Page 66 of The Leaving Kind

Cam’s orgasm tore free and he let it fly loose. Victor shuddered again, his dick jerking. Cam could feel his voice inside his throat, knew he was making sound. Wordless and joyful. A release that had been too long in coming. His body spasmed. His soul unhooked.

Then that damn cat yowled and a bubble of laughter rolled up from his belly.

Beneath him, Victor broke into a wide grin and chuckled. “Dex knows when a good thing is going.”

“We’re storming it up too much for him.” Cam was still rocking his hips. Gently now, forward and back. “Did you actually come twice?” He bent to kiss Vic’s chin. Moved up to his mouth.

“No. Just sensational aftershocks. It’s been a while since I last bottomed. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to come and then feel someone else come.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” Vic cocked one light eyebrow. “Never tried it?”

“Not often.” Took way more trust than Cam could usually muster for a partner he intended to spend less than twelve hours with. Securing the condom, Cam withdrew, hissing in chorus with Vic, and flopped onto his back. He rolled his head toward the middle of the bed and met Vic’s sleepy but curious gaze. “Haven’t had a lot of male partners. Not sure why. I like men and always have. I usually feel more comfortable with women in bed, though.”

“You felt comfortable inside me.”

Chuckling, Cam could only agree. “Very.” His smile narrowed. “I think I wanted to do that from the minute I saw you. Don’t ask me why. I never know why I’m attracted to someone. Sure as heck wasn’t the shrieking you were doing that day. Or that robe.” His lips curved upward again. “Though, putting that much skin on display might have done the trick.”

“Really? I’ve never considered myself particularly attractive in that manner.”

“What? Naked? You’re fit and toned. You have the kind of legs I like. Long but strong.”

A crease appeared in the middle of Victor’s forehead. “You’re not like anyone I’ve been with before.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“You should. Because you are not my type.”

“You’re not mine.”

“From what you’ve said, I’m not sure you have a type. Except someone with legs.”

Cam smoothed a palm down Victor’s finely muscled and sticky thigh. “Legs like these.” He let go to deal with the condom. “We should clean up.”

“We should.”

“Does your water run without a generator?”

“It does not. The well pump is all electric.”

“Oh, the joy of the Poconos in a storm.”

“Wind, rain, snow, flood. All it takes is one tree over a powerline and we’re thrust back into the dark ages.”

The outline of a jagged tree floated in his mind’s eye. The sound of a knock at the door haunted his ears. And a swell of melancholy rolled through the calm of Cam’s postorgasmic high. He’d lost his parents on a night like this. He didn’t think of them every storm, but the small mention of a powerline had been enough to thrust him back in time.

Could he not enjoy one amazing moment without myriad sadness poking holes in his bliss?

Pulling his shoulder away from Vic’s, he rolled off the side of the bed. “Where will I find a towel? In the bathroom?” He could wave it outside a window for a second, get it wet enough to at least wipe them down. Then they could see about firing up the generator.

Vic sat up. “Is everything okay?”

They’d left the flashlight on the mantel over the fireplace, the beam pointed toward the ceiling. Cam’s eyes had fully adjusted to the dim light and the concern on Vic’s face was clear. So he forced a smile. “Yeah, fine. Back in a sec.”

Fine hardly ever meant fine. Victor had tossed the same word out so often, he could barely remember the true meaning. The one he liked best, though, pertained to lines and edges. To him, fine meant I’m balancing.

Watching Cam tiptoe out of the bedroom, Vic pondered his fineness. He’d already reassessed his original opinion of Cam’s attractiveness. In that sense, Cam was fine. He had the sort of face that might not mean a lot at first glance. Features that lined up well enough but sat there without flare. He had a nice face. The regular brown of his eyes and hair and squareness of his jaw, straight brows, and crooked nose, all said: I’m here to do what needs to be done. You can probably trust me.