“Yes, we do,” Art said, leaning into Ryan as he rested against the wall and kissed him.
That post-BJ make-out session had lasted another five minutes, and Art had almost gotten what he needed with Ryan’s hand down his trousers, but one of the students had interrupted them as she came looking for more clay for Robbie’s ceramics class. Thank God she was one of the adult students and that she hadn’t shown up while Ryan had his cock down Art’s throat.
It wasn’t nearly enough for Art. He couldn’t remember going so long without intimacy. And he wasn’t about to go looking for it somewhere else. It was entirely new for him to feel so devoted to a partner, two partners, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to mess anything up by leading with his dick. There would be time for the three of them once Graeme had finished his presentation to Mrs. St. Ives and scored the Cornwall job, and once Ryan wowed the fashion world at Fashion Week.
“Of course, after the two of you are finished with your big ventures I’ll probably be so busy writing my book about Hawthorne House that I’ll be the one who doesn’t have time to fuck,” Art told Ryan on the morning before his show, as the two of them ran through everything Ryan would need for his collection to walk at the venue, The Wallace Collection.
They weren’t even close to alone, and Ryan turned to him with wide eyes and hissed, “Shh! We’re surrounded by people.”
“People who probably also fuck whenever they can,” Art said, making no effort to keep his voice down, which was mostly on purpose.
The tall, gorgeous model who Ryan had asked to help out and walk for him, Javier, who was also a member of The Brotherhood, glanced Art’s way and laughed. “Honey, you’ve got that right,” he said, then winked at Ryan as well.
Ryan shook his head. “You’re going to land me in serious trouble one of these days,” he told Art.
“Yes, darling, but it will be the best kind of trouble,” Art replied, then stepped over to steal a kiss.
Ryan had his hands full with some of the outfits Gloria had already brought to the venue, so he couldn’t do anything but let Art smack one on him. He ended up kissing Art back, which Art could see went a long way to chilling him out in the midst of Fashion Week chaos.
“You’re going to be fine,” Art said once he was on his own two feet again. “This Power of Three collection you’ve come up with is amazing. You’ve got just the right blend of traditional and avant garde.”
“That’s what I told him,” Javier said, still cheekily listening in. Art liked the man at once.
“See?” Art kissed Ryan’s cheek quickly. “Everything is going to work out, you’ll see. This collection will knock people’s fashionable socks off. Every buyer from here to Timbuktu will be clamoring for your designs. And bright and early tomorrow morning, Graeme and I will be back to help you down the home stretch and cheer for you when all the accolades come in.”
“I just hope they come in,” Ryan said, uncharacteristic worry knitting his brow.
“They will, love, I promise,” Art said. He kissed Ryan one last time, then stepped back and checked his watch. “I’ve got to go get Graeme and start this journey. We really are cutting things thin with Mrs. St. Ives. I would take him there and drive back through the night tonight, but Graeme doesn’t want to offend Mrs. St. Ives by refusing the free overnight stay she offered. Whowould have thought an old society dame like that has so much power?”
“Drive safely,” Ryan said, waving and looking downright forlorn as Art stepped away.
As Art strode out of the main, dazzling gallery, he heard Javier ask, “Are you really dating two men?”
All Art could do was hope the question didn’t unnerve Ryan too much. They were in the home stretch, and anything that pushed Ryan out of his extreme focus now could bring the whole, impossible dream the three of them were shooting for together tumbling down.
He refused to think about that, though. Things were going to be fine. Ryan was going to kill it on the runway, Graeme would dazzle in Cornwall, and once all that was done, Art would bring the archeology world to its knees with the book he wanted to write about unconventional relationships among England’s elite in the nineteenth century. The book would feature all the juicy bits he’d discovered while combing through diaries and things in the Hawthorne House attic and a mountain of records he’d been able to obtain from The Brotherhood, of course.
To save time, Graeme had agreed to meet Art at Shepherd’s Bush Station, which was relatively easy for both of them to get to and reasonably easy to find their way onto a highway from there to head off to Cornwall.
“I can’t believe the timing is so crazy for the next few days,” Graeme said, already breathless as he tossed his overnight bag and portfolio of garden designs into the back seat of Art’s car, then climbed into the driver’s seat. “I was up all night last night with nightmares about things not working out.”
“You should have called me, love,” Art said, reaching over and squeezing Graeme’s muscular leg as he shut the door and put on his seatbelt. “I would have worn you out to the point of exhaustion.”
Graeme flushed dark pink and looked at Art with his unique combination of desire and sheepishness. “You would have,” he said as Art pulled his hand away and drove on, mostly because someone behind them was honking for the prime spot in front of the station. “I think I know you well enough by now to know you absolutely would have been there, dick out and ready to go.”
Art laughed out loud. His sweet, innocent boyfriend had come such a long way over the summer. There was no way he would have been able to think those words much less say them three months ago.
“If I had my way, we’d all be living together in a cozy cottage somewhere, sharing one giant king-size bed,” he said as he wove his way through traffic. “Then we’d all sleep like logs every night.”
“You’d really want that?” Graeme asked. There was enough softness in his voice that Art took the question seriously. He was beginning to be able to tell what his sweetheart was thinking and when his old modes of thought were battering up against his new, more open horizons.
“Yes, I absolutely do,” Art said. “Wouldn’t you want that, too? The three of us living together in sinful bliss?”
Graeme’s mouth hung open for a moment before he snapped it closed and stared out the front windshield. “I guess I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.”
“What do you think of the idea now?” Art asked. When Graeme didn’t immediately answer, he painted a more complete picture. “You, me, and Ryan, all under one roof. It would be at Hawthorne House, of course. No one there would bat an eye at the unusual arrangement. I suppose we could both keep the flats that we have now in case we ever needed a break.”
“I don’t need a break,” Graeme said quickly. “Do you need a break?”
