So, Dillon wants me to move in? And he puts it to me in front of the kids, so we can’t really discuss the implications.

He said he loves me. Not in the heat of passion or even afterwards; just a straightforward, unambiguous statement. I don’t even know what to think. Is it fear of me walking away again? Or just trying to keep things steady for the kids? Or does he really feel it?

Jordan is in the den playing Xbox, driving a Maserati really fast, trying to kill as many digital pedestrians as possible. Chrissy is upstairs watching TV with Joey, getting him settled before bedtime.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask Dillon while my back is turned away from him, not wanting to see his expression. I dry the dishes methodically, waiting for his answer.

He’s at the kitchen table with a textbook open in front of him. He’s just starting the process of preparing for the captain’s exam, hoping to qualify for a departmental promotion sometime next year. He’s been a lieutenant for seven years and was satisfied to stay there, but now that he’s got the kids, getting a promotion sooner rather than later has bumped up higher in his priorities. He studies every chance he gets.

“Of course, I am,” he says.

Of course, he is.

“Do you doubt it?”

I turn around, dishtowel in hand. He’s regarding me with as serious an expression as Dillon’s boyish, almost-always-happy face can conjure.

“You didn’t exactly give us a chance to talk about it before you dropped the idea on the kids,” I say. “Have you thought about how it’ll impact them if… if things don’t work out? If you decide you feel differently at some point?”

“Come sit,” he says, waving me toward the table with a half-turned hand.

I pull up a chair catty-corner to him, resting my elbows on the table.

“Do you really love me?” he asks.

“You know I do,” I reply. “I’ve told you.”

“How do I know? Can you prove your love for me?” His tone is even, the question reasonable.

“I try to prove it every day,” I say, feeling a little defensive. “I try to show you.”

He nods. “And what do I need to show you, to prove what I feel for you?” he asks. “Obviously, I’m not doing something… Not doing enough. I know I haven’t been. But I don’t know exactly what. I spent a long time being scared of commitment. I was always pretty shit at these things, and what happened with Gil made it a lot worse.” Dillon closes his book and looks at me straight on.

“I know,” I say. “I’ve figured as much.”

“What do you want me to do to prove to you that I’m all in? That I want you here with me, and not just for the kids?”

Go back in time and be less of a standoffish asshole?

I bite my lip, thinking.

It’s a fair question. It’s difficult to put my finger on what’s wrong, why I feel like I’m not really part of all this, just lingering on the edges. Maybe it’s all just my own insecurities. I’m inclined to believe that, until I recall the conversation Kathi and I had weeks ago, when I was convinced Dillon was just playing games.

“How come you’ve never introduced me to your family?” I ask. “You hardly even talk about them? How come you haven’t taken the kids to meet them?”

Dillon sits back hard in his chair, smiling awkwardly. “You’ve seen my sister,” he says. “In her case, the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. My mother died when Kimmie and I were still really young. My father’s been in and out of jail most of his life. We were raised by our Uncle Charlie and his sisters, who are all batshit crazy, but decent enough people in their own way.”

“Okay,” I say, biting my lip.

Dillon sits forward again, leveling me with his steely, blue-eyed gaze. “I think I was trying to spare myself the embarrassment of you meeting my trailer-trash, Appalachian-clan of Hatfield’s and McCoy’s.”

They can’t be that bad. After all, they raised him.

“You sure it’s not that you’re ashamed to introduce me to them?”

Dillon grins, shaking his head. “Alright, there’s only one way to solve this.” He slips his phone from his back pocket, then pauses, looking at me. “You’re off on Sunday, right?” he asks.

I nod. I realize that everything that’s happening today is so Dillon. He swoops in and fixes everything that was a problem, and now it’s all settled. I can’t help myself—I’m swept up in all of it, and I watch as he picks up his phone.

Dillon swipes a screen, selecting a name in his contacts list, then swipes to call. A moment later he’s engaged in conversation, telling someone on the other end of the line that court went well this morning, and now that it’s all sorted, he’d like to bring the kids out to see everyone.

“I want you to meet my boyfriend, too,” he says. “I thought we’d bring some steaks for us, some hamburgers for the kids. We’ll have a real old-school, Sunday afternoon family meal with everyone. Tell the whole clan. It’s time Jordan, Chrissy, and Joey saw their cousins again. It’s been way too long.”

A few moments later he sends his love to ‘Aunt Nita and Glynn,’ then puts the phone down, regarding me with a hopeful expression. “Prepare to be overwhelmed with Mannings,” he says. “Some of them will be toothless and barefoot. And they’re going to love you. My aunts will eat you up with a spoon, like grandma’s banana pudding. Expect my Uncle Charlie to offer you some moonshine or homegrown, or maybe both. The moonshine’s safe, the homegrown, not so much. Consider yourself warned.”

I laugh. “All right. Sounds… like a good time.”

This should be interesting.

I go back to cleaning up the kitchen while Dillon studies. I try to imagine the picture he just painted for me.

What on earth have I gotten myself into?

* * *

Later, after the kids are all in bed and the kitchen and living room are picked up, Dillon and I are alone again. Normally, I’d be deciding whether or not to stay the night, but I’m guessing I’m welcome here now. Or so he said.

“It’s okay if I stay the night?” I ask him, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Yes. It’s your house, if you want it to be. It’s not much, but I do like it here. Especially when you’re here.” He meets my eyes and gets up from his study station at the dining room table. Dillon quickly closes the space between us and kisses me deeply, my tongue glancing against his.

When he’s this close to me, it’s impossible for me to think straight. All I can think about is how much I love him—how fast and how far I fell for him, and how ingrained he is in the fabric of my life. He kisses me tenderly, sensually, his hands traveling to my ass and resting there.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he says, pausing. Dillon looks at me and threads his fingers in my hair, brushing a messy lock gently behind my ear. “I guess I haven’t told you any of these things.”

“No. Not really,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” Dillon adds, his strong fingers touching the back of my neck, his mouth finding mine again. A shiver runs from the base of my spine to the top of my head, and my cock starts to stiffen in my jeans.

“Say it again.”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” he says. His hands move under my shirt and find one sensitive nipple and then the other. Dillon kisses along my chin and to my ear. Deft fingers find their way to my belt buckle and start working their magic.

“The kids,” I breathe.

Dillon’s steely eyes catch mine, and he takes my hand, leading me to the bedroom. “Joey’s slept in his bed the past few nights,” he says, closing the door gently behind us and locking it. “And if he does wake up, it happens between midnight and one in the morning. We have… two hours and forty-five minutes. At least.”

I stifle a laugh. “Parenting considerations,” I whisper.

He shrugs and pulls his shirt off, exposing his exquisitely crafted torso. His six pack is closer to twelve, with a gloriously molded V that leads down to his lovely, thick cock. Dillon drops his jeans, exposing his engorged length. He strokes himself, standing in front of me and watching me undress. I move to get on my knees before him, but he stops me and instead pulls me in to kiss him again.

“Let me tend to you, Jack,” Dillon purrs, saying my name gently, like a prayer. He takes my cock, already harder than iron, in his hand, stroking it and moving it against his. I let out a low groan, trying not to be too loud.

“I can let you do that,” I mumble, closing my eyes and leaning into the sensation of Dillon’s long fingers wrapped around my length. He pulls me down onto the bed and wraps me into his body, his leg thrown over mine. His cock slides against mine, and I groan, arching my hips into his.

His big hand wraps around both of our cocks. I buck my hips into his hand, precum dripping from my tip and providing a satisfying slickness as our cocks move against each other. Dillon’s body rocks against mine, and I arch into him again. His thumb swipes over the head of my cock and back onto his tip. Every fiber, every muscle, every nerve, seems lit on fire from the inside.

Dillon leans in and kisses me again as he strokes both of us, our cocks brushing and moving against each other in time with the movements of our bodies.

“I usually top,” Dillon says, his body growing still. “But I want you inside of me this time, Jack.”

I kiss Dillon back, my cock thrusting hard against his. We’ve already covered each other with ropes of sticky precum, and each stroke brings me closer to the edge. I grin, rocking against his body. “Something new. I like it,” I say.

I like everything about you, Dillon Manning. I can’t help myself. I even like you when you’re being obtuse and shut off and ridiculous. And I especially like you right now…

I move my body on top of his, holding myself over his torso with one hand. I’m usually a bottom with my partners, and my relationships so far haven’t involved any exploration or risk taking. But this feels irresistible… this feels right.

Dillon is already stroking himself as I position myself between his legs. “You sure about this?” I ask.

Dillon nods. His abdomen is already covered in shimmery precum, from him and me both. Dillon has rarely—okay, never—been vulnerable like this with me. Maybe he thinks he has, but tonight seems different. Maybe his saying he loves me opened up a piece of him he’d had hidden away.

I grab coconut oil from the nightstand and slather it over my cock. I bring a searching, oiled finger to his tight hole, my other hand holding his perfectly muscular thigh. I swirl my fingers over his hole, teasing him and pressing into him gently as he strokes his length, hand moving over his shaft in quick, methodical strokes.

“Slow down, big guy,” I whisper. “You said you’d tend to me, and I want you to come when I’m inside of you.”

“Yeah,” he moans, arching his hips up toward me. Many men who top wouldn’t be willing to do this at all, but Dillon wants it badly. My whole body aches with need, and I know I won’t be able to hold back for very much longer. His stroking slows, and I press the head of my cock to his achingly perfect hole.

Dillon is ready, his body lifted toward mine. My fingers work inside of him, opening up his tightness to fit me. I might not be quite as big as Dillon, but I’m big enough—and given what Dillon has told me, it’s been a while since he’s done this.

I place my tip against him, removing my fingers. He groans. My cock is dripping with coconut oil, and I’m about to burst with just the head of my dick pressing between his ass cheeks. Unable to wait any longer, I press myself inside of him, moving forward through his tight ring of muscle.

Dillon lets out a long sigh, welcoming me into him, and I push forward until I’m buried inside of him. He’s tight and hot and utterly perfect. I know I should wait, but I can’t. I pull back and pump inside of him again, unable to slow down. I’m grunting and groaning, trying to keep myself quiet so neither of us wakes the kids.

“God, that’s good. Oh my God… it’s been so long,” Dillon whispers, furiously stroking himself again. A look of pure bliss passes over his face, and he arches back, scruffy chin pointed toward the ceiling.

“Unnnnnhhhh,” I moan, my balls drawing up tight against my body. I can’t hold back any longer. I let go inside of him, filling him with the warmth of my essence. At the same time, Dillon brings himself to completion, ropes of cum covering his delectable torso as I keep pumping him full, my body spent yet searching for more.

“I love you, too,” I murmur. He pulls me in close to him, kissing me on the mouth, the jaw, my chin. I’m lost in him, the perfect feeling of his skin and warmth against mine.

It almost erases everything else, every other complication, every bit of our history.

Almost.

Sometime later, after showers and more kisses, and talking until we begin to close our eyes, I fall asleep in Dillon’s arms—content, but wary, of everything yet to come.