“I’m so thankful for you,” he whispered. “For the things you’ve done that make you think you’re less than. You’re a better man than anyone I’ve ever met, I think.”
Rhys’s cheeks darkened in his peripheral vision, and Beckett kissed his cheekbone.
“Doyouwant to travel?” he asked.
“I want to do what you want to do.”
“That’s a non-answer.”
“I think some travel is in order,” Rhys mused. “You should see those three-star restaurants, don’t you think? For research.”
“Research,” he repeated, amusement coloring his tone.
Rhys nodded sagely. “Besides, I want to see what your eyes look like under the lights of the Eiffel Tower.”
“Oh, my God.” Beckett rolled his eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I can’t imagine it would be much better than the way you looked last night when you said you’d marry me, but I can’t be certain without checking.”
“You’re insufferable.” Beckett shoved Rhys onto his back and pulled the blankets up over their heads, reaching down for that hardness Rhys had been referencing earlier. He closed his hands around his fiancé’s throbbing cock, drawing a moan out of the back of his throat.
“Maybe,” Rhys agreed. “But I’m yours.”
“Sssh.” Beckett pressed his finger against Rhys’s lips and slid down, dropping kisses against Rhys’s chest and stomach as he went lower and lower. He slotted himself between Rhys’s spread thighs, holding him open and exposed, then he dipped down and dragged his tongue up the length of Rhys’s cock in one long and wet swipe.
Rhys’s entire body convulsed and he fisted the sheets, his cock jerking toward Beckett’s hovering mouth. He threw the covers back, discarding them at the foot of the bed so he could see Rhys’s flushed and needy face.
“You’re a good man, Rhys,” he whispered, making a loose fist around the base of Rhys’s dick.
“You’re better.”
“Maybe.” He smirked, making a ring of his lips and taking the head of Rhys’s leaking cock into his mouth.
Rhys groaned, his hand flying into Beckett’s hair and threading through the strands to stop him or push him down, Beckett wasn’t sure. But Rhys stilled, fingers tense and cock pulsing against Beckett’s tongue. Beckett worked his way down, cheeks hollow and tongue flat, until he had the whole of Rhys’s erection inside his mouth. He sucked and sucked, fingers sliding down and teasing at the second most vulnerable part of Rhys’s body. He traced swirls over Rhys’s hole with one hand and cradled his balls in the other, all parts of himself working to bring Rhys over the edge. In Beckett’s palm, Rhys’s balls moved. He came, body spasming and going as hard as his cock, which emptied into the back of Beckett’s throat.
When he’d swallowed all of Rhys’s orgasm down, he propped his chin on Rhys’s thigh and stared up at him.
“Rhys.”
Rhys’s eyes were closed, his whole face soft and content, he made an affirmative sound in the back of his throat.
“Yes, darling?”
“Let’s go to Italy.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE
RHYS IS THE SAME
Rhys had never been to the Amalfi coast, but he didn’t hate it.
As a matter of fact, he loved it.
He crossed his legs at the ankle and pushed his sunglasses down, shielding himself from the glare of the sun while he listened to Beckett chatter on about the real estate listings back in Myers Bluff.
“Have you found one you like, darling?” He reached over and clapped his fingers together until Beckett took his hand.
“There’s one a few blocks from La Creperie.” Beckett set his phone down beside his leg and rolled his head to face Rhys. Beckett looked good, objectively. After four days of lying out under the hot Italian sun, his skin had turned a rich shade of gold and his otherwise dark hair was streaked with pale highlights that accented the sparkle of his eyes.
