I was sitting on the sand, leaning back against one of the telephone pole-sized pylons that supported the pier. Not far away the surf slapped against the beach, driven in by the hard wind. Every now and then the spray reached me, like sharp stinging needles against my skin.

It was cold and the smell of rain hung thick in the air. The beach was deserted, the sunbathers at home, waiting for a better day.

I wasn't really sure why I was out there; I just knew I needed a little space.

About two month ago I thought I'd finally gotten what I wanted – Martin Fitzgerald. Fifty-two days, some hours ago I had been laying in Martin's bed, making love to him.

He told me the following morning that he wanted me for as long I'd have him.

Funny thing, though. That was the one and only time we touched each other, and I didn't know why.

It wasn't a lack of interest on my part. I was plenty interested. But by the Monday after our little sheet party, Martin had gone back to acting like he always had.

At first I thought it was just that he wasn't ready for anyone else to know about us. I was going to him about it, but then he took that tumble down the stairs and screwed himself up for a few days.

He'd only been back a day when I got a call. Rafi and his wife and son had been hit by a drunk driver. They were in the hospital, and Rafi busted up pretty badly.

Two days later, Martin the rest of the team arrived at the hospital, helping me keep up with the details, helping me take me care of Nicky, who, thank God, hadn't really been hurt. Finally, a week later, Nicky's mom was released and I took them home.

I hadn't wanted Martin and the others there. Too many bad memories from growing up poor, I guess. I didn't want to share that part of my past with them, any of them, especially Martin.

He grew up privileged. Poverty wasn't something he'd ever lived.

Cuban trash, that's what I'd heard from the first day I stepped into a school yard; five-years-old and about to get a hell of an education, but it wasn't all reading, writing, and mathematics.

I learned where my place was, what people thought of kids like me.

I would've been easier if Dad had stayed in the Cuban community, but he hadn't. He'd wanted Rafi and I me to grow up "American."

Anyway, to be honest, I didn't even think about the relationship I'd just started with Martin those first couple of weeks after the call. I was too busy waiting to see if Rafi was going to pull though.

There was just too damn much on my mind, and I was too embarrassed about where and how I'd grown up. And then there was my sister-in-law and Nicky to deal with. I love my family, but…

So, three weeks to the day I got the call about the accident I was back at work. And, as soon as I got back, I got another call, this time from my AA sponsor. He'd been offered a job in Seattle and was going to move. I couldn't believe it.

I don't have to tell you, I wasn't feeling real social right about then. I guess I kind of pulled back. Martin and I started talking less, didn't go out to eat together as often…

I guess it wasn't too much longer and I thought I was letting him go – for his own good.

Then Sam broke the news to me.

Now I'd known Martin was having issues with his meds for a while, so that wasn't the surprise. It was the fact that he'd sunk so far he was actually asking for help. That was a damn shock.

I tried to talk Sam into dealing with it herself, but she refused. Said he needed what I had to offer.

Hell, what can you say to that?

To be honest I wasn't sure if she meant because I'm in AA, or if she'd figured out what had happened between us.

All I knew was I didn't want to get that close to Martin again. If I did, I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep my hands off him. But she insisted, and I eventually gave in just to shut her up.

I gave Martin the info for an NA meeting, and left it up to him.

Bottom line? He surprised me. He was late, but he came. And he's gone to meetings almost every night now for almost two months, has a sponsor…

I'm proud of him.

So, with one thing and another, Martin and I had just fallen back into our old routines. It was like we'd never shared that night… never made love… never made the kinds of promises we'd made the following morning.

It wasn't what I wanted, and it wasn't what I thought he wanted, but it was the way things were.

Earlier today I saw him with a woman. She was pretty, too – a young blonde, petite and well-endowed. Seeing her holding onto his arm sent a jolt of jealousy right through my heart, but there wasn't anything I could do about it.

Hell, it wasn't like he couldn't have come to me, right?

I tried a couple of times to bring it up, but he acted like he didn't have a fucking clue what I was talking about, so I stopped trying.

But I was hurting.

I'd wanted Martin for a long time when we first made love. It was like everything was finally coming together just right… Then all hell broke lose with his fall, the accident, the drugs…

Hell, who was I kidding?

Maybe Martin had just changed his mind. Maybe he'd thought about it and decided he didn't want a relationship with another man – with me.

He had a right to change his mind, but I sure wasn't happy about it.

Which was why I was sitting out there in the cold, trying to decide what I should do: just pretend like nothing had happened, or confront him about it and ask him straight out if we—

But what could I ask? If we'd fucked up? If it had all been a mistake? If he'd meant a damn word of what he'd said to me that morning?

I was still sitting there, trying to decide what to do when it started to rain.

You know, it's funny. When I need to think I like to find some water – ocean, river… but not rain. I hate the rain.

By the time I was on my feet and headed back to the car it was pouring.

I was soaking wet by the time I reached the car, my teeth already starting to chatter. I grabbed the handle and pulled, but it was locked.

I cursed and pounded on the top of the car, then began digging into my pockets. I heard the door locks pop up and frowned, jerking the car door open and leaning over to see who was inside.

Martin was sitting there, laughing at me. "Sorry, I thought you'd have your keys out," he said, still smiling.

I shook my head. "W-why w-would I d-do something as r-r-reasonable as that?" I asked, my whole body shaking, my teeth chattering.

Martin's smile faded. "Christ, Danny, get in here."

I slid in and gripped the steering wheel, my whole body starting to shake.

Martin pointed to a small hotel across the street. "Can you drive that far?" he asked.

I nodded and tried to put the key in the ignition, but my hand was shaking too badly. He took it from me and slid it in.

I drove across the street and pulled up right in front of the entrance.

"Stay put!" he scolded me, then slid out and dashed for the door, disappearing inside. He was back a few minutes later, bolting to the car and sliding in as fast as he could.

"Around back," he instructed and I managed to put the car in reverse and make it around to the back side of the three story building.

"Come on," he said, "you need a shower before you turn blue."

I nodded and climbed from the car, following him straight to a door. He opened it while I stood there, dripping. I left a trail of water behind me as I followed him into the room. It was nicer than I expected – the kind of place I wouldn't normally stay at because I would've had to pay too much.

But all I wanted right then was to get under a stream of hot water and get warm again.

Martin pointed at the bathroom, saying, "Go!"

I went.

I must have stood in that shower for a good half an hour before I finally felt sort of warm again. I eventually got out and pulled on a thick robe that was hanging behind the door, then grabbed a couple of towels and went out to wipe up the water I'd trailed in, but Martin had already done it, so I put the towels back up and headed into the main room to thank him.

He was sitting in a chair, open newspaper on his lap, the television playing CNN. He looked up, meeting my eyes. I wished I could've read into that look what I wanted to see, something more than concern, but I couldn't.

"Feel better?" he asked.

I nodded. "Thanks for getting the floor. I was going to do it."

He shrugged. "No problem. I put some coffee on; it's probably ready. You should have some. It'll help warm you up."

"Thanks," I said again, then walked over to the counter where the coffeemaker was and poured myself a cup. I took it over to one of the two beds and sat down. Picking up the TV remote I surfed through the channels, finally settling back on CNN.

Sipping on my coffee, I half-listened to the news while I considered again what I was going to do about Martin and me.

About an hour later Martin finished with the paper. He stood and left, coming back a few minutes later with my clothes, now dry.

"They have washers and dryers," he said, handing them over. "Uh, you want to go get some dinner?"

"We can just order pizza delivered," I said. I wasn't feeling all that good, and didn't want to go back out.

He nodded and made the call. I took the opportunity to get dressed.

When he was done, he came back and sat back down in the chair. "They said it'll be about twenty minutes to half an hour."

"Sounds good," I said, reaching back to fish my wallet out, but my pocket was empty.

He held up his hand to stop me. "This one's on me. You get the next one." He pointed to the nightstand that rested between the two queen-sized beds in the room. "Stuff from your pockets is all over there."

"Thanks." I got up and refilled my pockets, then we watched TV together until the pizza arrived, both of us finishing off a cup of coffee while we waited.

When the knock came at the door, Martin went up to get the food and pay the delivery boy. I slipped out and went to the soda machine, picking up drinks for both of us.

I took them back, finding the door was ajar. I pushed it open and walked in, then closed it and locked it.

The pizza place must make a lot of deliveries to the hotel, because they had included paper plates and plenty of napkins.

Martin put the box on one of the beds, and opened it, pulling out two slices – one for him and one for me. He handed me one of the plates and I passed him one of the sodas in trade.

I paused, saying, "Damn, I didn't think about your stomach problems. We can—"

"It's okay," he said. "It's gotten a lot better recently."

"You sure?"

He nodded and we settled in to enjoy the pizza while the news droned on. Martin finally grabbed the remote and flipped over to an action movie that had just started.

When the food was gone, I carried everything over to the counter, tossing my plate and empty can and leaving the empty pizza box on the counter next to the coffeemaker.

"You want to head back, or stay here and drive back in the morning?" Martin asked.

I felt okay, just a little tired, and still a little cold. "Uh, you mind if we stay? I mean, I'll stay. You can go back now if you want to, or you stay and we can drive back tomorrow." I thought for a moment, then asked. "Where's your car?"

"Right next to where you were parked at the beach," he said.

"Damn, Martin, you might not have a car tomorrow," I scolded.

He shrugged. "Company car," was all he said.

I took another hot shower, then pulled on my briefs and climbed into bed. I wasn't any closer to resolving the situation between us, but at least it didn't seem to make any difference in how we got along. Grateful for that, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

When I woke the next morning, my throat was sore and I had a dry but persistent cough. Damn, I thought, I was catching a freaking cold. I hadn't had a cold in years.

But at least all of our cases were wrapped up, so this was as good a time to get one as any.

I climbed out of bed at six, showered again and dressed.

Martin took one look at me once he had showered and dressed and asked, "You getting sick?"

"Probably just a cold," I told him. "You want to grab something to eat here, or wait until we're back in the city?"

"Here," he said. "You can get some orange juice. The vitamin C might help."

"I'm fine," I argued.

"You don't look fine," he said, stepping up next to me and pressing his hand to my cheek. "You've got a fever."

"I feel fine, really," I assured him.

"You're not fine," Martin corrected me.

Hell, it was argue or give in to the inevitable, so I gave in. Besides, I was starting to feel shitty.

We ate, then I followed him back into the city. Luckily, his car had survived a night on the beach. We split up inside the city, him heading to his home, me to mine.

Well, as it turned out I had one nasty cold. It took me eight days to get over it, and by then it had turned into bronchitis. First time in my life, and the last, I hope.

I went to see the doctor, who put me on antibiotics.

The first batch didn't do a damned thing to stop the thing trying to take over my chest, so they gave me something stronger, but that had my stomach turning flips every time I tried to move. I had a fever for a while, too, ached like hell, and generally wished I could just curl up and die.

I hadn't expected it, but somewhere along the way Martin turned up at my door. He took one look at me and moved it. Took good care of me, too, but there were times it just made me sad.

I'd thought that maybe, just maybe, he might try a little TLC to help me out, but it didn't happen.

Luckily, a third round of antibiotics did the trick and, after a few days, I was starting to feel better. I chased him off, not wanting to put him out any more than I already had. After all, I'd only helped him out for one night. He'd been at my place for three or four days.

I went back to work, but Jack ran me off after just a couple of hours.

All in all, it took about a month before I was back to normal.

By that time I'd decided the best thing for me to do was just forget anything had ever happened between Martin and me. He seemed happy enough.

So, month or so later, both of us decide to run in a 6K to help raise money for a charity program that helps foster kids. He started coming over before work to run with me, or when we were done for the day if a case kept us too busy.

I remember one time, I think it was the third of fourth time he'd come over, we raced the last few blocks back to my place.

"Good run," he said.

"Yep," I told him, pulling up the bottom of my T-shirt to wipe off my face. He grinned at me and I felt that longing ache that I'd finally gotten used to swell up, a little too strong. "Want to get some Chinese delivered?" I asked.

"Sure," he said. "But, uh, can I borrow your spare shower?"

I nodded and we went inside. I headed for the phone and made the call, then went to my room, grabbing some old clothes and tossing them onto my bed before heading for my shower. When I was clean again, I dried and walked out to get dressed. I could hear that Martin still in the half-bath, and for some reason it made me half-sad, half-mad.

I guess I'd been ignoring the way I felt for too long. Or maybe I was just feeling lonely. But in either case, I dressed and headed out, determined to bring our non-relationship up in conversation, one way or the other.

We were sitting, eating the takeout, when I finally got the opening I'd been looking for.

"Oh, Gwen up in the AV lab asked about doing a few practice runs with us before the event," Martin said, then grinned. "I didn't think you'd mind."

"No, I don't mind," I agreed. "Guess she's hoping to spend some time with you, huh?"

His grin grew wider. "Not me, Lover Boy."

I shrugged. "Can't be me, I don't know her all that well."

His smile faded for a moment, but then it was back. "Guess this is your chance to fix that."

We ate in silence for a few more minutes, then Martin asked me, "So, are you seeing anyone these days?"

"No," was all I said.

He nodded and we went back to eating. I watched him from the corner of my eye and he was watching me. I felt a little bad. I knew I wasn't making it easy, but I hadn't wanted to.

When we finished I made us some ginger tea and we took that into the living room. "So, how about you, are you seeing anyone?"

Martin shook his head. "Tried a few times, but…" He shook his head. "It's hard to explain scars like that."

I shrugged. "Oh, I don't know, seems to me women like the whole James Bond thing."

He sighed. "I don't know. It just seems like… I don't know. I guess I've started thinking that it ought to really mean something…" He snorted softly and shook his head.

"You talking about lifetime commitments and kids and that kind of thing?" I asked.

He smiled. "Yeah, I guess I am." The smile faded and he held my gaze as he asked, "Danny, are you happy?"

That kind of surprised me, but I was honest with him. "Happy enough, I guess."

He considered that for a moment, then nodded to himself. "Guess that means you don't think about meeting Miss Right, settling down, getting married, having a few kids…"

"Sometimes," I admitted.

"I guess I'm thinking about that more…"

"Might be a side-effect of almost dying," I suggested.

He nodded again. "Wish we—?" He stopped and looked down, staring intently into his tea.

"Yeah," I replied.

He glanced up at me, his eyes rounded a little. "What?"

I dipped my head and shrugged, not looking at him as I said, "Well, I might be wrong here, but I thought you were going ask if I wished you and I had followed through, like we'd said we wanted to. And, if that's the case, then the answer's yes, I wish we had."

His mouth fell open and he set his cup down on the coffee table. Then he leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. I knew what that posture meant, too. He was willing to talk, but he wasn't real comfortable with it.

"You do?" he asked.

"Yes, I do."

He stared at me for a moment, probably trying to decide if I was being honest. I was. With a long sigh he asked, "So, why didn't we?"

"Hell if I know," I replied. "Guess life got a little… complicated, and we changed our minds."

"Did you change your mind?"

I hesitated, because I didn't want to lie to him. "No."

He sighed again, reaching up to rub his hand over the back of his neck. "I didn't either."

"Funny," I said before I could stop myself, "it didn't look like that to me."

He looked up again, anger briefly flaring his eyes, then it was gone. "No, I guess it wouldn't have," he admitted. "Hell, Danny, I don't know what happened. Things happened… The timing didn't seem right, not after the pills… After a while it seemed like a good idea to forget about it."

"You really want to do that?" I asked him.

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. I've never forgotten, I just thought— Look, I haven't had much luck with long-term relationships. And you just didn't strike me as the long-term type – you and that little black book. I guess I just figured you'd see it as a fling, but you wouldn't want to commit."

"I never went looking for that, Martin," I told him. "I know what I want now, and I'm not going to settle for anything less. No point to it – it won't last."

"What do you want?"

"You."

"Me…" Martin stood and paced. "Danny, I'm not the man I used to be."

"I love the man you are, Martin."

"But the pills—"

"And I'm an alcoholic. Fine. So we both have issues. Who doesn't?"

"What about—?"

"What?"

"What about the shooting?" he asked.

"What about it? When do you think I figured out what I was feeling?"

"I'm—"

"Damaged? Martin, we all are."

"My scars are a little more obvious."

"I don't care about the scars on the outside, Martin. Look, I'm not asking you for anything here, okay? You asked me a question, I answered it. That's all. You told me that morning you had feelings for me, and I told you I felt the same way – end of discussion. If your feelings have changed, that's fine. It happens. But mine haven't. I've been trying to say that for a while now, but I didn't know how. Now I have."

Martin was quiet for a bit, but he kept pacing. Then he stopped and met my eyes. "It scared me, Danny, it really scared me."

"Why?"

"I don't know," he replied. "It felt so good… so right… But I guess I feel like I let you down…" He dropped back onto the sofa.

"How'd you let me down?"

"The pills, man. The addiction," he told me. "I felt like I was just rubbing it in your face."

I laughed. "Martin, I saw that coming for a while, okay? I wanted to help you, I really did, but I knew you weren't going to listen to me. I knew – from personal experience – that I'd have to wait until you reached out and asked for help. I was hoping you'd ask me, and when you turned to Sam—"

"Sam?" He shook his head. "That was just an accident. I mean, she just happened to be the one who came by that day… It could've been anybody. I just knew I needed help, but I didn't know what to do."

"Well, it doesn't really matter," I told him, glad that he hadn't actually reached out to Sam the way I'd thought he had. "All that matters now is that we're here for each other. You do what you have to do in order to stay sober."

"Like you do."

I nodded.

"I guess the question now is: where do we go from here?"

"Where do you want to go?" I asked him.

He thought for a moment, then said, "I'd like to try again."

"What, sex or a relationship?"

He blushed. "Uh… both?"

"Both," I echoed. "What about the settling down and getting married and having kids part?"

"Danny, I could settle down with you… and we could get married – in Massachusetts," he said, looking hopefully at me.

I grinned. "You have to live in the state to get married there. But there's always a commitment ceremony…"

"That would do," he said. "And as far as kids go… Well, there's always adoption, or foster children…"

That rounded my eyes. "You're serious."

"I am," he said. "Damn it, Danny, don't you think I've wanted to be with you every day since—?"

"Like I said, things were… complicated."

His eyes narrowed. "When you got sick— Why were you out there on that beach?"

I thought about lying again, but I couldn't do it. "Water helps me think. I was sitting out there, trying to come up with a way to ask you if you still wanted me, or if you thought the whole thing had been a mistake."

"Why didn't you?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "Just couldn't find a way to do it that I was comfortable with."

"We're two sorry excuses for lovers, aren't we?" he asked, then chuckled.

I shrugged. "Guess we just need some practice."

I felt something inside me start to thaw, to move… to live again. While I was realizing that fact, Martin moved, grabbing my wrist and pulling me over to sit with him on the sofa.

He pulled me into a kiss that was demanding and hungry. He wanted to be sure, and so did I, so I returned his passion with an equal measure of my own.

We each finally pulled apart a minute or so later, both of us panting a little, our faces red.

Martin grinned at me. "So, you want to take this into the bedroom?"

"Beats rolling around on the floor," I replied.

We stood, and I was feeling like a kid on his first date – nervous and scared at the same time.

We walked back to my bedroom. Clothes were quickly pulled off, Martin stopping with his T-shirt still on. I glanced down and saw he was already more than half hard.

I knew this wasn't going to be a long, slow bout of love-making. Both of us were getting hard, and we wanted to fuck – and the sooner the better. But I wanted him to know that I didn't care about the scars.

I reached out, taking hold of the bottom of the T-shirt and lifting it up. He raised his arms, letting me pull it off over his head.

They aren't that bad, but I could see how they might take somebody by surprise if you didn't know what to expect. But I'd been there that night. I'd held my own coat over those bleeding wounds, trying to staunch the blood. I'd seen it when the paramedics had arrived, cutting away Martin's shirt… The scars were nothing compared to the wounds I'd seen that night.

We climbed onto my bed, and I remembered again just how beautiful he is –brown hair, light blue eyes, handsome face… His tongue flicked over his lips with a hint of expectation, and I just couldn't hold myself back.

I moved to his cock and took him into my mouth, wishing I could make my actions slow and easy, but I couldn't.

It felt like I'd no more than started, and he was already telling me to stop. I knew we were both close, but I hadn't realized just how close.

I only stopped because I wanted him inside me – and me inside him.

I grabbed the lube and the condoms, then lay down on the bed. "Want you, baby," I told him.

He swallowed hard and nodded.

He was careful, though, sinking his finger into me, working me up to the edge of a climax. When my cock started leaking he pulled out and put on a condom.

I lay there, waiting, feeling really good for the first time in a long while.

Poised at my rim, he looked down at me and I was immediately lost in those blue eyes of his. He pushed his way into me, moaning appreciatively as his dick slid up my chute. Our bodies fit together perfectly, and every move led to another, building to a rhythm that was better than any drug- or alcohol-induced high could ever hope to be.

While he pumped my ass, he took hold of my cock and started working it. I told him I loved him right then and there – several times, and in at least two languages.

When we came, it was simultaneous. I watched myself come all over his chest as I felt him exploded into the condom. Afterward, we fell asleep in each other's arms, just like we had that night.

The last thing I remembered was his warmth against me, the rise and fall of his chest, the promise of something just begun again.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

When I awoke it was the next morning. Martin was gone, but there was a note next to the light on the nightstand: Be right back. Wait for me just like you are. M

I headed for the bathroom and a long pee, then went back to bed and climbed in. I stroked my dick as I pictured what Martin might have in mind and I had a good hard-on going by the time the door opened and he came in.

"Where'd you go?" I asked.

He held up a bag. "Breakfast – coffee and doughnuts."

Martin took off his jacket, then came over to the bed and sat down beside me, running his hand down my cheek.

"Better get out of the rest of those clothes," I told him.

He set the bag on the nightstand, then undressed and slid into the bed, taking me in his arms. He reached down under the blankets and found my cock, murmuring his approval.

After a long kiss he said, "Let's make our own breakfast."

He pulled back the covers, stroked me a few times, then lowered his mouth onto me and began to suck.

And damn if Martin didn't take me to our own little island of bliss. Everything in me relaxed and became fluid in his hands, even while my cock stayed hard.

When he finally pulled away he said, "I know what you need."

He rolled a condom down my shaft and took his time adding lube. "Just lie there," he said as he turned and straddled me. Then, in a slow-motion move that just about made me come right there on the spot, he lowered himself to a squatting position, holding his ass cheeks open, butt thrust out at me. I stared at his rosy pucker, watched it open and close, then slowly work its way down onto my shaft.

"Oh yeah," Martin murmured when he was firmly anchored. For a few seconds he just hung there and I knew he was feeling the same thing I was. We were home now, connected as we were meant to be.

Then he began to squeeze me, his ass muscles clenching rhythmically until I told him with a half-laugh "Fuck me," because I was going to come if he didn't stop doing that.

He kept on for some time and I realized that, no matter what I did, my climax was a ways off. But it didn't matter. I wanted this to last, and Martin seemed like he'd be content to have my cock in him forever.

But I was drowning in need by the time he finally started to bounce and wiggle. I groaned my approval, and he did an about-face so his dick was finally pointing at me. I watched it flop up and down as he rammed my prick up his ass.

Finally, I reached down and held his balls so I could watch our connection. I'd never been much of a voyeur until then, but right then all I wanted was to see it happening, to see every inch of my dick sliding into him, watch his ass swallowing it all.

I pulled an extra pillow up under my head so I could relax as I enjoyed the show.

"That's so good," I told him. I had to say it, to let him know how important the connection was to me. "You're beautiful," I added, reaching out to finger one of his nipples. "I want to stay inside you forever."

He squeezed his muscles in response and I let out a groan.

"Make me come," I said. "Fuck it out of me."

He grinned, adjusted his squat for more leverage, and began to ride me. I started getting verbal, telling him over and over what it felt like. When I let go, I bucked up into him so hard the bed started squeaking.

"Do it," he coaxed. "Give it to me… Oh, yeah…"

He didn't grab his cock until I was done, and I thrust into him until I was dry. When I finally settled back he took hold of himself and started pumping. Seconds later he was shooting onto my stomach.

When he finished, he slumped forward, smearing spunk between us while my spent dick slid out of him.

He kissed my neck, nuzzled next to my ear, and I could feel his cock was still more than half hard. "I'm not hungry yet, how about you?" he asked.

"Nope," I replied.

"Guess we're just going to have to keep at it until we work up an appetite."

I grinned. "Think I can manage that."

"Hmm, I was hoping you'd say that." He reached for another condom, rolling it onto himself this time, then adding some lube in long slow stroke that had him hard again.

He turned me over and lifted my hips. I felt the first kiss of pressure against my puckered rim, then he thrust his hips forward, burying himself in my ass. I was so relaxed he made it in halfway on that one thrust.

He ground his way in farther, filling me up as I groaned and gasped for breath. There was no pain, though, just immediate, intense gratification.

I pressed back against him, sinking him in a little more as I felt his moist, wiry pubic hair on my ass. Martin leaned over, his muscular body pressing along my bare, wet back. His breath was hot against my ear when he said, "I love you, and I could stay right here forever, too."

"Love me, Martin," I told him.

He lifted himself up and pulled out so only his head was still trapped inside my body. He thrust forward again with the full force of his body and I knew he was watching that distended, heavily veined shaft disappear into the tight grip of my ass.

He pounded me hard, ramming his cock into me until I was bucking and groaning, my own cock hard and leaking again.

I concentrated on tightening my muscles like he had, creating a smooth sucking sensation that made him slam into me with abandon, plowing me again and again as he strained to get every inch of his hard cock inside of me.

I bucked back each time he slammed into me, wanting more. Then he was leaning over me again, his hips jerking wildly, his hand on my cock. He jerked me in time to the rhythm of his hips and it was only seconds before I was shooting into his hand.

As soon as I started, he dove in as deeply as he could and started firing off his own load, both of us grunting.

We collapsed, lying there until we'd caught our breaths.

We talked for a while, being honest about our feelings. It was one of those one-time things, but we needed to do it. Then we got up and took a shower, got dressed, changed the sheets, and finally grabbed the bag and took it down to the kitchen. We tossed the cold coffee and made fresh while we ate the doughnuts.

After breakfast we went for a run. Things were good, damned good. And they still are.

Oh, sometimes the kids make us want to pull our hair out, but that's just the way kids are.

But I'm sober, I'm happy, and I'm in love, and I know he's all those things, too. It might have been a rocky start, but it's been smooth sailing for a few years now. And those scars… Well, those scars are my touchstones – always will be.

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