Summer Son (17 page)

T
HE
NEXT
day, I walked over to his apartment. The sad thing was, I knew his class schedule well enough to know when he’d likely be home and when he’d be out. It had only been a few days since the argument, and I missed him something fierce.

He opened the door wearing no shirt and those loose Aladdin pants and an expression that said I’d really hurt him. Oh God.

Harrison let out a tiny sound of excitement and immediately leaned out of my grasp, holding his arms out for Zane to take him.

“He really missed you,” I said as Zane carefully cradled Harrison to his chest and kissed all over his cheeks and head.

“That’s low, El. Real low.”

“I missed you more. I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being a total asshole. I won’t make promises I have no chance of keeping, Zane. I love you too much not to try and make this work.”

“I wasn’t supposed to fall for you,” he said, sounding almost angry. At me or himself, I couldn’t tell. Harrison picked up on the despair in Zane’s voice and gave him a snuggle. My son was, as always, one of the most beautiful people in the world.

“I definitely wasn’t supposed to fall for you. I figured…. I can’t really tell you not to let Oliver come between us when I’m doing the exact same thing.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah. That’s a good point.”

“Please be mine again.”

“You idiot. I never stopped.”

I had to kiss him then. Harrison was still held between us. I got the impression he was getting used to the sight of his daddy kissing Zane. I hoped it would be one of those things that was totally normal in his life. Boring, even. The sight of us kissing should bore him.

“I’m going to need to lean on you over the next few months,” I said as we moved apart, hands still gently gripping each other. “Can I apologize in advance for all the douchey things I might say and/or do?”

Zane laughed. “Yeah. But…. You need to trust me more. I’m your partner… your equal. I know I’m younger than you, but I can handle it. I promise.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“God, I love you too.”

Over the next few days Zane gave his landlord notice that he was moving out and started transferring his stuff into my apartment. It was weird to see all of his things next to mine, like there were now two apartments taking up one space. After Oliver left I’d expanded into whatever space used to be his, and now I needed to contract again.

There was something that made me feel very content with the world at the sight of his toothbrush in the bathroom, and his tofu in the fridge, and his painting clothes shoved into a corner of the closet. I made space for all of his art stuff, as promised, and let him bring his TV. It was set up in the bedroom, though, rather than the living room. I didn’t want my son getting addicted to the damn thing.

Zane found some studio space to rent a couple of blocks over, meaning he didn’t have to go all the way in to the studio on campus every time he wanted to do some work. I insisted that he take the cost of renting the studio out of his part of the rent on the apartment, since it was a new expense.

Then all we had to do was learn to live with each other.

The way he blended into my routine with Harrison was so seamless that within days I felt like he’d always been there. It made sense for him to be in our lives.

“H
EY
,
STAY
at the door,” I said as Zane let himself in. He’d said that morning that he was going to finish up his early classes, then head over to his studio to get some work done. It was midafternoon, right when he said he’d be home.

“Okay,” he said, sounding cautious. I heard the thump of his backpack hitting the floor, then led Harrison around the sofa.

He’d been walking for a couple of weeks, as long as he had fingers to hold on to as he toddled along. I’d been waiting for his first steps on his own for what felt like forever.

“Go on,” I said. “Go see Zane.”

I let him keep hold of my fingers while he gained momentum, and Zane crouched down to toddler level, ready to catch him if he stumbled. When I pulled my fingers free from his little fists, Harrison kept walking on his own, right into Zane’s outstretched arms.

“Hey!” Zane exclaimed. “Aren’t you clever?”

Harrison applauded himself.

“He started doing that this morning,” I said. “We’ve been practicing all day, ready to show you.”

Zane stood and carried Harrison over to give me a kiss, his lips stretched into a grin against mine. “We should go out. To celebrate.”

“For lunch?”

“Yeah, have you eaten yet?”

“Sort of. If you wait a few hours, I could eat again.”

He rolled his eyes and kissed me. “Okay. We’ll go out for dinner.”

T
HEY
’
D
ALL
warned me—the baby books, my mom, the doctors—and they were right: as soon as Harrison started walking, he didn’t stop. I’d watched him like a hawk before, and it only got worse. The rarely used playpen that I’d been given when he was born stayed assembled nearly all the time now, a safe and convenient jail to put him in when I needed time or space to do something without having to worry about him banging his face on something and bleeding everywhere.

Harrison had a love/hate relationship with the playpen. Most of the time he was okay with it, as long as he could see me too. It didn’t quite fit through the doorway between the living room and the hall, and the hall and the kitchen, meaning if I wanted to go to get something from the fridge, I had to either take him with me or be prepared for him to scream during the whole minute and a half I was gone.

Having Zane around all the time helped. He kept odd hours, sometimes coming home in the early hours of the morning and sleeping late, or getting up before me to leave for a class. It wasn’t a problem. I just forced him to get into the habit of telling me where he was so I didn’t worry about him. There was an adjustment period for him too; he wasn’t used to having to report in to someone.

When I was in bed but still awake when he got home, Zane made sure to join me so we at least had some time to ourselves while Harrison was sleeping. He was pretty good at getting out of his clothes quickly too, and liked to sit on my lap and wriggle while he kissed me hello.

With him sprawled half-naked across my lap, I ran my hands up and down his back a few times, loving the smooth skin and firm muscles lurking beneath it. We had both been working hard the past few weeks, me on my freelance work and Zane on his final project. Taking moments like this was important, the calm at the center of the storm.

He scratched at my nipple with the blunt edge of his fingernail, and I squirmed underneath him. When he closed his teeth around it, I shuddered, then lifted my hips so he could feel that I was hard, wanting him. As always.

After his tongue had finished its part in the act, he looked up at me through sex-heavy eyes.

“Do you still want me to top you?”

I nodded, throat suddenly dry. “Yeah.”

“Can I?”

“Please.”

He smirked, something in his expression telling me he’d probably thought about this for a while. His hands had been steadily roaming over my skin, quietly exploring the places I knew he liked best: my sides, where I was ticklish, the rise of my biceps, the line of my hipbone, where the slightest touch turned me on.

I was more than willing to let him take the lead in this. His confidence seemed to be growing as we spent more time together, and I loved that sure, intimate touch that told me this meant something to him.

Zane stroked my cock a few times before reaching back farther, and I spread my legs obligingly, letting him find my hole and flick his fingertip over it. When I let out a long, unsteady breath, he smirked again, and I grabbed the lube from the nightstand to push into his hand.

He immediately slicked up his fingers and pushed one just inside me, just the fingertip, and I tried not to push back into his hand. There was going to be a certain amount of give and take here. I couldn’t demand and expect him to know when to give. Zane deserved to be able to explore this new thing in his own time… but
fuck
if he wasn’t making me crazy.

I reached down and grabbed hold of my cock, giving it a few hard tugs to ease some of the pressure, before Zane batted my hand away.

“Behave,” he demanded.

“No chance.”

He laughed and pushed a second finger in alongside the first. Then he curled his fingers and expertly found my prostate.

“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” I gasped, my hips rising off the bed with no instruction from me to do so.

“Not on someone else. On myself… plenty of times.”

The image arrived in my head fully formed—Zane lying back, two fingers pushed deep inside himself as he searched out that spot that made men see stars.

“I’m ready. Now, please.”

My words were almost garbled, but Zane got the message, kissing my stomach, then pulling his fingers free.

“Do you want me to use a condom?”

“Huh? No. No, it’s fine.”

“Okay. I just wanted to ask.”

I hoped he’d never stop being this sweet to me.

More lube was smeared along his cock. Then he bit his lip as he looked down at me. “Like this, right? I mean, you don’t want to move?”

“This is fine. I promise. Please, Zane.”

My use of his name seemed to prompt him on, and he carefully pushed the head of his cock against my hole, stuttering only once before sheathing himself completely.

“Oh, God,” I murmured.

“I was about to say the same thing,” he said, and then he laughed. I carefully pulled my knees back to my chest, and he thrust into me again.

With my hand on his lower back I guided his movements, which slowly gained in confidence. Soon he had built up a slow, punishing rhythm that sent shivers down my spine. I’d never thought of him as a dominant sort of man, so when he took my hands in his, lifted them above my head, and pinned them there, the action was as surprising as it was arousing.

“You look good like this,” he said, looking down at my body stretched out beneath him.

“I feel good. You feel better.
Fuck
, Zane.”

I turned my head to the side, baring my neck for him and not caring if he left marks there. I’d wear them with pride, so everyone knew I was his.

It had been a long, long time since I’d done this last, since I’d given anyone else control of my body. I handed everything over to Zane and let him own me, control me, each sure thrust of his hips making me dizzy with wanting.

When his lips found mine again, it was like I’d not been kissed in forever. Zane’s tongue was soft and sweet, and he coaxed my lips apart, then flicked it against my own until I was gasping into his mouth.

“Can I have my hands back?” I asked, breathless.

“Hmm?”

“I want to touch you.”

“Oh.”

He unfurled his fingers from mine, and I immediately wrapped one arm around his shoulders, palming one of his asscheeks with the other hand, encouraging him to fuck me harder.

“Oh! This is good too,” he mumbled.

I laughed and drew him down into another kiss. For a few moments everything slowed down as I lost myself in him, wanting to keep that moment—him inside me, loving me—alive forever. When he broke away from my lips, Zane pressed his forehead to mine and began to fuck me harder again, seeking out his own pleasure and mine.

“Zane,” I said, reaching down to pull on my cock, wanting to take myself over the edge even though I didn’t want it to stop.

“You first,” he told me.

I nodded against his neck and pulled my orgasm from my body, spilling hard into my hand and crying out. I only just noticed that Zane was coming too, his face pressed tight to the curve of my neck. For long moments we held each other, unmoving, as our thundering hearts slowed to a more regular pace. Zane kissed me over and over, and I shuddered as he pulled away.

Once we’d cleaned up, neither of us was ready to sleep. Zane sprawled on top of me, our fingers in constant motion against each other.

“So, you don’t mind topping, then?”

He let out a breathless laugh. “No. It wasn’t bad.”

“I thought it was pretty fucking amazing.”

“Mm. I didn’t hate it as much as I thought I would.”

“Why did you think you would hate it?”

Zane yawned widely and rearranged himself on my chest. “Hate is a strong word, I suppose. I just like it when someone else takes control and fucks me hard.”

I snorted with laughter. “Yeah, you do.”

“Fucking you hard was fun, though. You make some great noises when you have a dick in your ass.”

“Oh my God, Zane.”

“What? If you can do it, you should be able to talk about it.”

I shifted us both on the bed to avoid having to talk about it, if at all possible. He stretched and came with me without complaint, then kissed the bruises he’d left on my shoulder and chest. I didn’t mind that they were there, liked that he was kissing me better.

“So, can I fuck you again?” he asked as soon as I’d settled.

“Mhmm.”

“Okay. I’m going to keep talking about it, just so you know, because you look adorable when you blush.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, darling.”

Chapter 13