I’m flaming, throbbing, impatient for the end and, at the same time, dreading the moment it will be over.
He’s clouding my thoughts—especially when he lowers his head and starts licking me. I’m shaking uncontrollably, my legs are jelly, but I’m aware of what he’s doing. I mean, besides making me burn and yearn for him. He’s distracting me. Because he is being more honest than ever, and he doesn’t want me to focus on the fact that he is dropping his armor to strip off the layers of truth underneath it.
After all, being metaphorically naked in front of each other is unnerving. More than it is to be literally naked. It’s scary because it connects us even more.
He stops licking and kissing my pussy and stares at me for a moment. I lie flat on the mattress, legs spread out, shaking and panting. Hungry for the finale.
“When we met at the pub, I considered moving on with the date and forgetting my stupid idea,” I confess.
Erik smiles. “It wasn’t so stupid after all.”
He kisses me. Hard. Urgent. I slide my fingers up his nape and grip his loose, messy bun, keeping him close. His tongue dances with mine, inebriating me. I can’t stand it anymore.
“I need you in me now, Erik,” I say, urgent, desperate. “Make me come, please.”
Finally, finally, he penetrates me, deeper and deeper, and our bodies become one. Having his massiveness contained within my tight walls makes me shudder and struggle for air. When he starts thrusting, it’s almost unbearable. I’m ablaze, consumed, so close...
And as the incoming explosion builds, I conclude that I don’t know what makes me most satisfied: Erik filling every inch of space inside me or his admission that he wanted me from the start. His moans and sighs are music to my ears. His skin is my haven. I’ve never felt so much a part of someone else.
We are one. He completes me.
He’s my best friend, my home, my work, my lover. He is part of everything that makes me who I am in Denmark. It’s frightening to need someone so much. It’s terrifying to know that, without him, nothing makes sense.
Erik starts thrusting harder, deliciously aggressive, and the touch of his hands on my body puts me one hundred percent into the moment. The only thing that matters. Us, here and now, surrendering to our love.
Love. Love? Is it love?
I want it to be love.
“Sol,” his vulnerable voice whispers, “you’re so fucking sexy...” And the burning reaches its peak.
It’s now.
I scream, reveling in pleasure. My muscles tighten around his cock in luscious spasms and trigger him. My climax lasts slightly longer than his, and I grab onto him with all my power until the world goes back to normal. Or as close to normal as amazing feels.
When he is showering, I sit on the closed toilet seat and look at him through the glass door. He is like a mirage. Like a character from a book come to life.
Erik sees me observing him, smiles, and draws a heart for me with his index finger on the steamy glass. I stand still, heart racing, overthinking. Does he mean he loves me? Is it just a meaningless gesture? Why do I have to worry about this now instead of simply enjoying our delicious affair?
I could use the moment to say I love him. I could peel the last layer protecting me from total exposure.
Because I do.
I love Erik Storm.
Maybe my words would get him to say it back. But what if it’s too early for him? He’s been giving me more than I expected. He’s still afraid he is going down the same destructive path for a second time.
I blow him a kiss instead, and he blows one back. We keep it simple. That’s how we’ll make it last. We’ll pretend we don’t see how complicated it is. How tangled together our lives are, and how such commitment at the early stages of a relationship can be too much and break everything.
We must learn how to pull back. How to control our impulses and raise walls here and there. It’s a complex mechanic to master, one we might not be ready for. We skipped the first stages. We jumped the learning curve. We dived in.
Now, we are stuck with each other. We gave up our privacy after the first time we had sex. We went from friends to “married” in a day.
What if this doesn’t work out? Then I’m homeless. And heartbroken. Then I’m back on the hopeless apartment hunt, which might be even harder this time around. Which might mean my only choice, still, is going back to Brazil. And losing my job. And the promotion. And the entire life I thought I could have here.
Now a life I don’t want to have with a nameless Danish Prince Charming. But with Erik Storm.
All the air runs out of my lungs when I hear the disastrous news during my first meeting with the design team on Monday.
The next Scorpio Games project, the one to be directed by the new game director yet to be hired, is Erik’s game.
Yes, Love Birds. Except it won’t be called that.
And it won’t be Erik’s game.
It will be a plagiarized version of his idea. Martin’s interpretation of it.
“That sounds cool. I love the idea of a mix between a game and a dating app,” someone says, and I don’t care who it is. My eyes only have one target.
Martin motherfucking Olesen. Son of a snake.
Oh, I hate his pretentious smile. He’s staring back at me, victorious. He convinced Lars, who was already interested in the idea. I had no clue Lars would choose the game before even choosing the director.
Does that mean Martin won the promotion? Is it over?
I can’t let this happen. I can’t sit and watch while a traitor sells his partner’s idea to the partner’s former employer.
Especially when the betrayed person is the man I love.
