I retrieve my jockstrap, put it on, and then we leave the room. I briefly glance at the door to the first room and wonder if Blake is still in there, now tied up in ropes.
“Do you want to see?” Hamish asks.
Part of me does because I know Blake will look utterly gorgeous, but I'm desperate to get Hamish alone. The words I want to say are fighting to get out of me, and I'm not sure I'll be able to contain them for much longer.
“It’ll be worth it,” Hamish promises me. “Gabe creates beautiful living artwork.”
“Okay.” I’m sure I can hold the words in for a few seconds longer.
Hamish opens the door into the chat and playroom. I gasp. He was right. Itisworth it.
"Wow," I breathe because no other words can capture my reaction to what I'm seeing.
Blake is suspended from the ceiling by beige ropes, which crisscross his body like a cage, supporting him. His wrists are tied to his raised knee, his foot pressed against the opposite inner thigh. His other leg hangs down, his ankle pulled back by a rope that goes over a blindfold around his eyes. It's hard to imagine it's comfortable, but the blissed-out expression on his face tells me he must be. I always knew Blake was beautiful, but right now, he looks otherworldly. There are a few men simply standing and looking, sometimes walking around to see the living artwork that is my brother from every angle.
“Now we can go,” Hamish says against my ear.
I shake myself and nod. He shuts the door, and we turn to leave the party.
Hamish briefly exchanges pleasantries with each bouncer we pass as we go down to his bedroom.
“I love you,” I say, the moment the door is closed behind us.
Hamish turns and stares at me.
“I love you,” I say again before flinging myself into his arms.
He grasps my face and kisses me with a commanding passion that steals my breath and turns my body to mush. I sag, but he catches me and propels us both onto the bed. He leans over me, kissing me over and over. Between each kiss, one or both of us whisper those three short words, like if we say them enough, they’ll become permanently tattooed onto each other’s hearts and minds.
"You realise we're not going back to the party, don't you?" Hamish asks as he rolls onto his back, taking me with him.
I sprawl over him, with my cheek pressed to his chest. I smile, utterly content to be here with him. He’ll hold lots of other parties, but I can only tell him I love him for the first time once.
22
Hamish
I type the final words on the chapter I’ve been writing and then push my chair away from my desk. I stretch and yawn loudly.
“I’m done for the day,” I announce.
“How many words?” Archie asks.
“About six thousand.”
“Wow! That’s amazing, Sir.”
I turn my chair to face him. “Are you done for the day?”
“I was just going through your social media accounts.”
“Can you be done for the day?”
He glances over his shoulder, smiling. “I guess this can wait until the morning.”
I pat my lap. Archie shuts down the programmes he was using, turns his computer off, and then comes to sit on my lap, legs on either side of me, arse right over my cock. He loops his arms around my neck, and I cross my hands over his lower back. We kiss, our tongues engaging in a slow dance as I savour him. It’s been a long writing day, and while we’ve stolen several kisses, we haven’t had much time to enjoy each other.
“That was nice,” he says, laying his head on my shoulder.
