The audience cheered, and for the final curtain call, we got a standing ovation. I stood with my classmates in a line of smiling actors, relief at having our first live production over with and proud as hell.

Our semester’s final production was a modern take on A Midsummer Night’s Dream, where Fairyland was Los Angeles, and Theseus and Hippolyta were television directors, and the mechanicals were six actors on a famed sitcom, manipulated by their own characters’ personas. I, of course, was given the role of Puck, a spritely manifestation of their egos, who got to tease and taunt as he saw fit.

In the audience, I saw Peter next to Mr and Mrs Landon, all of them standing, grinning, and clapping. But Peter looked so proud he could burst. I wanted to leap from the stage into his arms but decided everyone had seen enough theatrics for one night.

Peter had endured months of me practicing lines over and over, and I was sure he knew the entire play by heart. It had been three months since I’d told him I’d loved him, three months of getting a little more physical with him, a little braver. Three months of falling deeper in love, three months of absolute perfection. It had also been three months of hard work getting this play flawless, and between my appointments with Patrice, my shifts at the coffee house, school, making time for my roommates—who I now called friends—and spending time with Peter, not one minute of the last three months had been wasted.

Now that the production was over, I was certain I’d sleep the entire weekend.

Backstage, we all hugged and high-fived. We had planned to go out afterward to celebrate, which I was looking forward to. We could bring partners, so Peter wouldn’t be the only tagalong, thankfully, because I really wanted him there.

Instead of going straight to the dressing rooms, I snuck out through the wings to the auditorium, still in full costume, to where Peter and the Landons were chatting. I was too buzzed to wait. Peter saw me and put his arms out, whether he knew I wanted to hug him or if he wanted to hug me, I wasn’t sure. I just launched myself at him. I took the Landons by surprise, but Peter caught me easily.

“You were so great!” he said against my ear. “I’m so proud of you.”

I pulled back and looked to Mr and Mrs Landon. I was still grinning. “That was such a high!”

They both laughed and hugged me, congratulating me. “You were brilliant,” Mr Landon said. “Timing was perfect, delivery en pointe.”

“You were hilarious!” Mrs Landon said. “Oh, Yanni, I’m so proud of you!” She put her hands to my face. “You were born for the stage.”

A rush of pride bloomed through me. “I couldn’t have done this without you, without any of you.” I included Peter.

“Yanni, hurry up, man,” someone yelled from the wings.

Too excited to keep still, I kissed Mrs and Mr Landon on the cheek, paused long enough to look Peter in the eye before I kissed him, then raced off to join the others. Ten very rushed minutes later, we were walking out of the college auditorium to the nearest bar.

As fun as it was, I didn’t want to hang out all night. We laughed and told stories and joked about rehearsals, and Peter was very much included, but after a few hours, I’d had enough.

He was sitting on a stool, and I stood between his legs. “Let’s go home,” I suggested.

“You sure?”

I gave him a nod. “Yeah, this has been fun, but it’s not my scene.”

Peter rubbed his thumb on my hip. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”

We said our goodbyes with a few hugs and walked back to his car. The weather was cooler now and I shivered, so Peter put his arm around me to keep me warm. “Your place or mine?” he asked as he opened the passenger door of his car for me.

I rolled my eyes. There was a no-sleepover rule at my house. “Uh, yours.”

“I have a gift for you at home,” he said when he’d gotten in.

“A gift? What for?”

“For tonight. A celebratory gift for all the hard work you put into the play.” He smiled serenely. “You were so good on stage. Like you really come alive up there.”

“I love it,” I said simply.

“And your friends are great.”

“They are. Thank you for hanging out with them tonight.”

“I um, I’d really like you to meet my friends,” he said nervously. He talked about how he’d spoken to his friends about their monthly poker night, and how it was scheduled for the weekend after next. He’d hesitated about missing time with me, which of course opened the floodgates of a hundred questions. “Oh, they gave me hell,” he said happily. “And now they want to know when they can meet you. Apparently I might have mentioned you one time too many, and they’re ribbing me.”

“Oh,” I said, blinking. “Yes, I’d love to meet them.” And I would. He’d spoken of them a lot and I wanted to be a part of his entire life, but I wasn’t sure about meeting two strange men in close quarters where there would be alcohol involved. I needed to be mentally prepared for this. “Would it be at your house or out somewhere?”

“We usually meet at my house, though, only because they’re both married with kids, and my house is like their man-cave. We put a game on the TV, play poker at the dining table, and talk crap all night. It’s nothing like…” He took a deep breath. “I get it, though. If you’re not comfortable, I don’t want to push you.”

“No, that sounds okay. I don’t play poker, though.”

“It doesn’t have to be poker. We can have our poker night anytime, really. How about we do dinner one time instead? It doesn’t have to be anytime soon, but you and I can cook dinner and they can bring their wives, and we’ll make a proper night out of it?”

“That sounds great.” Much more my kind of thing.

He eyed me cautiously. “Are you sure you’re okay with it?”

I knew he’d see through me. “What if they don’t like me?”

Peter laughed and lifted our joined hands to kiss the back of my hand. “Impossible. You know what fascinates me about you?”

“No, what?”

“Tonight, you were on that stage and you owned it. Demanding presence and loud voice. Yet off stage you’re the opposite.”

“That’s just playing a role,” I replied. “Like I’ve said before. That’s not me up there. That’s a character. This here”—I waved between us—“this is the real me.”

He pulled the car up at a stoplight and gave me that eye-crinkling smile I loved so much. “Well, then,” he started nervously, “how would you feel about meeting my mother?”

I stared at him. “For real? Your actual mother?”

He chuckled. “I do only have one.”

Oh, God. Goose bumps crawled over my skin, and not in a very pleasant way. “Um.” I let out a breath and tried to loosen the coil of fear that squeezed my heart.

Peter gave me a tight smile that was more sad than happy. “It’s okay if you’re not ready for that.”

I didn’t want to hurt him in any way. How could he not see this wasn’t about him? “What if she doesn’t like me? What if she thinks I’m too young? Or not good enough? I don’t have any money or a career or anything, really. Oh God, what if she thinks I’m some gold digger? I’d be horrified.”

Peter pulled the car to a stop at his house and shut the engine off. He turned in his seat to face me and squeezed my hand. “Yanni, my sweetest boy.”

A flush of warmth at his term of endearment for me eased the panic a little.

“She will see that I am happy, and she will see that I am hopelessly head over heels in love with you. That’s all she’ll see. And she’ll love you too. I promise.” The look in his eyes was pure strength and certainty. “If anything, she’ll probably say you’re too thin and will offer you enough food to feed an army. She’s not happy unless she’s feeding someone.”

I felt a bit more comfortable with the idea. Not about her liking me, but the whole feeding people was familiar. My mother and grandmother were always trying to feed people. Well, unless they were gay… “She knows we’re a couple, right? She’ll know that I’m… you know, gay.”

Peter pursed his lips together, fighting a smile until he saw my question was a serious one. “She knows, and she will love you. Because I do. That’s the only reason she needs.”

“Oh.”

He finally smiled. “Come on, let’s get inside. You have a gift waiting, remember?”

I followed him inside and scooped up a rather peeved Neenish. I gave her a cuddle. “Oh, baby girl, did Daddy forget to feed you?”

“No, Daddy didn’t forget,” Peter said. “Her food bowl is still half-full.”

I gave Neenish a scratch. “Did you just miss your daddy then?” I asked her.

Peter was holding a large, white rectangular box with a black ribbon: my gift. “Here. I’ll swap you. I’ll take Miss Crankypuss, you take this.”

I handed over Neenish, and Peter gave me the box. We sat on the sofa, Neenish now purring on Peter’s lap, the box sitting on mine. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” I said.

“I wanted to.”

“You spoil me.”

Peter smiled proudly. “I like spoiling you.”

I pulled at the ribbon and it fell away. Even the ribbon felt expensive, and the box was thick, embossed cardboard. Whatever was inside was clearly lavish. I pulled the top of the box off to find out.

A swathe of neatly folded purple and pink silk lay inside the box. God, I didn’t even have to touch it to know it was expensive. “Oh, Peter.”

“I know how much you love the one you have, and I certainly know how much I love it.”

I smiled at that.

“So I thought you could leave this one here, or leave the other one here, and have one to wear at your place. For when we talk on the phone at night.”

My cheeks heated. “Well, it would save me bringing it here on the weekends.”

Peter was beaming. “It would.”

“Should I try it on?”

“Yes, please.”

I stood up and slowly unbuttoned my shirt, and he clearly enjoyed the show. The cooler air chilled my skin; my nipples were hard. I lifted the silk out of the box, feeling the cool, luxurious fabric in my fingers. I found the collar of the garment and let it drape to its full length. It was another overshirt, or gown as I called it. Thigh length, with long, flowing sleeves, and a sash to tie it off around the waist. The purple and pink were mottled swirls, like an abstract watercolor art piece.

It was exquisite.

I slid one arm through the sleeve, then the next, and I’d never felt anything so delicate, so utterly, so utterly…

“How does it feel?”

“Opulent.”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Opulent. I like that.”

“Peter, it’s incredible. And the color is beautiful.”

“Purple suits you. It brings out the tone of your skin.”

I ran my hand up my arm, caressing the silk over my skin. And as much as I liked the feel of it, Peter loved the show I was putting on for him. Hmm. I put my booted foot near his thigh. “Could you take that off for me?”

The corner of his lip pulled upward; lust flickered in his eyes. He undid the laces on my boot and pulled it off gently. So I gave him my other foot. He removed that boot too, and I stood in front of him and undid my belt.

He picked up Neenish and put her on the couch, shifted in his seat a little, and spread his legs. His eyes were dark now, urging me on.

I popped the button on my jeans and slowly let the zipper down. He licked his bottom lip. I pulled my jeans down, letting them pool at my feet, and I kicked them off. I stood there, wearing nothing but my briefs and the silk gown.

Then I straddled him.

Peter’s chest rose and fell with harsh breaths, and I lifted his chin so I could kiss him. “It’s beautiful,” I murmured.

“So are you.” He skimmed his hands over my hips, up my sides, caressing the silk on my skin. “I bought it at a lingerie store. The sales clerk told me the lady I was buying it for was very lucky, indeed. I told her she was wrong. It was a man, and I was the lucky one.”

I kissed him again, softer, slower, grinding on him a little. “I’m the lucky one.” I kissed him harder then, and Peter let his head fall back onto the back of the sofa, giving me full control.

I ground down on him, feeling his erection through his trousers. He reached between us and freed his cock, then with his hands on my hips, he directed our bodies to move together. I was braver with him now, and he read all my cues so well. He could take more control, hold me, roll me over, lie on top of me. There was always still clothing involved, like I was less vulnerable or he was less threatening if he wasn’t completely naked. Which was ludicrous, because Peter was never threatening. And we could shower naked together, and he could get undressed in front of me, and me in front of him.

I was braver now. And I wanted him to take me.

As I straddled his hips and he rubbed our cocks together as we kissed, I imagined he was inside me. I would picture it to the point where I could almost feel it, and that ache of longing, of wanting him buried inside me was getting stronger, and I couldn’t deny it anymore.

Peter came and I followed a few heartbeats after. We got cleaned up and climbed into bed. I wore the silk shirt. Peter wore only sleep pants, leaving his pillow of chest hair for me to cuddle into. He pulled the covers up over us and rubbed my back and planted soft kisses to the top of my head.

“Peter?”

“Hmm?”

“I want to try again.”

A pause. “Try what again?”

“Sex.”

He chuckled. “We just finished ten minutes ago. I’ll need longer―”

He misunderstood what I meant. “No, sorry, I mean anal sex.” I kept my face to his chest. “I want to have you inside my body.”

He was silent and still. “Tonight?”

“No, not tonight, but soon.”

“Will you look at me please?”

I leaned up so I could see his face. The room was dark, but I could still make out the seriousness in his eyes.

He put his hand to my face and pushed my wayward curls off my forehead. “Do you feel something is lacking between us? Because I don’t. If you want to do this because you think it’s something I want, then please know, what we have is perfectly enough for me.”

“No,” I started, then I sighed. “Well, yes, a little. I feel like something is lacking a bit. I mean, I love what we have, but when we have sex now, I imagine you inside me and it’s better. Does that sound bad, because I don’t mean for it to?”

“It doesn’t sound bad at all,” he said gruffly.

“I can’t describe it really, but it’s like an ache, a longing. I want you to have me, to truly make me yours.”

He grunted and rolled us over, crushing his mouth to mine. Even when he manhandled me, there was still a gentleness, an awareness of my comfort levels. He broke the kiss, panting heavily. “Yanni, my sweet boy.”

“Yes, Daddy?”

He groaned and leaned his forehead to mine, letting out a strained laugh. “You’re killing me.”

“Will you try again with me?”

He kissed me softly, and even in the darkness, I could see the promise in his eyes. “Yes. Of course.” He rolled us onto our sides and cradled me in his arms. “We can talk about it more tomorrow. It’s late and we should sleep.”

I felt better having asked him, and I felt even better that he agreed. I snuggled into his neck and smiled. “Night, Daddy.”

He groaned again and I chuckled, but he tightened his arms around me, and that was how we woke up the next morning.

* * *

Work on Saturday was the longest four-hour shift ever. The customers were pleasant, tips were good, coworkers were chatty, and all in all, it was a good day, but I longed to be home with Peter.

I longed to be in bed with Peter.

I raced home, changed clothes, packed a bag, and met him at the door with a slow kiss. “Well, that’s one hell of a welcome,” he said, smiling.

I reminded Jordan and Skylar that I’d be home for our usual Sunday morning laundry date, and I all but dragged Peter to his car. But my plans for spending the afternoon in bed with Peter came to a screeching halt when he started the engine.

“Speaking of tomorrow,” he said. He pulled the car out into traffic. “I spoke to my mom, and instead of meeting her for brunch, I thought we could do afternoon tea instead. Or a late lunch. Whatever you’d prefer.”

I stared. “I’m meeting your mom tomorrow?” My voice squeaked.

He reached over and took my hand. “Is that okay?”

I put my free hand to my forehead. “I’m not prepared.”

“What do you need to be prepared about?”

“I can’t turn up empty-handed!” I stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Does she like flowers? I should totally bring her flowers. What are her favorites? Or chocolate? Or wine? Jesus, Peter, I need more time!”

“Yanni, it’ll be fine.”

“No, I need her to like me, and I was raised to know that when you’re meeting family, you take something, usually food. It’s a Greek thing… well, actually, it’s not even Greek. It’s just a good manners thing.”

Peter chuckled and kissed the back of my hand. “Then we can make her something.” He changed lanes and turned at the next intersection. “It’ll mean more if it comes from the heart.”

He took some more turns, very obviously familiar with wherever we were going, and a short time later, pulled up at a small Russian market.

I didn’t know why, but when he’d suggested making something, I’d assumed Greek. He’d obviously assumed Russian. “Um, I can’t cook Russian food,” I hissed at him. God, this was going to be a disaster. “I’m going to butcher some family favorite recipe, and your mother will banish me from the house!”

Peter just laughed, got out of the car, and walked around to open my door. “Please, trust me,” he said, still smiling.

Okay, trusting myself not to make a mess of everything was one thing, but trusting him, I could do. So into the market we went, with the full intention of buying ingredients to make something from scratch. But inside the tiny store, as well as aisles of groceries, were selections of freshly baked cakes and sweets, hot meals, and cold selections of all kinds of fish and caviar.

Peter collected a basket and went for the cake selections first. “I thought we were going to bring something homemade?” I asked quietly.

He pointed to the display counter of different pastries and breads. “These are homemade. They bake everything here.”

A stout lady behind the counter scowled at us until Peter looked up and said something in Russian. Her expression changed immediately, breaking out into a handsome grin. I gaped at Peter. “I didn’t know you speak Russian,” I whispered so only he could hear.

“Only the basics,” he replied. “Do you not know a few Greek phrases?”

I conceded with a nod. “Good point.”

He ordered some kind of raisin bread, some honey-berry gingerbread, and some walnut-looking cookie things he called oreshki. He looked at me. “Have you eaten lunch?”

The trouble with working ten till two was that no, sometimes I forgot to eat lunch and he knew this. “Nope. Too busy today.”

So we moved to the display of hot food. There were a dozen trays of different dishes: creamy potatoes, beef stews, fried cod, stroganoff, and dishes Peter called golubtsi and pelmeni. He ordered small containers of a few different dishes, and after that, we strolled the aisles looking at all the different items. Some labels he could read, some he couldn’t. Some things looked curiously delicious, and some looked downright questionable. But it was fun, and I loved this insight into Peter’s history.

He found some Russian cheese in the deli section, grabbed some crackers, selected some kind of fig paste, a few green pears, and we were finally done.

Peter paid for everything―I was too scared to look at the total price and pretended not to be listening as he made small talk with the server in a language I couldn’t understand. And he was beaming as we drove back to his place.

“Mom’s gonna love it,” he said, putting the grocery bag on the kitchen counter. “She only goes to the Russian market for special occasions, so this will be a real treat.” He put everything in the fridge, leaving out the hot dishes. He grabbed two forks, and we ate his selections of dishes, picnic style, on his couch.

And truth be told, I forgot about my secret agenda of us attempting to make love all afternoon. Until, that was, we were lazing on the sofa with my face on his chest, my hips snug between his legs, watching one of Charlie Chaplin’s “talkie” films and Peter stroking my back. “So, I’ve been thinking about what you asked last night.”

It took me a second or two to catch on. “Oh? Not having second thoughts?”

He laughed. “Ah, no. Far from it.”

“Okay, good.”

“Are you?”

I looked up at him and shook my head slowly. “No. None.”

“And I’ve been thinking about what might be easier or better for you, position-wise.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t even thought of that. I felt my face flame.

Peter ran his thumb across my blush. “If you straddle me,” he whispered gruffly, “you’ll be in control.”

I nodded, suddenly full of butterflies and anticipation. “When?”

He studied me for a moment. “That’s up to you.”

“What about tonight?”

He gave a smirk. “Is that too soon?”

“No,” I answered probably a little too quickly.

He chuckled. “Well, just remember you can say stop at any time, and I promise you, I’ll stop.”

“I know you will.” I guess now was the right time to bring up something else I’d been thinking about. “And about condoms…”

“I have some,” he replied.

I frowned. “Well, how would you feel about not using them?”

Peter blinked and went still. “Um…”

I sat up, and he shuffled a bit so he was sitting up straighter. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Yanni, if you’ve brought it up, then I know there’s a reason.”

“Well, it’s just that all the porn we’ve watched,” and we’d watched a lot more of those short clips on those sites he showed me―only this time, he watched with me and screened which ones weren’t suitable. It always led to mutual orgasms. Always. “Well, they don’t use them. And I like the idea of it. Having you and nothing else, if you know what I mean. We’ve both been tested and everything was fine. But I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

Peter took my hand and took a moment before he spoke. “I’ve never done that with anyone else.”

“Neither have I,” I admitted. “Lance always insisted on them. The one thing I’m thankful for.”

Peter cocked his head to the side. “Do you not want to use them because he did?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“What is it then?”

“Well, I just like the idea of it being just you and nothing else between us, like I already said.” I was certain my face went bright red, but I had to be truthful with him. “And I like the idea of you coming inside me.”

Peter’s eyes went wide, and he hissed out a breath. “Oh, Yanni.” He said my name like a prayer.

“And in those videos, those guys get their daddy’s reward for being a good boy,” I mumbled, mortified at saying this out loud. I covered my face with my hands. “I’m so embarrassed.”

Gentle fingers peeled my hands away, and Peter’s face was so close. His pupils were blown, and his face was flushed. “You want a reward for being a good boy?”

The lust in his voice curled around my insides and made my balls throb. I nodded.

Peter picked me up like I weighed nothing and brought me to his lap. He shuffled to the edge of the sofa, then, with my legs wrapped around his waist, he stood up and I laughed and kissed down his neck as he carried me to his room.

He gently placed me on his bed. I shuffled up and he followed me, crawling over me. “Are you okay with me undressing you?” he asked, kissing the slip of skin above my waistband.

I knew being completely naked with him in bed would have to happen at some point, and I trusted him. “Yes.”

He undid my jeans and stripped them off me, only stopping to lick my cock. I fell back against the bed with a moan. Then he knelt up to pull his shirt off and unbutton his pants. He left them on for now, even though I could see the tent of his hard-on, he only ever thought of me.

He took me into his mouth again, sucking and licking like he’d done so many times before. Normally I still had briefs on, but I was more than fine with this. But then he climbed off the bed and found the tube of lube we’d used to stroke each other and threw it on the bed beside me.

And I knew this was going to happen.

I wanted it.

“I need to prepare you,” he said softly, kissing his way back up my thighs.

This was the unspoken test. Because if I couldn’t handle his gentle fingers, then this would stop right now. I’d done this to myself over the last month or two when I lay in my own bed, talking to him on the phone or just imagining him there. I told myself this was no different. “Okay.”

So he worked my cock with his mouth and gently massaged my thighs, my balls, my perineum. “I’m going to lick your balls,” he said, doing exactly what he said. Anticipation curled in my belly; he was making my body sing.

Then he licked me lower, and lower, and oh my God. I gripped bed covers and held on, not wanting to fall over the precipice but hoping I did all the same. “Oh God, Peter,” I cried out.

Then he stopped, taking a quick suck of my dick again, making me shudder with pleasure. He sucked on my nipples, then kissed up my neck to my jaw. His stubble juxtaposed with the softness of his lips, and he kissed me fiercely, sucking my tongue into his mouth. I had no clue he was holding the lube until I heard the click of the lid… and then his fingers were there, rubbing gently at first, pressing in just a little, then rubbing some more.

I was in sensory overload, and every nerve ending was strung tight with pleasure. He was making love to my body in languid, gentle ebbs and flows. Nothing had ever felt this good.

Then he slipped a finger inside me, and I wanted it. I wanted more. So much more.

This was the ache I felt, needing him to fill every part of me. I needed more of him inside me. “Yes. More,” I moaned into his mouth.

So he gave me more. He pushed his finger farther into me, sliding in and out, and I writhed for it. I needed it.

After he’d worked me with a second finger, I couldn’t stand it anymore. It wasn’t enough. I needed to feel him buried inside me. “I’m ready,” I panted. My whole body craved him.

Peter maneuvered himself so he sat up, leaning against the headboard. He lifted his hips and pulled his briefs down to his thighs; his huge cock sprang free. A rush of warmth filled my belly. He was a solid build, broad and thickset, with hair in all the right places. I was lean, skinny even, with sinewy limbs, and mostly hairless. As far as body types go, we were polar opposites, yet mentally, emotionally, we were a perfect match.

Peter took the lube and slicked his cock, though his eyes never left mine. “Are you sure you want this?”

Lifting one leg over him, I straddled his legs and nodded. Then, leaning over his cock, I pulled his chin up so I could kiss him. “I want you so bad.”

He made a strained humming noise that spurred me on. I could do this. This felt so right. He poured some lube onto my fingers. “For you.”

I reached behind me and slicked the lube over my hole, then shuffled up into position. I took hold of his shaft―he felt huge in my hand―and pressed the cockhead against my entrance.

Oh God. This was it.

I pushed against him, just a little, feeling him nudging my hole. I rose up an inch, then back down, letting him nudge in a little farther each time. I hadn’t even taken the tip in yet―he was so big. Bigger than I imagined. Bigger than I anticipated. I mean, I knew he was big. I’d held his cock before, felt the size and weight of it. I’d taken it in my mouth, but having it in my ass was a different game altogether.

I pulled off again and writhed so his cock ran along my perineum. I wanted this but wasn’t sure if I could.

“Just breathe, my love,” Peter murmured. His eyes were imploring, kind and concerned. “Take as much of me as you want.”

I crushed my mouth to his, letting him taste the gratitude on my tongue. He was giving me all the time and patience in the world. Never rushing, never demanding. I sank down on him again, a little farther this time. The head of his cock pushed against the ring of muscle. I sucked back a breath but didn’t pull away. I held it and held it until the discomfort passed, and he slipped inside me.

Peter gasped, his huge hands held my thighs, keeping me still, and his eyes were wide. His jaw set with restraint. “Oh, Yanni,” he cried. “You’re so beautiful.”

I slid my hand along his jaw and kissed him, rocking slowly on his cock. I couldn’t take any more of him in me. Not yet. Just the tip of him was enough for now.

Peter’s whole body went rigid, his muscles tight. “You’re gonna make me come,” he breathed the words through gritted teeth. He was almost vibrating with self-control. His touches were gentle yet firm, his pleas were soft yet commanding. Just like a good daddy should. “Please, boy. Please.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I whispered against his mouth.

He convulsed, pleasure wracking through him, then he stilled as his cock pulsed inside me. I could feel him come, swelling and surging, spilling his seed in me. His neck was corded, his head pressed back, and he let out a primal groan as his orgasm left him spent.

But as he softened a little, I could take more of him, and his back arched, and he moaned as I sank down on him.

He wrapped his arms tight around me and rolled us over so he was on top of me, still inside me. “Oh, Yanni, my beautiful boy,” he murmured between kisses and slow-rocking hips. He was only half-hard, but he still filled me perfectly. “That was amazing. You are amazing.”

He kissed me until my eyes rolled back in my head, but the gentle thrust of his hips, the slick slide of his cock inside me, made me wrap my legs around him. “Oh God, Peter.”

Without another word, he understood. He leaned up on one hand and took my cock with his other, pumping me as he stayed buried inside me. I came hard, and he kissed me, swallowing my cries of pleasure.

When my senses came back to me, he had enveloped me in his arms with soft kisses and murmurs of sweet nothings. “I love you, Yanni.”

“Mmm.” I nuzzled into him, feeling spongy and completely worshipped. “I love you, too.”

“Do you feel okay? Sore anywhere?”

I took stock of my body. I knew what pain was like from unprepared sex, and there was definitely nothing like that. “I can’t feel anything but bliss right now.”

He chuckled and seemed to relax then. I knew we’d have to get cleaned up at some point, but we enjoyed a moment of quiet, unmoving, just savoring what we’d just experienced.

I’d done it. I’d broken through the last shackle that Lance had put on me, and I felt liberated, empowered. I’d taken another part of my life back.

Except for one small detail…

“You have a really big dick,” I mumbled into his chest.

Peter barked out a laugh. “Uh, thanks?”

“I couldn’t take it all. Well, not to begin with.” I pulled back so I could look into his eyes. “After you came it was fine.”

He groaned. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever done.”

“I like that you’ve never done that with anyone else,” I admitted. I kissed him softly. “And I really like that your come is still inside me.”

He made a sound that might have been a half growl. “Yanni, you have no idea what that does to me.”

I laughed cheekily. I knew exactly what it did to him. “And tomorrow night, we’ll do it again. Though this time, I’m pretty sure I’ll take all of you.”

His head fell back onto the pillow and he groaned. “Jesus. I’m not sure I’ll survive you.”

I laughed. “Yeah, you will. And you’ll love every minute.”

He pulled me into his arms and kissed the top of my head. “I already do.”