And… if he only knew how close he is to finding the missing piece to his puzzle.
Christ.
Of all the people to walk into our lives, into our home—why did it have to be him? Alex. The man whose face has haunted magazine stands, billboards, and my fucking conscience. I spent years pretending not to see him. Trying to forget what I did. Even in Spain, his image found me. There was no escaping him. And now?Dios mío. Now he’s here. With Elijah. With my husband.
I drape the blanket over his legs, pulling it up to his waist. Then I kneel down beside him, eyes drawn to the dark ink sketched across his bare back. Despite all my efforts to avoid him, some part of me has been waiting for this—waiting for the chance to study those puzzle pieces up close. The lines, the corners, and curves… they’re so precise, and painfully familiar. The artwork is stunning. Something only another artist can fully appreciate. And as I trace each piece with my eyes, I’m almost certain of what I will find once this puzzle is pieced together.
My eyes feast over his body. For Christ’s sake, he’s stunning, and fuuuck… it’s not enough for me to just look. My fingers itch, burn, flex—and I just have to do it, I have to?—
With a shaking hand, I lift it to his bare back, ghosting my fingertips over his warm skin, mapping the pieces of puzzle with fierce focus, committing every line and curve to memory. I’ve wanted to assemble this puzzle for so, so long.
A single tear escapes, landing just below his left shoulder blade, wilting against his sun-kissed skin.
And I let it lie there, silently praying that he absorbs my cry, praying for his forgiveness.
16
ELIJAH
My lips brush gentlyacross Alex’s as I steal kisses from him in the kitchen. He wraps his hands around a mug of hot tea, sipping gingerly as daylight turns to dusk.
“Does Emilee know I’m here?” he asks, lifting his gaze from the cup. There’s a note of concern in his voice.
“Of course,” I say. “I called to let her know I was bringing you here to rest. She even sent the tea. Said it’s what you usually drink when you have a migraine.”
His eyes drop to his lap.
“Alex… Alex, look at me.” I tuck my fingers underneath his chin and lift his face back to mine. “You were asleep on the couch when Emilee arrived. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
I reassuringly rub his thigh, and rub, and rub some more. He parts his legs. My eyes spring up to his, and he spreads them even wider. My hand glides further between his parted thighs, slowly inching, crawling, until I’m folding my fingers around his dick. It thickens in my palm, and he moans, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut.
He looks so peaceful like this. Calm.
He grinds his jean-clad dick into my hand as I slowly unbutton his pants, allowing his plump head to breathe. Precum dribbles down the side, and I swipe it, smearing it across his taut skin.
“Elijah,” he moans, as I slide my slippery thumb across his slit and bring his moaning mouth to mine.
Our lips screech to a sudden halt when the elevator doors open and our girls come skipping out, giggles filling the air and bouncing off the walls. They drag their shopping bags straight through the living room, down the hallway, and into Ana’s bedroom, never once glancing our way.
17
ALEX
Elijahand I push our way through the early morning crowd at JFK International Airport, sleepy daughters in tow. Emilee’s nerves prickle beneath her skin—she’s never been a fan of flying, though sheisa fan of traveling, especially when it means more time with Ana.
We reach their gate and hug our goodbyes. Emilee promises to text me daily. Okay, every other day. Well, “at least once a week, Dad.” Mm-hmm… I don’t see those promises coming to fruition, but I’m completely comfortable with her being in the capable hands of Gabriel.
Afterward, Elijah and I stop at the airport bar for a glass of wine before heading home. I’ve agreed to let Emilee stay four whole weeks in Spain, half of her summer, and I’m already looking forward to some well-earned me time. Or, more accurately… Elijah time.
Cramming into a high-top table, Elijah rubs his foot against my bouncing leg. The bar is packed shoulder-to-shoulder withtravelers, and we were lucky to snag a small table tucked away in the corner.
We relax into the moment, sipping our wine and chatting about summer plans. Nothing physical has happened between us since that charged evening at his place, after my migraine episode—but the memory still lingers.
I’m not usually much of a wine drinker, but I find myself enjoying this one—a full-bodied red, according to Elijah. He’s suggested we take a trip upstate to visit a vineyard. I’ve never been to one, so I’m totally on board.
“We’ll make a whole day of it, Alex,” he promises, finishing the last of his pinot noir. His tongue catches the lingering fruity notes from his lip—and, oh how I wish it weremytongue tracing that mouth instead.
My mind drifts, recalling the satiny feel of his plush lips wrapped around my cock,squeezing, tugging, his tongue moving slowly, up and down, up and?—
