Read The Best Man: Part Three (FINAL) for Free Online Page A

he’s being worshiped while Patrick kisses him and feels him and doesn’t rush to fuck him, content to lay here and learn each other, the rise and valley of each other’s bodies, the curve of muscle and the edge of bone, the taste of tongue and lips and the breathy sighs of pleasure. Patrick drags his hand through Noah’s hair and over his jaw and down his side and his thigh, pulls him in so they’re close, pressed together, a connection so intense Noah can’t breathe and Patrick soothes him, kisses his cheeks and his eyelids and his brows, trails fingers over his tummy and his chest, glides a thumb over his collarbone.
    He retrieves lube and a condom from the bedside drawer and he kisses Noah through the sensation of pushing lube into his hole, working him open again, stretching him with one finger, and then two, catching his prostate this time, as if pressing apology into him for purposely avoiding it earlier, sucking kisses into Noah’s jaw as Noah arches up into the pleasure of it. Then he sits up and watches with what can only be described as pure adoration in his eyes as Noah rolls the condom on for him, getting his hands on Patrick’s dick for the first time, stroking it and wringing pleasure from it and the adoration in Patrick’s eyes turns to hunger. He presses Noah back down on the bed and settles between his thighs, Noah lifting his legs and wrapping them around his back, and then Patrick lifts Noah’s arms above his head and pins both wrists to the pillow with one hand, uses his other to guide his dick to Noah’s hole, pushes in, one long thrust that has them both groaning.
    Noah stares up into Patrick’s eyes as their hips start rocking together, and then Patrick dips down to kiss him, and their matching rhythm builds a wave of bliss within Noah that has him breathing into Patrick’s mouth, their lips slack together. Patrick releases his wrists and hooks both hands under Noah’s shoulders, pulls him in close, Noah clinging to Patrick’s back and holding on as the rhythm picks up pace and Patrick’s fucking into him now only it doesn’t feel like fucking—it’s purer than that, deeper, the emotion of it hitting Noah in the chest and making Patrick bury his face in Noah’s neck.
    They come together in a shuddering, burning rush of rapture that has them pressing and clinging close, breathing into each other’s skin, not the moment for screaming and shouting, the carnal release of fucking. This is different, this is a higher breed of bliss, this is two men dragging pleasure from each other’s bodies and saturating with it.
    They kiss for a long time when it’s over, and when Patrick lifts his face away, his eyes are dark and warm and seeing nothing but Noah, so many emotions swirling within them that Noah doesn’t know how much of it is real, how much of it is the reflection of his own feelings.
    He lifts a hand and trails fingers over Patrick’s brow, whispers, “Everything’s so messed up.”
    “For now,” Patrick murmurs, then he turns his face to the palm Noah places on his cheek, kisses the skin there, nuzzles into it. “Things will work out in the end.” He kisses Noah again, presses emotion into his mouth, then he rests his forehead against Noah’s and tightens his arms around him, closes his eyes.
    “You’re not marrying him, Noah,” he says
    And all Noah can think to say, the only thing that makes sense, is: “I know.”
    * * * * *
    Noah wakes up to a warm body wrapped all around him and he smiles without opening his eyes, snuggles in further, sighs in contentment as those arms tighten around him, pull him close.
    Then he hears a shift of movement that doesn’t come from the bed, and he opens his eyes, a sudden spike of dread piercing through his chest and sending shockwaves of panic throughout his entire body.
    Connor’s standing in the room, at the foot of the bed. His eyes as he gazes down at them both are staggeringly dead and empty.
    “Connor—”
    Connor turns