I literally had to hold on to the porch railing to stop myself from rushing after Spencer. The man I’d longed for over the past decade was within my reach, and not just for fun in the shower, as he had said. The confirmation that those few moments between us throughout the years weren’t my imagination or projecting my desire onto him was akin to winning the lottery. And there I was, not rushing to cash the multimillion dollar slip of paper in, but staring at it, refusing to believe it was real.

Spencer had pretty much said that he loved me. Words I never thought I’d hear from him, barely dared to hope I could ever hear from him. Yet he’d sat in front of me, confessing how he’d felt all these years. And in so doing, revealed that there was so much of his soul I didn’t know. I never would have imagined the years of reparative therapy, the implications of his ultra-religious parents, all the internal conflict he’d faced day after day.

I’d wanted to sweep him into my arms, both to comfort him, to try and ease the angst of all he had been through, and simply just to hold him. Finally have him in my embrace.

But I loved him. Not just the idea of him, not just the thought of us being together, but him. I loved Spencer, the man. In looking at how the past couple of weeks had affected him after the party, I knew I needed to move carefully. To put his needs first.

We needed to move slowly. If at all.

Once his car was gone, I threw back on workout clothes and ran like the devil was chasing me. I didn’t bother with audiobooks or music. Just let my speeding thoughts try to keep track with my pounding feet.

I knew what reparative therapy could do to a person. I’d had many clients over the years who moved to Lavender Shores after walking away from their fantasies of changing their orientation. It was an agonizing experience for them, as well as for me: watching people deal with their first same-sex relationships in their thirties, forties, and even older. They battled the guilt and shame of giving in to their desire, of making relationship mistakes that the rest of the world had learned in junior high. They often fell head over heels in love with someone, only to freak out within a few weeks, and burn it all down.

Despite the coolness of the evening, I was sweating so much it burned my eyes, but I didn’t stop. I tried to wipe it away with the back of my forearm and kept running. That was it; if I was being honest, I was as worried about me as I was for him. I couldn’t risk being Spencer’s first relationship. Being the one he was happy with for a day or two and then the cause of his guilt. The one who was left behind because he couldn’t face who he really was. I couldn’t watch him go through that. And I couldn’t be the fiery mess left behind.

I ran and ran. Through the town, the woods, over the beaches. Relief didn’t come, no other clarity offered itself outside of me not wanting to hurt him any further than he had already been hurt, and not wanting to set myself up to be devastated. I couldn’t finally have him after all these years only to have him crumble and run away from me.

It wasn’t lost on me that I was the one running. Literally.

Sleep took a long time coming, that night, but was thankfully dreamless and deep. Of course all the same worries and fears were there when I woke up.

Once again, though I did my best, I was a lackluster therapist. Thoughts of Spencer tried to crowd in, distracting me from the concerns of my clients. I kept shoving him away.

After my second session I gave in, allowing him to take over. Replaying bits of the conversation on the porch the night before. Reliving scattered moments throughout the years. Flash after flash reminded me of exactly why I hadn’t been able to shake free my desire for him. Because he was Spencer. And even if I didn’t know the hurts and struggles of his past, I knew the man he was. He had been worth loving from afar for so long. He’d been worth waiting on, even though I hadn’t known that was what I was doing.

He was Spencer Epstein. Intelligent, kind, brave.

Maybe that was it. Maybe I was forgetting that I truly didn’t know who he was. And if Spencer had said he wanted me all these years, if he’d pretty much said that he loved me, then it was true. And he was offering me everything I longed for, and here I was finding reasons to turn my back. Even if those reasons were to protect him, I was still turning my back. I knew the kind of man Spencer was. I needed to quit pretending I didn’t.

I needed to leap. Leap to the man I’d wanted for so very long. Leap and trust that we might stumble but that how we felt for each other for so long, confessed or not, would be enough to see us through whatever might come. I was going to do this. We’d have to take it slow, see how things went. But I was going to do this. I’d be a fool to do anything else. I might have already played the part of a fool by taking this long.

I knew what I wanted. Spencer had made it clear what he wanted. I didn’t know where the road would lead, or the twists and turns it would take, but I had to find out. If I didn’t take that leap in that very instant, I would spend the next therapy session unable to truly focus on my client, which wasn’t fair.

I texted Spencer.

I know you have the kids tonight, but I’d love to see you. I want you. There’s nothing else I need to know.

When my four o’clock showed up at three fifty, I turned off my phone and shoved it in the drawer so I wouldn’t be tempted to look. And surprising myself, I pulled on my big-boy pants and acted like the therapist I was.

When I powered the phone back on after the session, there were two texts waiting.

You just made me yell in the office. I want you too. Hold on, I’ll make sure I don’t have the kids tonight.

Then.

I told Erica something came up, so she’ll watch the kids. I’ll stop by your house as soon as I get into town. Give me two hours.

By the time Spencer knocked on my door, I’d made sure the house was clean, that I was clean, and I had rehearsed what I was going to say at least a dozen times.

All words flitted away as I opened the door and saw him standing there, hair parted in the same way it had been for over a decade, crisp black suit, expensive shoes, blue shirt, deep purple paisley tie. It was a look I’d seen, and lusted over, countless times. But his eyes? Filled with desire and hope that took every word from my lips.

Spencer walked in and shut the door, flicking the lock. He looked at me expectantly, and then his handsome smile turned devilish. “I believe you said you wanted me?”

I nearly laughed. And he was right. He’d done more than his share of making it perfectly clear he wanted me. Now, it was my turn. I grabbed his tie and pulled him to me, crushing his lips with mine.

There was only a moment’s hesitation before his large hands clasped around my waist and he began to explore over my clothes.

Determined to make it perfectly clear that I was the one choosing him this time, keeping hold of his tie, I pressed into him, forcing him back against the door. I deepened the kiss, filling his mouth with my tongue, and thrust my erection against his hip.

Spencer groaned, his breath filling my mouth. He tasted of spearmint. Probably mouthwash in the car. I had no idea why, but I loved the idea of him preparing for me.

Desire mingled with relief. We were finally here. After all this time, we were kissing and there were no questions, no mystery as to what was going on, what each of us wanted. It seemed too good to be real. I ran my free hand over his body, feeling the planes of his chest below the fabric of his shirt, and the ridges of his abs as I worked my way down. Then I cupped his bulging cock behind the fly of his pants. He pushed against the pressure.

I pulled away slightly, breaking the kiss, and met his gaze. “I….” I almost said I love you. But it was too soon. Even if I had no doubt about the truth of those words. I’d loved him for years. And I trusted that he had loved me for years, secretly or not. Instead I repeated what had already become our mantra. “I want you.”

He smirked. “Yeah, I’m getting that.”

I couldn’t say I loved him yet, but I needed to make it clear. “No, I mean I want you. You. As in, not just to mess around with this afternoon, but….”

Spencer beamed, and the sexy expression on his face disappeared for a moment, replaced by… joy. Joy was the only way to describe what I saw there. “Good. I’m glad, Donovan. Because that’s exactly how I want you.”

Somewhere in my therapist brain I knew we should pause, stop, and talk it all out. Discuss all the things I’d been mulling over since he left the night before. But I didn’t want to be a therapist in that moment. I was just a man. So I shoved the therapist aside and let the man take over. “Come to the bedroom.”

His eyes widened, and something else joined the lust there. “Oh, you want to…. We’re gonna….”

Fear. I realized what I was seeing—he was afraid. I hadn’t expected that. I thought he wanted this. Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have shoved the therapist away so quickly. “We don’t have to. I’m sorry. We don’t have to go that far.”

He grabbed my elbow like he expected me to walk away. “No, it’s not that. I want to. Believe me. I want to more than just about anything in the world.” He glanced away, and a blush rose to his cheeks. “It’s just that… I’ve never… uhm….”

Stupidly, it took me several seconds to realize what he meant. And I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice. “Really? For some reason I thought since you got divorced that you’ve….” I couldn’t make myself say it.

His cheeks burned brighter. “I have. I’ve actually played around quite a bit.” He shrugged. “Or, played around many times, might be a better way to say it. I’ve never actually had sex-sex. Just blowjobs and that kind of middle school crap.”

“Oh!” Shit! I hadn’t meant to assume. His revelation crashed over me. Made it all the more terrifying. I would be his first…. This was exactly what my fears had entailed. Without meaning to, I took a step back, but he held on.

“I want to, Donovan.”

I shook my head. “No, that’s a big deal for your first time. We don’t have to do that.”

He laughed, but he sounded embarrassed. “I’m not a virgin. You might remember that I have two children.”

I pushed that thought from me as quickly as I could. The last thing I needed to think about right then was my sister and the children.

Maybe I gave a disgusted face, though I didn’t mean to. Spencer dropped his arm. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to disappoint you.”

“No, you didn’t. It’s not…. I just wasn’t expecting that.” I reached out and took his arm this time. I couldn’t have him walk away. “That doesn’t mean we can’t be together, do other things. We’ve already proven we’re pretty good at the other things.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, leaving it a little bit disheveled, and making him even sexier. The self-conscious look that crossed his face caused him to look younger than he was. When he spoke, his voice was a mix of embarrassment and hope. “I want to, Donovan. I’ve wanted to experience it for a long time, but I couldn’t make myself do that with just anyone. I only want to do it with you.”

That rocked me. Terrified me all over, if I was being honest. His first time with a man. If it went wrong, if I did something wrong, if he hated it, then we were dead before we even got started.

He stepped into me once more. He was still erect, and he pressed against me as he ran a hand up my back. His words were low and raspy. “Which do you want? I don’t even know what you like. You a top? The bottom? How do you want me?”

Despite the mounting worries, I almost came at those words. At the fantasy of having Spencer give himself to me. Of offering himself to me like he hadn’t done for any other man. Insinuating that I could have him however I wanted.

He moved his other hand to my dick and squeezed it through my pants, then stroked it slowly. “I want you, Donovan. I don’t care how you want to. It doesn’t matter if you are inside me or if I’m inside you. I just want you.”

It wasn’t a fantasy. Spencer was finally in front of me and offering himself up. But that was just it; Spencer wasn’t a fantasy. I couldn’t risk hurting him.

He squeezed my dick again. “You’re making me feel a little bit pathetic here, man. I’m pretty much begging for your dick. Don’t make me get on my knees.” His gaze flashed to mine. “Unless it’s how you want to start.”

“Fuck.” I hadn’t meant to say that. Or growl it, since that’s actually what I had done. But it revealed my desire.

“Yeah?” He squeezed again. “Is that how you want this to happen? You need me to beg?”

For a heartbeat, I almost said yes. I wanted him to beg. To get on his knees and worship my cock, and then I would turn him around and fuck him. And maybe I would’ve, if I hadn’t spent the afternoon thinking of how much I loved him. Of how long I’d loved him. Of how I couldn’t hurt him. I looked him in the eye and shook my head. “I do want that, someday.” I took my hand and ran it over his erection again. “But for right now, I want us to go slow.”

Disappointment flashed across his face.

I gave him a squeeze, and I chose the option that I thought would be easier for him. Truth be told, I wanted both equally, so it didn’t really matter. “And I want to have you inside me. I’ve wanted you inside me for years, and I don’t want to wait another day.”