Tate nodded, and the look on his face was priceless. “Don’t tell your mom. Oh, please, Donovan. Don’t tell her.”
He wouldn’t dream of it, but he figured Tate didn’t need to know that. “You don’t want her to know?”
He shook his head. “It’s not her cookin’. She’s a fabulous cook. Amazing, actually.”
“Layin’ it on a bit thick, don’t you think?”
“I love almost everything she makes, but warm tuna is nasty.”
Donovan grinned, looking at Tate as though seeing him for the first time. He’d done that many times over the past few weeks as he learned the little things. Like how Tate preferred to wear socks to bed because his feet got cold. Or how he brushed his teeth twice in the mornings—once when he woke up and again after he ate. Or how on Saturday afternoons, when he finally woke up after working all night, he would eat cereal and watch cartoons because that was something he’d always done with Reilly.
The man was fucking adorable, and Donovan found he couldn’t get enough of him.
“You want me to make you somethin’?” Donovan offered, giving him space to peruse the refrigerator.
Tate sighed and closed the door. “No. I had enough cornbread to tide me over for a month.” He turned around. “But dessert would be nice.”
There wasn’t a hint of suggestion in Tate’s tone, but that was somehow all Donovan heard.
He waited until Tate rounded the kitchen island. “I can think of somethin’Iwant for dessert.”
Tate’s expression was still intent when he looked up at Donovan. “Do we have any—” His eyes widened. “Oh.”
Donovan closed the gap between them, then lifted Tate onto the counter.
“It shouldn’t be that easy for you to do that,” Tate said with a huff.
“What’s that? Make you stop thinkin’ about food?”
“No. Liftin’ me up like I’m a kid.”
Donovan stepped between his legs. “Trust me when I say there’s nothin’ kid-like about you.”
Tate hummed softly when Donovan kissed him.
Donovan slipped his hands beneath Tate’s shirt, gripping his sides as he worked his way up his torso, lifting the shirt as he went. He loved touching this man, feeling his muscles flex and shift beneath his fingers. When he wasn’t touching him, he was thinking about it. Enough that it disrupted his train of thought more often than not. He thought for sure that would’ve only lasted for a brief time, but they’d been living together for several weeks now, and with every passing minute, Tate plagued his thoughts even more. He figured one day he would be able to focus again, but for now, he was enjoying the distraction.
He managed to strip Tate’s shirt off him, tossing it to the floor.
Tate shivered.
“Cold?”
“A little.”
“Hmm. If there were only a way to fix that,” he said as he leaned down and sucked one of Tate’s nipples.
Tate gasped, planting his palms flat on the counter and leaning back, making it easier for Donovan to nibble and suck on the little brown disc.
He slid his hands up Tate’s back and curled them over his shoulders, supplying him with a little body heat while he drew several ragged groans out of him. Donovan lifted his head, pulling Tate to the edge of the counter so he could seal his lips over Tate’s. When Tate’s fingers teased through his hair, he felt tingles dancing down his spine.
“I want to lick you from head to toe,” he told Tate. “And then I want to start over and do it again.”
“What’s stoppin’ you?”
“Someone said they were cold.”
“And if I’m not mistaken, your body heat is more than enough to warm me up.”
