Chapter 3: Midnight Devotion
They woke in the deep dark, the kind that only settles on islands after midnight. Riley felt it first—a shift in the warmth against him, the steady heartbeat under his palm changing its rhythm. Paul stirred, a slow, luxurious stretch that pressed the full, soft curve of his ass back against Riley’s groin. A low sound, half-sigh, half-moan, vibrated through him.
Then came the kisses. Soft, sleep-wet presses against Riley’s jaw, his stubble catching on Paul’s lips. They were languid, unhurried. The clock on the nightstand glowed 10:03.
“Mmm. Riley.” Paul’s voice was gravel, warmed by dreams. His hand slid up Riley’s arm, fingertips tracing the sinew and old scars.
“Yeah?” Riley’s own voice was thick.
“I’m hungry,” Paul murmured, but he arched back, nestling closer. He made no move to get up. His hair smelled like their pillow, like sleep, like home.
Riley groaned, tightening his arm around Paul’s waist, pulling him flush. Their bodies aligned, heat radiating through thin cotton. He nuzzled into the nape of Paul’s neck, inhaling the sacred, sweaty skin there. “I can tell.”
He felt Paul’s smile against his bicep. Then Paul turned his head, seeking Riley’s mouth. Their lips met in a kiss that was all slow, drugged warmth. No urgency, just a rediscovery. Riley licked into his mouth, tasting sleep and something uniquely Paul—a faint hint of the communion wine he’d sipped earlier, sweet and dark.
The kiss deepened. Became something else. Paul’s hand, which had been splayed on Riley’s arm, drifted down. Over the hard plane of his chest, the taut stomach, leaving a trail of fire. It slipped beneath the waistband of Riley’s boxers, fingers curling around him.
Riley gasped, a sharp, bitten-off sound in the quiet room. He was already fully hard, achingly so, his cock pulsing in Paul’s firm grip. He bucked his hips involuntarily, driving himself deeper into that perfect fist.
“Fuck,” Riley breathed against his mouth.
Paul squeezed, a slow, knowing pressure. He twisted his head to look at Riley, his eyes black in the dim light. “I love you,” he whispered, the words gravelly and absolutely serious. His thumb smeared the bead of wetness already gathered at the tip. “I want to spend forever with you. Right here.”
It was the forever that did it. The word that had once meant cursed immortality now meant this. Sheets. Sweat. The two of them.
Riley moved. He rolled Paul onto his back, coming over him, caging him in. The candlelight danced over Paul’s face, over the soft swell of his chest where it rose and fell rapidly. Riley pushed the old t-shirt up, revealing the full, pale curves of his breasts, the nipples dark and already pebbled tight. He bent his head and took one into his mouth, sucking hard, nipping with his teeth.
Paul cried out, back arching off the mattress. His hands flew to Riley’s head, fingers tangling in the short, dark hair. “Yes, oh god, yes…”
Riley lavished attention on one then the other, his tongue circling, his mouth hungry. He could feel Paul’s hips rocking up, seeking friction. He slid a hand down Paul’s stomach, over the softness of his belly, past the line of coarse hair, and found the wet heat between his legs.
Paul was soaking. Riley’s fingers slid through slick folds, finding the swollen, rigid nub of his clit. He rubbed it, a firm, circular motion that made Paul sob and clutch at the sheets.
“Please, Riley, please, I need you inside me,” Paul begged, his legs falling open wider. “Now. I can’t wait.”
Riley kissed him, hard, swallowing his pleas. He shoved his own boxers down, his cock springing free, thick and heavy. He positioned himself, the broad head nudging against Paul’s entrance. He looked down, watching as he pushed in.
The initial stretch was always breathtaking. Paul was tight, perfectly so, and Riley was not small. He breached him slowly, a relentless, burning inch, letting Paul’s body adjust, the velvety walls fluttering and clinging to him. Paul’s eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth open in a silent ‘o’ of profound sensation.
“Look at me,” Riley commanded, his voice ragged.
Paul’s eyes flew open, glassy with want. Riley pushed the rest of the way in, a long, smooth slide until he was buried to the hilt, their hips locked together. They both groaned, a duet of raw completion.
He stayed there, trembling, feeling Paul’s inner muscles pulse around him. He bent to kiss him, sloppy and deep. “You feel so fucking good,” Riley muttered into his mouth. “So goddamn perfect. Made for me.”
“I was,” Paul panted, wrapping his legs around Riley’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back. “I am. Move. Please, baby, move.”
Riley pulled out almost all the way, then drove back in. It set a rhythm—deep, punishing strokes that shook the bedframe, that punched ragged gasps from Paul’s lungs. The room filled with the sound of it: the slap of skin, the creak of wood, their labored breathing, the wet, filthy sound of Riley’s cock pistoning in and out of Paul’s drenched cunt.
Riley fucked him with a focused intensity, each thrust aiming for the deepest part of him. He watched Paul’s face, watched his tits bounce with every drive, the large, dark nipples begging for attention. He leaned down to capture one in his mouth again, sucking fiercely as he hammered into him.
“Oh, god, right there, right fucking there!” Paul screamed, his hands scrabbling at Riley’s back. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop!”
Riley was lost in it. The heat, the tightness, the sounds Paul was making—high, desperate whines that bordered on sobs. He could feel his own orgasm coiling, a white-hot wire in his gut. He reached between them, his fingers finding Paul’s clit again, slippery and swollen.
“Come for me,” Riley grunted, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, less controlled. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”
It was all Paul needed. His body went rigid, his back bowing off the mattress. A broken, shattered cry tore from his throat as his cunt clamped down on Riley in a series of violent, rippling contractions. The squeeze was exquisite, milking him, pulling his own release up and out of him.
Riley drove in one last, searing time and held, buried as deep as he could go. He came with a guttural roar, pumping his seed into Paul’s clutching heat, pulse after hot, endless pulse. He collapsed on top of him, spent, their sweat-slicked chests heaving together.
For long minutes, there was only the sound of their breathing slowing. The candle guttered. Riley, softened, slipped out of him, followed by a warm trickle onto the sheets. He didn’t care. He rolled to the side, gathering Paul against him, his face in his hair.
Paul’s hand rested low on his own stomach, over the soft place where Riley had just emptied himself. His touch was thoughtful, almost reverent.
“Forever,” Paul whispered again, drowsy now, sated.
Riley kissed his temple, tasting salt. He thought of the empty, desperate eternity Paul had once offered, and then of this—a finite, numbered series of nights exactly like this one. It was no contest.
Outside, a bell rang once, faint and clear across the sleeping island. A call to a service that had already ended. In this room, a different kind of communion held, sticky and quiet and complete.
Riley held the man who contained multitudes—priest, father, lover, sinner, saint—and knew, with a certainty that was bone-deep, that he would trade every concept of heaven for this single, mortal man’s heartbeat against his own. He held him until Paul’s breathing evened out into sleep, and then he held him longer, listening to the waves against the shore, keeping watch over their small, imperfect paradise.