“Fifty is not that old!”
Heath watched his husband weather the ribbing, knowing full well he was enjoying every moment. He might not be the youngest at the resort—Heath had that badge locked down—but he certainly wasn’t the oldest, and Olivia’s family took great pretend offense to his griping.
“This might be the last year we’re invited,” he said with a smile, when they returned to the villa after entirely too much cake and revelry.
“You say that every year, yet here we are.”
“I need to try harder, then. Is that what you’re saying?”
“You need to come over here so I can give you my present, is what you need to do.”
Evan never hesitated when Heath took that tone with him.His gorgeous, powerful husband enjoyed nothing more than being bossed onto his knees after a day spent trying to save the world.
His husband. Those words still sent an electric thrill through his body.
Evan approached, unbuttoning his shirt with each step. “I’m listening.”
“You’re still entirely too clothed.”
That lopsided grin curled those perfect, kissable lips as he pulled the shirt open and started on his pants. “Would you like to help, or are you enjoying the show?”
Heath pondered, before laying back on the bed and folding his hands behind his head. “I think I’m enjoying the show.”
Evan whipped off his belt, handing it over when Heath made a chastising sound and held out his hand. He had plans for that a little later.
The loose linen pants hit the floor, as though they sensed the growing impatience in the air. Evan stood at the end of the bed, cock jutting against the front of his boxer briefs, his open shirt displaying the ridges of muscle across his chest and stomach. He made fifty look so very good.
“Come here.”
Heath palmed his own cock through his pants as Evan crawled onto the bed until he was straddling his thighs. With a flick of his gaze, Heath commanded him to unbuckle, unbutton, and unzip, groaning when his achingly stiff dick pulled free.
“What do you want for your birthday?”
“I thought you already had a present?”
Heath smiled and sat up, running his fingers through the ginger-brown hair covering Evan’s utterly perfect torso.
“I thought we weren’t lesbians?” Evan had teased on the night Heath told him he never wanted him to leave his bed.
It was mid-March. That in-between, where winter lingered and spring played coy temptress from the shadows. Snow sat inmoldering mounds at the far ends of parking lots, its crisp white brilliance beaten into dull grey submission after weeks of rain, mud, and salt-caked tires.
Evan had followed him home after the holiday gala and never quite left. Somehow, through the sale of the grand Beacon Hill townhouse and the purge of numerous other belongings, he’d become one of Heath’s most prized possessions.
Evan was a force to be reckoned with outside the cozy walls of this shabby-chic condo. Within them, however, he was just a beautiful man whose smile rendered Heath into a gibbering mess, and whose cooking needed to be brought to the attention of the FDA.
“Why can you only remember the snarky things I say, but never to start the dishwasher?”
“Because starting the dishwasher is boring.”
“I suppose I should be grateful I rank above it in interest, then.”
There was that smile, liquefying his bones. “Your snark is never boring, and it usually leads to your sharp tongue being used for even more interesting purposes.”
“Such as?”
“Such as…”
Evan was otherworldly. Then and still. His kiss unraveled the very fabric of time, and his fingers wove the threads into something new and beautiful. A pocket of intimacy where urgency existed only in their need to feel closer.
