It wasn't just the sex with Byron and Requiem, it was that tonight, for the first time, I'd let Jean-Claude into my head as far as he could go. Define embrace, Richard said, and his voice was thick with effort, as if he were holding back his side of some huge weight, and maybe he was. He was pale enough that his freckles stood out on his skin like ink spots. I let that go.
Until the thick, solid length of him pressed between us, pinned against my stomach by the push of our bodies. Our fear had found a cause to wrap itself around. He picked him up by the front of his jacket until his feet dangled off the ground, and he was probably choking on his own collar. He stood up still cuffed to the chair.
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