We’re both breathing heavily, and it physically pains me to try to refrain from devouring him. When his eyes lock on mine, mere centimeters from me, it’s like he can see into my soul. He looks at me like we’ve known each other for lifetimes, like he can see my every secret, every thought. It’s as intimidating and terrifying as it is electrifying.

Dragging in a deep breath, he slams his eyes closed, pressing his lips on mine. All the oxygen leaves my lungs as I process his touch. His tongue glides across my lips, and my brain finally kicks into gear. I part my lips as he slips inside, tasting every crevice of my mouth. My body melts as he drags a hand through the hair on the back of my head, tugging and kissing me deeper.

He’s owning me. Taking me under his spell. I would do any and everything he ever wanted so long as he keeps kissing me like this. He nips at my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth, and all I can think of is how fucking incredible those lips and that tongue would feel wrapped around my cock—which is achingly hard in my pants.

He pulls away from me in a hurry, almost like if he doesn’t stop himself now, he wouldn’t be able to. His eyes are wild, filled with lust, and his lips are swollen. I think he might panic; apologize profusely, like he does every time we do something we aren’t supposed to do. The constant internal struggle he seems to face must be exhausting. I want to say something, help him somehow, but I don’t know how.

It’s not the same for me. I’m not married, so I don’t feel the same level of anguish he does about this. For me, it feels right, feels good, so I roll with it. It’s completely different for him, though, and I don’t know how to relate to that or take some of that away. All I can do is give him space, let him call the shots. Which I have been doing. Except for the night of his award, I haven’t reached out to him first. I let him come to me, and for the first time, he did.

After what feels like an hour of tense silence, I finally ask him, “Are you okay?”

He glances over at me, like he zoned out and forgot I was here. “Yeah. We should probably go, though. It’s getting late.”

Getting late? It’s been late. “Alright,” is all I say. He’s deep in his thoughts and at three in the morning in some unknown field isn’t the time to try to dissect that.