Mark trailed his fingertips over Weston’s face, along his brow, cheekbone, lower lip. He seemed fascinated by the texture of his stubble, stroking it over and over and over again before finally reaching up and running his tongue along it as well. All the while, he never loosened his grip on Weston’s ass, thrusting upward to meet the pushes down.
“Love you so much,” Mark said softly. “You’ll always be the most beautiful thing in the world to me.”
Weston closed his eyes, an indefinable sadness rolling through him. Why now? Why do this now and not, say, five years ago? But Mark had already answered that question, in a way. Because he had been looking for a substitute. As had Weston.
He blindly sought out Mark’s mouth with his own. It would be easier that way. Easier if he didn’t have to ta
