Rafe came toward the bakery, adjusting the cap on his head as he opened the door. He scanned the room, and Holt noticed the way Rafe’s shoulders squared the moment he saw him.
“Good morning, Rafe,” Ramona chirped. “What can I get you this morning?”
“Coffee.”
“Comin’ right up.”
Holt watched as Rafe moved toward the register. He admired all the hard, sharp angles of the man’s body, the smooth, rippling muscle. Rafe was tall and thin; every ounce of him comprised of tensile strength and admirable flexibility. That flexibility had worked in Holt’s favor three years ago.
“I’ll fuck you anywhere in this house, even on the balcony, but I’m not fucking you in this shower,” Holt said, his mouth moving against Rafe’s. “Not enough traction.”
Rafe pulled back, and a wicked grin tugged at his mouth. Holt loved it when the man smiled, probably because it was such a rare occurrence.
Holt was the one grinning when Rafe turned and strolled out of the shower, soaking wet, his high, tight ass beckoning Holt to follow.
He had enough sense to turn off the water before strolling out of the bathroom after Rafe. He didn’t bother with a towel, but he took a moment to grab a strip of condoms out of the drawer. He carried them into the bedroom, stroking his cock with his other hand.
Rafe was on the bed, his head propped on a pillow, his cock in his fist, eyes heated as they tracked Holt through the room. He moved to the far side of the bed, pulling a bottle of lubricant out of the top drawer.
“Ready for anything, I see,” Rafe muttered.
“It’s been me and my hand all summer long, cowboy. Don’t go making assumptions.”
That earned him a smile, but Holt made it his mission to eliminate it. He didn’t want Rafe smiling; he wanted the man moaning his fucking name. He got his wish a few minutes later when he kissed him into submission, folded his long, lean body nearly in half, and impaled him, ensuring they were eye to eye the entire time.
“God Almighty,” Holt groaned, gritting his teeth as he sank into Rafe’s hot, tight hole.
Rafe grunted, gripping the headboard with both hands, holding on while he stared up at Holt. He knew he wasn’t imagining the pure, unfettered trust etched on Rafe’s exquisite features. It wasn’t natural for him, he suspected, but at this moment, Rafe wasn’t scared of him. And that … that took the encounter to a whole new level.
The memory faded as Holt watched Rafe pay for his coffee. Before Rafe could make a hasty exit, Holt decided to make his move.
“You ready to have that conversation yet, or would you prefer to hide in the shadows a little longer?”
Rafe paused with his hand on the door. He peered back at him, his eyes narrowed, then shocked him with a clipped, “Yes.”
“To which one?” Holt taunted.
If Holt thought Rafe was going to be civil and sit down with him, he learned that he was wrong when Rafe walked out the door, not answering the second question.
It took a moment for him to clear his table, but he followed Rafe outside. He found him leaning against the wall in front of the bookstore, sipping his coffee.
“Bailey called me last night,” Rafe said as Holt approached.
That didn’t surprise Holt. He knew they had to figure things out in their own way. And though Holt wished they would open up to him about it, he understood.
“When you hightailed it, I offered to take her to your apartment so the two of you could talk,” Holt explained.
Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t told her.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. One Holt took offense to.
“About what? Us?”
“There is—”
“No us. Yes, I know. You’ve told me as much.” Holt leaned his shoulder against the post holding up the roof and feigned a casualness he certainly didn’t feel. “And no, I haven’t told her.”
“Why?”
