“I couldn’t not love you,” Raine said. “I was in love with you that first day. I’m not hiding from anything, anymore, with you.”
The choice was kiss him or start to cry, so Don did the former, with some shaky tremulous champagne-bubbles hovering just below the surface. He made this kiss assertive enough, commanding enough, to leave Raine shining-eyed and malleable and liquid under him, spiky edges not gone but submerged in sweetness; he sat up and stroked hands along Raine’s thighs as they parted for him, and he bent and employed fingers and lips and tongue, tasting. His mouth memorized Raine’s inner left thigh, the heat at the tip of his c**k, the weight and length and girth of him, wholly hard now and intriguingly delicious. Raine’s desire carried, alongside familiar male arousal, hints
