Page 20 of The Comfort Trap

He starts slow, almost torturously so, each deliberate movement measured as if he's savoring every inch of penetration. Then he finds his rhythm, a steady, hypnotic cadence that matches the frantic beating of my own heart. Each thrust hits me in exactly the right spot, that bundle of nerves deep inside that sends electricity coursing through my entire body, making me cry out his name over and over. The sound of our bodies moving together, the wet slap of skin against skin, fills the room, mixing with our ragged breaths and desperate moans.

I can feel the sweat beading on my forehead, dripping down my temples as he drives into me again and again, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate. My fingernails dig into his shoulders, my legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting more, needing more.

The world narrows to just this—just us—and the exquisite, overwhelming pleasure that threatens to consume me whole. It's raw and real and perfect. He's everywhere, his body covering mine, his mouth on my skin, his voice in my ear, telling me how good I feel.

"Ricardo," he groans against my skin, and the sound of my name, rough and desperate on his lips, sends a jolt straight through me.

My dick is aching, pulsing with every thrust of his hips. I reach down around the heated length of myself, the slickness of precum making my grip easy. I match his rhythm, strokefor stroke, the dual sensations of him filling me and my own hand working me over pushing me closer to the edge with every passing second. It's too much, and not enough, all at once. I can feel the pleasure building, a tight coil in my gut that's about to snap, and I know I'm close.

"Patrick, I'm gonna—" I start, but he cuts me off with a searing kiss, his tongue claiming my mouth as his hips drive into me with a renewed urgency.

The coil breaks and I'm coming, my release washing over me in a blinding wave of ecstasy. My head snaps back, my neck arching as I cry out his name, the sound raw and ragged in the quiet of the room. The pleasure hits me like a tidal wave, overwhelming and all-consuming, and I'm coming, my release shooting across my chest in thick, white ropes.

Patrick's forehead presses against my shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against my skin as he straightens up, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate. He gives it everything he has, his hips snapping forward with a renewed force that makes me see stars, the sound of our bodies moving together filling the room as he chases his own release. The weight of him on top of me, the feeling of him inside me, is grounding, even as the aftershocks of my orgasm ripple through my body. I'm floating, lost in the haze of pleasure, barely aware of anything but him and the way he's holding me like I'm the only thing keeping him anchored.

With a final, deep thrust, he groans low in his throat, his whole body tensing as he comes. I can feel him pulsing inside me, the heat of his release even through the barrier of the condom, and the sensation sends a final shudder of pleasure through me. His hand slides from my waist to my chest, his palm settling over my heart as he collapses against me, his body trembling.

We lie there for a long moment, tangled together, our breathing slowing, the sweat cooling on our skin.

He shifts, pulling out carefully before rolling onto his side, his arm draped possessively over my waist. I can feel the warmth of his body against mine as we catch our breath.

I turn my head to look at him, my vision still a little blurry from the intensity of what just happened. His face is flushed, his hair messy and wild, and there's a softness there. I reach up, brushing a strand of hair out of his face, my touch lingering against his cheek. "You're amazing," I whisper.

He beams, and it's the most genuine, unguarded expression I've ever seen from him.

"Did you get it out of your system?" he asks.

I pause, my brain still fuzzy with pleasure. "What?"

He laughs, tired and warm, the sound vibrating against my skin where he's still partially draped over me. He shifts, removing his arm and rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. "This stupid, nonsensical thing you have for me. Did that help?"

I turn my head, following his gaze to the ceiling fan spinning in slow, hypnotic circles. The blades cast moving shadows across the room.

"It's not stupid," I correct.

He watches me then. He holds my gaze for a long moment before pushing himself up. The mattress dips as he moves, his weight shifting away from me. I watch as he walks toward the bathroom, the lean lines of his back silhouetted in the dim light.

Chapter 11

Are you hearing me?

Ricardo [THEN]

Hecomesbackwitha few towels. I reach out to take onefrom him, to thank him, but before I can, he's already kneeling beside me, gently cleaning me up. His touch is slow and careful, surprising me with its tenderness. I let him work, savoring these last touches, memorizing the feeling of his hands on my skin.

I'm not sure if this will ever happen again. Probably not. But I'll be damned if I stop trying.

"Are you thirsty?" he asks, his voice back to that casual, detached tone that I'm starting to realize is his armor. He tosses the towels into a heap on the floor, the soft thud breaking the silence.

"Yeah," I answer, my throat suddenly dry.

He leaves for the kitchen, and I take the time alone to survey his bedroom. It's fairly plain. Blackout curtains, belts and accessories hanging from the closet door. A dim lamp with some plants around the nearest bedside table. An alarm clock with a solid crack down the center of the glass. On the dresser across from the bed is a few half used cologne bottles, the good kind. The kind that's been driving me crazy. A few nailpolish bottles—black, purple, green. Then I see it.

He has records. Three of them, strewn across the dresser haphazardly. Gray Matter. Soulside. Rites of Spring.

Patrick comes back with two glasses of water. I lean up against the wooden headboard, the cool wood against the skin on my back and take the cup to chug the water. Patrick holds back a laugh, sipping his with more grace than I've ever had in my life.

"Thank you." I manage between breaths of air, wiping the water from my chin with the back of my hand.