Somehow, Ryan manages to get them back to where they were before Dante pulled away. He’s not too sure what he’s doing—he’s never been this far before except in dreams, but his body reacts to Dante’s and his hands seem to know just where to touch, his lips just what to kiss. Every sigh, every moan, every gasp echoes Dante’s words, I love you—Ryan hears them in the rasp of skin on skin, feels them in the lips on his neck, the hands on his stomach. I love you. Ryan never imagined sweeter words and he whispers them himself, sighs them into the hollow of Dante’s throat, kisses them into the palm of his boyfriend’s hand. He imagines the words like water, washing away the pain and hurt trapped inside Dante’s heart, and his tongue licks along Dante’s collarbone, his n*****s, his chest, as if clean
