“Yes, darling, I know,” Art said, beaming and giddy. It was going to be so much fun to play with two men who still hadn’t quite wrapped their heads around the concept of loving more than one person at a time. “How are things on your end?” he asked, shifting the conversation for now.
Ryan sighed. “As good as they can be, I guess. I’m at a big party right now with a lot of huge names, trying to drum up some interest in my show tomorrow.”
“And?” Art asked, hopeful for him.
“And Giorgio is here, too,” Ryan said, his voice darker. “I can’t shake the feeling that he’s going around talking to all the people I just spoke to, telling them the exact opposite of what I’ve just said.”
“Bastard,” Art said. “He’s only doing all this because he sees you as a threat. That puts you in a powerful position. Use it.”
Art’s comment was met with silence for a moment before Ryan said, “I love you so much,” in a deep voice. “As soon as you get back here and this is all done, I’m going to ride your arse like it’s going out of style.”
Art laughed loud enough to draw Graeme’s and Mrs. St. Ives’s attention. “Darling,” he purred back down the line. “I cannot wait. We’ll throw Graeme into the mix while we’re at it. Granted, it will take me a few months and a bit of work with dildoes of increasing girth to loosen up enough to take both of you at the same time, but we’ll get there in the end.”
“You are a heathen and a whore,” Ryan said in reply with all the affection in the world. “But there are more ways for the three of us to enjoy each other together than you risking tearing a veryimportant muscle. I’m not changing your diapers every day if you overdo it and break something permanently.”
It was nothing to laugh about, but Art laughed anyhow. “Alright,” he said. “You go have fun with your little fashion friends. Our sweetie pie is just about done with his meeting, and I plan to pound him into the mattress later tonight.”
“Lucky devil,” Ryan growled. “Be gentle with him.”
“Oh, I will,” Art said, catching Graeme’s eye across the garden and wiggling his eyebrows.
About fifteen minutes later, once the meeting was done and Mrs. St. Ives had rushed off to whatever engagement she had, Graeme asked, “How is Ryan doing?”
They were still in the garden. Mrs. St. Ives hadn’t given Graeme a definitive answer about whether she would hire him or not yet, but she’d reacted enthusiastically to Graeme’s proposals. She’d comped their stay for the night and told the kitchen to expect them in the dining room for supper at around seven, which dampened any hope Art had of convincing Graeme to leave for London after dark. That left plenty of time for Art and Graeme to stroll through the gardens in the twilight, enjoying the late-summer blooms and each other.
“Ryan is hanging in there,” Art said, pausing to admire a particularly promising view. “He’s at a party, trying to schmooze his way into recognition, but he thinks Giorgio is attempting to thwart him around every corner.”
“I feel terrible about staying here instead of going to him,” Graeme said, bristling with concern. “He might need us. He definitely needs us. But until I have this job in the bag, I feel like I have to do everything Mrs. St. Ives says.”
Art smiled fondly and turned so he was facing Graeme. He clasped his hands around Graeme’s slightly stubbly face and leaned in to kiss his lips lightly. “You are too good, baby. Ryan is doing alright for now. And at the moment, there isn’t much wecan do to help him. He knows we’re thinking of him, and we’ll be there for him tomorrow.”
“I guess that’s all we can do,” Graeme said, letting out a breath.
“Oh, there’s definitely more we can do than that,” Art said, full of mischief.
“There is?” Graeme asked.
Art slipped one arm around his waist and tugged him close. “There definitely is. We can get up to no good and have a juicy story to tell him once the dust has settled and we’re all together again.”
He leaned in to kiss Graeme, tenderly at first, then with increasing passion. In no time, he was devouring Graeme’s mouth with all the hunger that had grown in the last few weeks of denial.
“We’re outside, in public,” Graeme reminded him breathlessly.
“Then let’s go back inside and wear ourselves out thoroughly before supper,” Art said.
It was another sign of how far Graeme had come over the summer that he didn’t protest. All he did was grin as Art took his hand and pulled him quickly back to the house.
They hadn’t had time to check in before Graeme’s meeting, but it appeared as though Mrs. St. Ives really had taken care of everything. They were handed a room key with very little fuss, and within minutes, they were upstairs, safely tucked away in a beautifully decorated room with a view of the gardens.
“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Graeme said nervously as they tossed their bags aside and started to undress. “It’s been so long since I was with Damien, and I have this weird feeling that I can’t shake like the things we did weren’t normal.”
Art stopped halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, a rush of lust knocking him sideways. “Did you do kinky things?” he asked, heart hammering hopefully.
“I don’t think so,” Graeme said, pink from his face down to his chest as he tugged his shirt off. “I mean, we did all the things in a lot of positions, but it doesn’t feel real to me now.”
Art’s heart squeezed as he understood what Graeme was saying. He tossed his shirt aside, then stepped closer to him, pulling Graeme into his arms.
“We can go as slow or as fast as you like,” he said, stroking the side of Graeme’s face. “I’m vers, so if you want to top or bottom, both are fine with me.”
