“Because I’m quick on my feet, otherwise you might have broken my legs. Or completely squished me. Then I’d be nothing but a greasy spot jammed between the gravel.”
It was no use arguing because it was mostly true. I’d seen him at the hardware store and been more than flustered by the fact he’d had a hole in his jeans and obviously commando. I won’t even go into all the rubbing off on my ass he did while in line.
Then there was that damn piece of chocolate.
In my hurry to escape before I could embarrass myself, I’d shot out of the parking lot and failed to see Morgan on his bike.
“Anniversaries are usually not based on when you almost run over someone with a truck.”
Morgan laughed a little. “I’d think you’d know by now I’m not someone.”
No. He wasn’t. He was Morgan Kade-Kessler. My Morgan Kade-Kessler. And I was his Grant Kessler-Kade.
“I didn’t get you anything.” I shouldn’t have felt guilty. I mean, it wasn’t actually an anniversary.
But damn it, I did feel guilty.
“You can make it up to me.” He pushed his hand closer. “You’re supposed to take it now, Grant, then say thank you because it’s polite.”
I took it. “Thank you.” For all the material, it weighed far less than I expected.
“Now you open it.” He pointed to the ribbon. “Pull that string.”
I frowned at him. “I know how to open a package.”
He shrugged. “Just making sure. I mean, you are getting old and all.”
“Watch it.”
“I am, and you’re just standing there doing nothing.”
“You—never mind.” I tugged on the ribbon and parted the fabric.
A silver chain slid out of the way, leaving a cluster of tiny glass facets stitched together with solder in the palm of my hand. Like all of Morgan’s glass artwork, the shape gave no clue as to the images it would cast. I held it up where there was enough light coming through the window. A burst of translucent geometric shapes floated across the wall, disappeared, only to reappear again. I twisted my wrist back and forth, recreating the rainbow image.
In a direct sunbeam, I knew it would be stunning.
But everything about Morgan was. Nothing he did wasn’t perfection. Even loving me. I laid the pendant and chain back into the folds of the cloth. Morgan watched me from behind his curtain of bangs. I pushed them back, tucking the curly blond locks behind his ear. His gaze shifted to somewhere around my shoulder before returning if only for a moment.
“Thank you.” I’d meant it as much the second time as I had the first but this time for everything, for him, for the rare gift of meeting my gaze.
For finding me worthy of the opportunity to love him. Because there were so many moments I screwed up. Moments I could have ruined any chance to have what we had.
He snapped his fingers and tossed thoughts. “Will you wear it? I know it’s not very manly—”
“Yes.” I covered it back up. “And I will never be without it.”
The corner of Morgan’s mouth curled. “Isn’t this the part where you kiss me? They always kiss in the movies at moments like this. Also in books. And I know you read. So—”
I pressed my mouth to his, and there was a second of hesitation, then he melted against me in a way only Morgan could. His lithe form, his strong arms, the subtle muscle. Except for his ass. He rode ten miles each way at least three times a week to bus tables for Toolies.
And it absolutely showed.
Morgan broke the kiss. The flush in his cheeks turned his eyes into obsidian chips. “You may want to put that somewhere safe.” He nodded at the bundle of fabric in my hand and the priceless treasure cradled in the folds. I put it on the bedside table.
Morgan huffed. “That is not a safe place, Grant.” He moved it to the dresser. “Now.” He took me by the hand and pushed me over to the bed. The mattress hit the back of my knees, and I sat. He straddled my lap. “Now you can make up not having a surprise for me.” He pulled off his shirt.
Spring sun had left him tan and darkened his freckles to copper. I ran my hands up over his ribs, to his shoulders, then I held his face.
Morgan sighed against my palm and shut his eyes. The tension in his muscles fell away, and like when he created his art, the tics ceased. He made a small sound and dropped his head back. I trailed my fingers over the column of his neck, to his chest. The tiny bit of hair between his pecks feathered my fingertips. I found a nipple and teased it with my thumb.
There were few things more beautiful than Morgan’s responsiveness. How he parted his lips. How his breath quickened. How he moved in my hands like the dancer he’d wanted to be as a boy.
I kissed his sternum, caught his wrist and pressed my lips there too. Morgan scraped his fingertips over my beard. More than a five o’clock shadow, but not thick enough to dull his touch. He rose on his knees, pressing the bulge in his jeans against my stomach.
“Is that a hint?” I laughed a little.
“If I gave you a hint any bigger, Grant, it would be a sign in the yard. A neon sign. Maybe even a billboard.”
I unsnapped his jeans. “That might be a bad idea.”
“Afraid the neighbors might see it?” He brought his mouth back to mine.
“More like the church ladies. I get enough of a side-eye from them at the grocery store when I go.” I lowered the zipper. He had on my favorite kind of underwear.
None at all.
His cock filled my palm and he gasped against my lips. “They’re just jealous because their husbands won’t take them to the drive-in” Morgan fed me his tongue and drank down my moan.
We wound up a tangle of arms and sloppy kisses. I couldn’t keep stroking him because I needed both hands to get his jeans down. Then the position got in the way. Morgan climbed off me, and I scooted higher on the bed while taking the opportunity to shed my sweatpants.
Morgan dropped his jeans and pushed my legs wider as he climbed back onto the bed.
Cold and wet pressed against the bottom of my foot, followed by a slap of warm slobber.
I pushed up on my elbows. Dog stood at the edge of the bed, snuffling my toes.
Morgan straddled my chest. “Open your mouth, Grant.”
“The dog is licking my toes.”
“How is that going to interfere with your mouth.”
“It’s distracting.” And slightly weird.
Morgan glanced back. He flicked a hand, and Dog darted out of the room. I had no idea how he did that. I couldn’t even get the damn animal to sit when I told him to.
“There. He won’t lick your toes anymore.” Morgan climbed over my shoulders. “Now, open your mouth.”
I did and he filled my throat with his cock.
Morgan hummed and rocked, holding himself up with one hand against the mattress, the other pressed to his temple. I gripped his ass cheeks and encouraged him to thrust. He did, and my ability to breathe was his to control.
I’d never trusted anyone enough to let them put me in such a vulnerable position. Where the wrong move could do some serious damage. But before Morgan, I didn’t bottom for anyone either.
For him, I would do anything. He not only had my complete trust: he had my faith.
His breaths shortened and he slowed in his movements. I sucked hard as he withdrew, relaxed as he went deep. Tears bled down my cheeks. Getting enough oxygen through my nose was impossible. But the bliss in Morgan’s expression, the flex of his body under my hands, made any discomfort an afterthought.