I've never been a screamer. I'm told I moan and writhe and mumble incoherently. And apparently I occasionally whisper.

My relationship with Trip is the best I've ever had with anyone. Although he's the most stubborn git I've ever known and we argue more or less non-stop during our waking hours, Trip is a wonderful friend and a generous lover. Actually, he's an amazing lover. For some reason I'll never understand, he can't get enough of me, and the feeling is mutual. When he touches me, it's like all of my self-restraint simply vanishes.

Which brings me to last night. He had me on the edge—a breath away from orgasm, teasing mercilessly. He was above me, buried to the balls in my arse. Every movement he made pushed me that much closer, but he held my eyes with his own and kept murmuring to me.

"Not yet, Malcolm. Not yet…gettin' real close…not yet, Mal…"

Finally he couldn't hold out any longer, and he grasped my cock just as he pulsed deep inside me. All it took was the slightest touch and I exploded as well. At that point, I lost all control, and probably destroyed all of the love and trust between us.

At that ultimate peak of passion, I whispered one audible word…one name…

Jonathan.