“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” Scar said, low and reverent. “Gage, I want to go to sleep and wake up to your face for the rest of my life.”
Tears rolled down his cheeks, a sob hitching in his throat.
Scar grip his hand tighter. “And I know you’re too good for me. But I swear on my life that I’ll spend every day trying to be good enough. I’ll love you harder than you ever thought possible. I’ll fight for you and beside you, protect you, guide you, cherish you for the rest of my fuckin’ life, if you promise to be mine.”
Oh my gosh!
“Marry me, Gage…please.” Scar sounded fractured, splayed open, vulnerable only for him.
Gage didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, hands finding Scar’s face.
“Yes,” he sighed. “Yes. Yes.”
He said it over and over, kissing Scar with every emotion overtaking him.
He didn’t know how marriage would be possible, didn’t know what paperwork, permissions or battles it would take. But he trusted Scar.
If Scar said they were getting married, then somehow, someway, they were getting married.
White Ravens
Scar
The steam from the high-tech shower enveloped Scar like a living veil.
He held Gage close, his heart still pounding from his proposal.
How had he—a man from the slums of South Side Chicago, who’d charged through life like a battering ram—found himself here, in luxury, fighting for what was right, beside the man he loved, and who loved him back?
Scar lathered the soap over Gage’s shoulders, across the tight definition of his chest, tracing the hard planes and deep valleys between his pecs, showing Gage how much he appreciated what his hard work had done to his body.
Every touch was a silent vow of worship for the man who’d trusted him with his heart—and soon, his body.
Gage reciprocated, gliding his palms up and down his back, with his head resting on his shoulder.
He brushed his knuckles along Gage’s jaw, to his chin, guiding his face upwards. His eyes were closed as he pressed his lips to his. It was chaste and gentle before it began to deepen and grow.
Gage’s moans vibrated against his skin as their hard cocks nudged against each other’s thighs, slick with soap, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through Scar’s core.
Gage arched into him, seeking more.
He loved how responsive he was, and how he could make his body shudder with the slightest touch.
He rubbed the pads of his thumbs over Gage’s nipples until they pebbled, hard and oversensitive.
Gage trembled in his arms, his eyes hooded with raw desire, his dark lashes spiky from the water.
He looked beautiful.
He couldn’t look away from him, mesmerized by every expression. The way Gage’s brows furrowed, his full lips parting on a gasp, the flush creeping up his neck.
The power to elicit such craving in him was intoxicating.
He slid his hand lower, cupping the curve of Gage’s ass cheek, kneading the muscle before he traced a soapy finger along the cleft.
Gage moaned louder.
He paused at the tight, untouched entrance, circling it lightly, the slickness easing the glide.
