I’m not his. The room feels smaller, warmer, like the air itself is watching.
I open wide and take him in. The underside of his cock drags across my tongue, heavy and perfect. I let him move slowly at first, watching his reactions, the way his lips part, the soft sounds he makes. His hand tangles in my hair, not pushing, just anchoring, like he needs to know I’m really here.
Like he needs to know I’m not going anywhere.
While Rafe focuses on that, I reach under my pillow and grab the lube I put there last night. The preparation had felt ridiculous then. Hopeful. Now it feels inevitable.
He sees the movement, his expression darkening with approval, hips lifting slightly. His eyes burn, and that quiet confidence settles between us again—the one that says we know each other better than anyone ever could.
I slick my fingers and press into him.
He gasps, head dropping forward, cock jerking in my mouth. His quiet exhale is all surrender as he sinks back onto my fingers. His shoulders loosen, the tension leaving him in a way that always gets to me. Like he trusts me to hold the weight of whatever he’s carrying.
I groan around him. I love this. Not just the control, but the closeness. The way he lets me see him when no one else does.
I add another finger, stretching him, matching his pace as he starts to move more deliberately. The rhythm builds, familiar and grounding. His sounds grow louder, less controlled, echoing softly in the room.
My throat relaxes, letting him take what he needs. I want him to lose himself. I want him to forget everything except this.
“Fucking perfect,” he pants.
The praise settles warm and steady in my chest.
When he hits the back of my throat, a shiver runs through me. He’s close. I know every sign. The tension in his thighs. The way his hand tenses in my hair. The slight hitch in his breathing.
I swallow around him, urging him on. He goes rigid, hips snapping once before he comes, spilling down my throat. I take everything, easing back only enough to lick him clean, fingers still working inside him.
He trembles. “Ollie,” he breathes.
I smile around him.
He shifts down immediately, reaching for me like he can’t help it. His palm wraps around my cock and I groan, the contact sharp and overwhelming. When he slicks his hand with precum, the sensation hits even harder.
“Come here,” I say, dragging him into a kiss.
He tastes himself on my tongue and chases it, just like always. The kiss turns messy, heated, grounding. His hand works me steadily, confidently, and I feel myself slipping.
I’m already close.
I thrust into his grip, holding his head, kissing him like I never want this to end. Like if I stop, the moment might disappear.
Rafe pulls back just long enough to shift, turning, and then he takes me into his mouth.
The first deep pull wrecks me. My back arches, vision going white at the edges.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. Always has.
One deep suck and I lose it, coming hard, the world blurring out. He takes everything, owning me completely.
When I finally come down, he presses a soft kiss to my thigh. It’s the quietest moment in the whole exchange, and somehow the most intimate.
And every time, it feels like this is more than just love and working things out.
This… us… we’re inevitable.
