Lucas considered it. He didn’t fear August’s brothers harming a child. But could they insulate them from the horrors they dealt with behind the scenes? Cops did it. FBI agents. August was right. There would be no child more protected than a Mulvaney.
Lucas had always wanted kids but had put the idea on a shelf long before he met August for a million reasons, not the least of which was burdening a child with a gift nobody believed he had. But that wasn’t a problem for their child. Nobody in the family doubted Lucas’s gift and they wouldn’t any child’s either. Thomas would be an amazing grandfather, and August—despite his lack of emotional ties—would be an attentive father. He was more than capable of seeing to Lucas’s needs.
“Did I break you?” August asked. “If it’s not something you want, I understand. I’m more than content with us just as we are. Couldn’t imagine being happier, truthfully.”
“I’m…processing,” Lucas managed before asking, “Do we have to wait seven years?”
August smiled. “No. Of course, not. But maybe we should focus on getting married first.”
Lucas dropped his fork and pounced on August. “Okay, marriage first. Then cheesecake. Then maybe baby.”
“There’s the slight snag in our plan. We’d need a uterus to house our baby.”
“Hmm, we could ask Cricket,” Lucas teased. “We did save her life. Surely, she wouldn’t deny us the use of her womb for ten months?”
“We could adopt.”
Lucas nodded. “True. But I kind of like the idea of a baby with your big brain.”
“I like the idea of a baby with your psychic gifts,” August countered.
They could do this for hours. He pressed a kiss to August’s lips. “Let’s go get married, Professor Mulvaney.”
“Yes, let’s… Wait, does that make you Professor Mulvaney also?”
Lucas snickered, rolling off the bed and onto his feet. He really couldn’t imagine his life without August. “Let’s talk about it in the car.” He pulled August to his feet. “I love you.”
“I—”
“If you say I know right now, the wedding is off,” Lucas warned.
August grinned, smacking a kiss on Lucas’s forehead. “I love you, too.”
Jericho was under a Honda Civic when he heard Arsen say, “Hey, Atticus.”
“Hey. Is Jericho around?”
Atticus? Jericho frowned. Why would Atticus be visiting midday? Was something wrong? He slid out from under the car, sitting up just in time to see Atticus walking into Jericho’s office without saying hello. Maybe he hadn’t seen Jericho. He made a half-hearted attempt to wipe the grease off his hands before following. He entered just in time to see Atticus drawing the blinds, shrouding the office in darkness.
“What’s going on, Freckles? You on the run?” Jericho teased.
Atticus didn’t say anything, just pushed Jericho back onto the ratty sofa, following him down to straddle his legs. Before Jericho could get his bearings, Atticus was kissing him, plunging his tongue into his mouth, grinding his obvious erection against Jericho’s rapidly awakening one. Jericho’s hands palmed his ass, pulling him closer, until their hips met again, making them both groan.
Jericho thought about breaking the kiss to find out what had Atticus so worked up but thought better of it. Atticusrarely initiated sex, and he never initiated it when Jericho was working. He brought his hands up to cup Atticus’s face, holding him still so he could take control of the kiss. Atticus’s whole body relaxed in response, like he’d just been waiting for Jericho to get on board with the program.
“You want something, Freckles?” Jericho murmured, breaking the kiss to trail his lips along his jaw, his ear.
Atticus sighed, tipping his head to give Jericho better access. “You.”
Jericho bit at his Adam’s apple. “You’ve got me. You know that.”
“I want you,” Atticus said, dragging Jericho’s mouth back to his, whispering, “Fuck me. I want you inside me.”
Jericho’s semi-hard cock hardened so fast it made him dizzy. “Here?”
Atticus nodded, giving him a dirty kiss, before saying, “Now.”
Yeah, something was definitely going on with him, but Jericho wasn’t going to refuse. Atticus would close up for days if Jericho rejected something he’d initiated. Besides, there was never any place Jericho would rather be than buried inside Atticus.
