Is Tú Mo Ghrá

Noah

One year later from beginning of book.

“Happy retirement!” our friends cheer for maybe the dozenth time. I grin, raising my glass in the air and look at Demi.

His gaze rarely leaves me and fuck, does it make me hot all over. His hand is under my skirt, on my partially bare ass.

Yes, I’m wearing a skirt in front of other people. It’s just our friends on the Opulence, though. I’m not sure why I put it on this morning. The bathing suit I’m wearing covers half my ass while sitting low on my hips, I love how it makes my ass cheeks look.

While I’m not really conscious of trying to be modest now that I have a boyfriend, there was just something niggling inside me that made me want to cover up a bit. So, though my stomach flipped so violently I was sure I might be sick, I slipped into the little pleated jean skirt that falls just below my ass cheeks.

A happy coincidence is that Demi hasn’t taken his hand off my ass all day.

I kiss his lips, sighing into him as I sink back onto his lap again. With one hand permanently under my skirt, the other brushes my cheek with such soft reverence, I can almost feel how he feels about me like an echo in my chest.

I’m breathless. Always trying to catch my breath when it comes to him.

“Go, Max!”

I break away and look at Max. Physically, he looks the same. But everything about him is just… different. He meets my eyes, amused but looking almost exasperated. I grin, nodding, encouraging him to take the microphone.

Max does with a sigh and gets to his feet.

When we got together months ago for the first time since he vanished, he assured me he was fine. Or at least he was on his way to becoming fine. I’d always suspected that Max’s antics were a cry for attention. Any attention. He said as much when we had dinner.

He said that the video leaking was probably the worst and the best thing that’s ever happened to him. It forced him to reexamine his life. To make some changes. He had to decide what was important to him.

Everything about him had looked weary and just… tired. I left feeling only slightly better. I had seen him and he was okay. But I wasn’t sure how far that okay went.

But now, almost a year after the incident, Max is a new person. A different person. It’s almost unsettling to see how incredibly different he is.

However, there’s a smile on his face and he’s laughing again. The exhaustion that was so deeply rooted in his eyes has lifted. He’s relaxed.

He’s happy.

And he’s not a fucking wild card anymore. There’s little drinking, and he doesn’t walk around naked. Though he’s back to teasing and having a good time but with more control.

When he gets up on the little stage with the microphone in hand, there’s no butchering Gaga. Not this time. I’m surprised to find that he has a great singing voice.

“I’m shook,” Owen says, shaking his head. “He’s on key, not slurring, and only singing one song at a time.”

I chuckle and shove him. “Stop. Max is in a good place.”

Owen smiles. I don’t miss the way it feels fond and relieved. I think that’s how we all feel to see this new Max. As weird as it is, it still feels like a breath of fresh air. There’s no more worry that he’s going to get fired or hurt or create an international scandal.

Getting to my feet, I pull Demi with me. “Come on, sexy. Let’s dance.”

Demi doesn’t like to dance. He’ll humor me until enough people crowd around that he thinks I won’t notice, and he can sneak off. As if I’m not going to notice.

I’ve decided that he’s not the biggest fan of dancing because it’s the one area he doesn’t feel the most confident in. Not going to lie, my man doesn’t have much rhythm. Which I find cute as fuck. So while he sets his hands on my hips and moves awkwardly, I shimmy my ass and rub all against him with my arms around his neck and our mouths a breath apart.

“I love you,” I say, not sure he can actually hear the words.

Maybe he can; maybe he can’t. Maybe he’s just used to me saying them every hour because his response is immediate. “I love you.”

We dance for a while and as predicted, when others crowd around us, Demi leans in and says in my ear, “I’ll be back in a bit. I need to do something.”

I kiss him and watch him go. At least he pretends to actually go do something as he leaves the room entirely. I turn and come face to face with Roux. He smiles and I wrap my arms around him instead. Is it weird dancing with my boyfriend’s brother? A little. But he feels like a brother to me too, so I don’t think much of it.

No, wait. That makes this more awkward.

“Excited to be back on board with so many ‘sports guys’?” I ask.

Roux rolls his eyes. “You’re a means to an end,” he says, smirking.

“You’re really staying on Kala for a month?” I ask. “Alone?”

He nods. “Alone,” he says firmly. Gabe is right there. They’ve been hanging out on the yacht again, and I think we can all tell that Gabe has it bad for our little college student. I feel bad for him. Hell, I think Roux does too.

“Make sure you get in touch if you need anything,” I say. “We’re close now.”

Roux smiles. “Definitely.”

When I spin for my next song, I collide with Azure. He steadies me with his cool hands on my waist and then raises a brow. My face splits into a grin. “Azure Dayne. Do you dance or are you just here for me?”

There’s no hesitation when he smirks. “You,” he says and taps my nose with his finger.

I throw my head back and laugh. I’m surprised when it turns out that Azure is a good dancer. The best partner yet. He seems to anticipate what I’m going to do and responds accordingly. Sometimes before I even manage it.

Thus, we dance like eight songs until I’m breathless and need a break. Max has handed over the microphone and is dancing. Something I watch for a minute because he actually looks free. Not crazy and reckless, but free.

When I turn back to where we’d been sitting before dancing, I’m not shocked to find Demi sitting with Jakub and Oddny. Though he’s speaking to them, his eyes are on me. Always on me.

I smile, breathless. But I think I’m breathless for a different reason now.

It’s not late, but when I approach, he gets to his feet and takes my hand. “Let’s go, Pretty Boy.”

We’ve learned that most people just assume it’s a teasing nickname since I’ve been called pretty boy my entire life. No one really knows why he calls me that. Or that it’s capital P and B. It’s my name.

However, I don’t call him Demi in front of others. That’s far too much of an explanation.

When we walk across the deck, I see the moon is already moving across the sky, so I guess it’s later than I thought it was. I’m feeling good. Happy. Serene. I want these days of summer to just go on and on and on.

He lets us into the room we’re sharing and then I’m in his arms, his mouth on mine. The nice thing about these summer cruises is that we’re rarely wearing much, so there’s almost zero time wasted with getting undressed.

“You’re going to keep this skirt on for me next time,” Demi says, his voice low and sexy.

I shiver and nod. “I can leave it on now,” I offer.

“Not for what I have in mind,” he says as he drops to his knees. I watch, almost in a trance, as his mouth lands on my stomach, his tongue making my muscles dance, and he slowly works my skirt off. Then my Speedo.

My fingers run through his hair and those light eyes open to look up at me. He takes my dick in his hot mouth and I groan.

But he’s not there long. Demi gets to his feet, dropping his Speedo as he does, and pulls me to the bed. There’s already a condom there and lube, but the cap is open. I frown and look around the room, contemplating if someone has been in here.

“Come here, Pretty,” Demi says, pulling my mouth to his. We tumble a little and laughter makes our kiss sloppy and wet. He reaches for the condom, and I do the lube. But before I can even squeeze some onto my fingers, I jerk away as he rolls the condom on my cock.

“I don’t think that goes there,” I say, laughing.

His expression has my heart fluttering like I’m having palpitations. The way his eyes watch me, warm, filled with love, and burning with lust. His smile, soft and trusting.

“I wasn’t just abandoning you on the dance floor this time,” he murmurs as he takes the lube from my hands and strokes it over my cock. “I was getting ready for you.”

“Oh, god,” I groan. “But… you don’t have to. You can top. You like topping. It’s okay. I love to have your cock in my ass.”

He chuckles. Leaning forward, he presses his lips to mine. “I told you a long time ago, bottoming is mood motivated. I’m definitely in the mood, Pretty Boy.”

“I should have had a warning,” I tell him, whining. “This is going to last like thirty-eight seconds.”

Demi kisses me again. “No, it won’t.” Another kiss. Then he’s on his hands and knees, presenting me his slicked up asshole.

“Oh, fuck,” I mutter. “Can I touch you?”

He laughs. “Yes, please.”

I slide my finger across his ass cheek, trying not to let it shake. My palm runs over his ass and then my finger moves down his ass crack. He’s definitely slick and when I press my pointer inside, there’s resistance, but he certainly put effort into getting himself ready.

“Ich liebe dich,” I murmur as I add another finger. Fuck, he feels good. “S’agapo. Nakupenda.”

Demi looks at me over his shoulder, amused. But I’ve been waiting for this moment. I’ve been practicing.

“Put your dick in me, Pretty,” he says.

A shiver runs down my spine and I remove my fingers and fall to my knees. Holy fuck. Oh, my fuck!

“Kocham cię,” I say as I line up my dick, running my cockhead over his hole back and forth for a minute. As I apply pressure, I say, “Nemehotatse.” But groan in the middle of that one, so I try again. I try to get it right, even as my head is beginning to fog up. “Nemehotatse.”

Demi hangs his head but his body is relaxed. His ass clenches briefly, but he relaxes there, too. I touch his back and slide in a little more. “Saranghae.” A little deeper. “Je t’aime.” Deeper still. “Main tumse pyar karta hoon.”

When I bottom out, there’s a moment where my vision turns all wonky and I lean over Demi, pressing my face into his back. “God, you feel good,” I murmur.

“You too,” he says as I wrap my arms around him. One of his hands covers mine. “Perfect, Pretty. Just perfect. Even if I’ve somehow broken you so that you’re speaking in tongues.”

I laugh, licking up his back until I can whisper in his ear. “Te amo.” Once, I told Demi that saying ‘I love you’ in English just wasn’t enough. I needed to be able to say it in any language.

He turns his head. “I love you. Wait. Is that what you’ve been saying?”

I nod. I know there are more languages in my head. But there’s only one more that I can think of. I saved it for last because, although I’m long removed from my Irish roots, it always felt far more intimate when I practiced saying it.

“Is tú mo ghrá,” I murmur with my lips at his ear. I slide my dick out and he inhales. Slowly, I push back inside, making us both groan. “Is tú mo ghrá.”

“Jesus, Pretty,” he says, his hand gripping my arm tightly where they’re still firmly wrapped around him. “I love you. God, I love you.”

As I lose myself in this moment that will stay with me for the rest of my life, marveling in the honor of him sharing his body with me, as we make love on the yacht where we first met virtually, I continue to repeat every translation and intention of ‘I love you’ that I can think of. But the Irish iteration comes out of my mouth far more than any of the others.

After a while, I know my careful pronunciation has turned to shit but I don’t stop repeating them. I can’t. They’re the only words that I can form now. The only words I can speak. I need him to know just how I feel and so, I keep telling him.

“Is tú mo ghrá.”