Cracking. Splitting. Crumbling. Ripping apart. As if the burst of his climax was a thing of sheer destruction that shredded him apart from the inside out, savaging him with claws of pleasure, every hard-knotting spurt from his cock making him clench even more convulsively around Fox in little spasms of pleasure-pain, giving him the satisfaction of Fox’s strained, harsh cries. Then Summer was wet inside, wet and warm and dripping with a sudden feeling of heavy, liquid fullness...and Fox’s face was so fucking beautiful and perfect and right as he lost himself, and somehow they were coming down together in a tangled sweaty heap, breathing hard, sprawled against the lounge chair in a mess.
Sated. Sore. Breathless, grasping on to each other, nuzzled together in a mess of lax limbs while they both sank hard into the chair. So content, Summer thought fuzzily, a lovely feeling of slow lassitude sweeping through him to leave him boneless.
And almost completely naked, tangled up in each other.
In the pool house.
In public.
It was like they realized it in the same moment, the afterglow fading to a wide-eyed stare, before Fox peered slooowly over his shoulder.
Nothing there.
But, “Hold on,” he murmured, gripping Summer’s hips, parting them in a burning rush of friction, before he was tumbling to his feet and reaching for Summer’s hand with far more agility than he deserved to have after he had just fucked Summer’s legs out from underneath him.
“Your room or mine?” Fox asked, and Summer grinned.
“Yours. Do you really want to see Dr. Liu like this?”
“No,” Fox said dryly...then laughed. A laugh that lit up his face; a laugh like none Summer had ever heard from him before, and if Summer hadn’t been in love...he would be now, looking into those sparkling gray eyes as Fox tugged him toward his clothing. “Now get your things...and run.”
Chapter Eleven
Summer never thought he would be falling asleep in Fox Iseya’s bed.
Yet here he was—fresh out of the shower, still warm from the steaming spray, tying the drawstring on a pair of Fox’s borrowed pajama pants; pants that dragged on the ground with Summer’s every step as he shyly ventured from the bathroom and into the bedroom, watching as Fox turned down the sheets on the bed.
And paused, as Summer stopped in the doorway, unable to help drinking his fill of the sight of him.
Of that tall, hard-tapered body that had arched over him, driven into him, pale amber skin flexing and flowing like silk pulled tight over some great machine. He was still so sore, not even the shower easing it, but it was a soreness he wanted to hold on to, to savor, to feel again and again and again until his body was branded in it and he forgot how it felt to walk without the lingering perfect pain of Fox Iseya inside him.
While Fox halted mid-motion, arrested in silence, one hand still gripping a pillow covered in a subtly textured, dark gray pillowcase... Summer ducked his head, unable to stop from smiling no matter how he bit his lip to contain it, his cheeks warming.
He could still see it, from the corner of his eye.
The marks of his nails down Fox’s back, red faint lines he’d left when he’d clutched at him and grasped so hard, dug so deep, begging without words don’t let me go.
He felt like he was going to explode everywhere, in showers of light.
Especially when Fox made a soft, amused sound, his voice relaxed and low and almost coaxing. “Planning to sleep in the doorway?”
“No, I...uh...” Summer raked a hand through his hair, laughing helplessly. “I just... I realized I kind of assumed you’d let me stay, after...that.”
“Ah. Yes. That.” The mattress creaked faintly. “We should probably discuss that, but perhaps that discussion would be easier if you were here.”
Summer peeked back over his upraised arm. Fox sat on one side of the bed, one leg propped up, the other hanging over the edge, his body slouched like grace and ennui gathered up and crafted into the essence of a man, his disarrayed hair falling in loops from its twist to pour over his shoulders. He’d taken his glasses off, leaving them on the nightstand...and every inch of him glimmered in faint gilt edges of moonlight, pouring in silver arcs over his hair, running pale along the line of his jaw and the slope of his throat, slipping in soft-light touches over the defined ridges of his pectorals, the narrow, toned taper of his abdomen, the length of legs draped in loose black cotton.
Summer’s mouth dried, as he tried not to stare.
God, Fox was beautiful.
And sitting there waiting for him, inviting Summer into his bed as if...as if...
As if Summer had a chance.
Summer licked his lips, then took a tentative step closer into the room, then another, before sliding his knee onto the bed and settling gingerly on the other side, leaning against the headboard but very carefully not touching Fox.
He didn’t know why everything felt so much more tentative, now.
But...
Sex was sex.
It didn’t mean anything, no matter how much he wanted it to, and he didn’t want to jump to conclusions.
“So,” he said, fidgeting his fingers, plucking at the leg of his pajama pants. “That...happened, didn’t it?”
“If you’re not certain if it did or not, perhaps I need to reconsider if I adequately satisfied you,” Fox said dryly, and Summer spluttered, his ears burning—God, it felt like his nose was even on fire, his flush rolling through him fast enough to make him dizzy.
“N-no!” he sputtered. “I mean—you did, it was—you were good, it was good, it was everything, I just—I don’t—”
Fox’s cool expression didn’t change, save for a subtle twitch of his lips.
A glimmer in his eyes.
And Summer realized Fox was, in fact, quite pointedly fucking with him.
Summer scowled, glowering at him. “I liked you better when you didn’t have a sense of humor.”
“No, you did not,” Fox said, but relaxed into
