“Okay then. First and final real rule of the pact. You’re in charge of when you want me and when you don’t. Good?”
He held out an open palm in front of Emerson’s stomach. Emerson looked down at it, laughed a little. Finally lifted his own hand from the counter, and shook it.
“Good,” he answered.
“Okay,” Luca said. “Now tell me where you’d be most comfortable for your massage.”
Luca should have expectedthe pictures.
When Emerson led him from the kitchen down the hallway, Luca had only been focused on getting to see Emerson’sbed. But when they walked in, the first thing Luca saw were the framed photographs that took up almost the entirety of the right wall. Lots of Daisy, of course. An older smiling couple. A younger version of Emerson inside a sweaty group of strangers in a sunny field, arms around each other’s shoulders, a corner of a chicken coop behind them.
And a lot of a smiling, dark-haired man with eyes just like Daisy’s.
Daisy still feels so connected to my life with Jay. Our family.
The only man Emerson had ever been with before.
Luca’s eyes felt glued to the photos.
And then Emerson took off his shirt.
Jerking his head in his direction, Luca stared. Who cared about a wall. Luca certainly didn’t.
“Well,” Luca said. “It’s like that, huh?”
Emerson looked down at himself. “Is that…good?”
Luca shook his head, a flush in his cheeks. He hadn’t actually meant to say that out loud, but it was okay that he did. Flirty, slutty Luca was awake again. And he was damn happy to be here.
“Very good,” he said. “You have a very nice body, Emerson King.”
Emerson’s face had mostly been hidden in a patch of shadow. But when he shook his head toward the light streaming in from the window above his bed, Luca could see his mottled blush.
Luca had already seen a peek of what Emerson looked like last night, when he’d pushed up the hem of his t-shirt to lay a kiss on his stomach, when Luca’s hands had run over the clear definition of abs. He’d pictured what Emerson’s lean body would look like ever since he’d seen him on that bar stool in the brewery. Still, he took his time looking now, a bit in awe.
Luca didn’t have a single type. Emerson was an entirely different body shape—wiry, sharp, inaddition to being a good foot shorter—than Dell McCleary. And everything about Dell, the softness and the strength of his bulk and his curves, had driven Luca wild, too.
But Lucahadalways liked ‘em hairy. And the light brown hair covering Emerson’s pecs, the fuzz down the center of his torso—Luca almost stepped forward to touch it. To run his mouth over it.
But he held himself back. That wasn’t what he had promised.
Emerson glanced at the bed.
“Are you actually—when you said you wanted to give me a massage, was that like, innuendo for something else?”
Luca laughed. “No. Lie on your stomach. Please.”
Emerson nodded. “Okay.” And he did as he was told.
Luca had to wipe a hand over his face at the sight. Emerson, arms folded underneath his cheek, back muscles stretched out before him, golden in the light from the window and bedside lamp. Ass up in those jeans. It was so pretty Luca wanted to take a picture. Luca hadn’t even touched him yet, but his dick didn’t really care.
“Is this okay?” Emerson asked after a minute, and Luca shook himself into action.
“Yeah.” He climbed onto the bed, straddling Emerson’s hips. “This is perfect. Except I think it’ll be better if you?—”
He reached for Emerson’s shoulders. Emerson let out a sharp hiss.
“Jesus.” Luca reluctantly snatched his hands away. “Your skin is burning hot.”
