He should have known Wolfe wouldn’t stand for it.
And it had been just what Eric had needed. That closeness. That submission. He’d been able to go to a soft, fuzzy place, one where only Wolfe existed—the weight of him on Eric’s tongue, the scent of him in Eric’s nose, the sound of his voice telling Eric how good and perfect he was.
In reality, Eric’s life had become about more than just Wolfe—he had actual friends now, and his book club, and his regular runs with Gabe.
But it was a nice reminder. That even if all Eric ever wanted to do was stay by Wolfe’s side, that would be enough.
Hewould be enough.
Eric finished his pastry, licking the excess frosting off his fingers with gusto.
Wolfe huffed a sigh and went to the sink, wetting a towel and bringing it over, cleaning Eric’s fingers thoroughly. “You’ll get the bed sticky,” he scolded.
“Says the one who fucks me into that mattress on the regular. Bare, I might add.”
Wolfe’s lips twitched. “That’s different.”
Eric laughed. He was still kind of in that fuzzy, happy place. “I love you so, so much,” he found himself saying.
“I know,” Wolfe told him, smug as hell. He set the towel down. “Come, beloved. I’ll let you choose a film.”
Eric perked up. He loved when Wolfe let him choose the movie. “And we’ll cuddle?”
Wolfe tsked. “Do you even have to ask?”
Eric laughed again. He really didn’t. They always cuddled.
He let Wolfe lead him to their bedroom, let Wolfe tuck him under the covers like a child before bringing Eric’s laptop into the bed with them. Wolfe refused to have a TV in the bedroom, because he was a ridiculous snob.
Eric snuggled into him. He felt light. He felt…golden.
Life was good, wasn’t it?
Perfect, even.
TREAT OR…TREAT
Wolfe
Wolfe was enjoying an exquisite rendition of Bach’s Cello Suite No. 2 when Eric waltzed through their front door carrying two large grocery bags, their latest foster mutt nipping at his heels.
Figuratively speaking, that was. If any of the degenerate canines Eric allowed into their home actually dared nip at Wolfe’s mate, they would find themselves back at that godforsaken shelter faster than they could piddle on the carpet.
The mutt’s paws were filthy—clearly it had been tromping where it shouldn’t—and Wolfe snapped his fingers, then pointed in the direction of the back door. “Outside.”
The mutt gave Wolfe a forlorn look but obediently trotted away.
“You kind of have a way with dogs, did you know that?” Eric asked absently, tossing his keys onto the designated entryway table.
Wolfe rose from his chair. “I have a way with everything, pet.”
Eric grinned and gave Wolfe an entirely too brief kiss before making his way to the kitchen. Wolfe followed behind, curious as to what could be in the bags. When and if they ate human food, it was generally Wolfe who prepared it.
“I think I got enough,” Eric declared, setting the bags on the counter and rummaging inside mysteriously.
Wolfe came up behind Eric’s shoulder. “Enough what, may I ask?”
“Candy.”
