Christ, I’d like to see him all rumpled and crumpled. Would quite like to roll him straight back under his blankets and crumple them with him some more. It sucks that I have to say, “I can’t.” The mirror offers a glimpse of that relief slipping away. His head bows until I add, “Because I won’t be in London. I’ve got a long-distance removals job with my cousin. A four-day gig. Pack, load, deliver, and unpack at the other end. Then we’ll stay up-country to clear a different house and offload it all at an auction house up there. I’ll be gone until the end of the week.” I almost regret promising Harry that I’d keep an eye on Blake for him. It means I have to add, “Then I arranged to meet up with a friend on Friday, so I won’t actually be free until the weekend.”
I regret it even harder when the mirror shows Dair closing his eyes again, and I’ve never spoken faster.
“But I could talk you through inventory categories while I’m away. If you wanted. Walk you through the process of how best to group everything. Do some of that dividing and conquering together, yeah?”
He nods. Squeezes more salve from that tube. Spreads it in cooling circles nowhere near my balls, which tingle regardless. “You’d text me?”
“Video calling would be better. So you can show me pieces?”
He smiles, and there can’t be an inch of my back that doesn’t shine with aloe vera, but Dair isn’t done yet. “Turn around. I’ll do your chest.”
I could do it myself.
Of course, I fucking could.
We both have to know that. I still let Dair spread me with care, all while peppering me with questions. None of them relate to auctions. He’s more interested in finding out when and why my aunt used to do this for me.
“I don’t remember when it started exactly. Would have been when I was around nine years old, maybe.” It’s hard to focus on conversation. His fingers find hot and scratchy places to cool down. To soothe. Holding in a groan is hard. So is speaking. I force myself to keep going. “I just know that she would break off a spear from the plant on the kitchen windowsill and dab the stuff that oozed out onto wherever I was itching. Tell me I was being kissed all better by nature.”
“That’s what this feels like? Like you’re being kissed all better?” He meets my eyes. “Because that’s what you agreeing to help me feels like.”
His lips part, and I quit thinking about the healing properties of plants. Stop thinking about profits to be made or aboutpersonal losses. I even stop thinking about a rule I set less than a day ago that means banging is off the table.
This isn’t about sex.
Isn’t about getting him horizontal on a hallway carpet the same way that earned me my group-chat nickname.
No, the kiss I give him in this bathroom is for one reason only.
Comfort.
5
I lower my head,and our mouths meet.
It’s so much better than any amount of aloe vera. Softer, and way more soothing. For him as well, I think. There’s less gloss to his gaze when I pull back, no new dampness for him to hide by turning his back on me. I’m pretty sure his eyes shine now for a better reason, and him going up on tiptoes to loop his arms around my neck confirms it. So does Dair lifting his chin to ask for more without saying a word.
My own voice rumbles. “Yeah?”
He nods fast, so I give him the second kiss he wants right here in a bathroom too tired and dated to impress investors, but who needs Flynn’s flashy Italian marble when they could have something this honest? And Dair is honest with me when our noses bump.
“Sorry, sorry.” He’s breathless. Pink-cheeked. So fucking pretty. “I’m out of practice.”
“I’m not.”
“Oh, I guessed you wouldn’t be.” His arms loosen around my neck. “You’re so good-looking.”
“I meant that I’m not sorry about our noses bumping.” He’s been honest with me. I do the same for him. “It’s been a while for me too.”
He smiles up at me then, and that’s fucking magic until he slips on some spilled salve. Maybe. I don’t know or care, just as long as I’m here to catch him before he can brain himself on a cast-iron bathtub. At least its old age means this bath is sturdy—I sit on its side and don’t need to worry about it taking my weight or his when I pull Dair onto my lap, and not only for his safety. I want to hold him. Want him to feel as coated in care. And now that our heads are at the same level, I get to do that.
This third attempt at a first kiss is the charm, perfect from the get-go. Soft to start, then slow and searching. So are the fingers he folds into hair I’m glad is longer than usual. Skipping a few of Marilyn’s offers to give me a trim means Dair can slide his fingers through it, which he does, over and over, all while our mouths are connected. He even pulls on it a little, and like when his thumbs found the dimples at the base of my back, I can’t be quiet about it.
I release a similar sound, which might be embarrassing if his tongue slipping into my mouth didn’t feel about as desperate.
Forget slow. This is faster. Slick and needy. Hot, and the temperature only increases when I draw him closer.
Then we’re really going at it.
