“I really do and your ass is a work of art.”
When Con glanced back over his shoulder, which made his wound pull a little bit and that was a bad idea, he could see Race looked a little stunned by his butt, in fact. He knew it was one of his better features. It wasn’t like he did squats or anything to get into shape. He just did a lot of work spent crouching down, he guessed.
Maybe it was just all-natural. How did he know?
“Get the salmon patties. Do you want mustard for yours?” Race went digging in his refrigerator, and Connal liked the image.
He liked it a lot, in fact. There was something purely natural about his mate in his kitchen moving around like it was normal.
“I would.” He loved the tangy mustard on salmon patties; somehow it just worked. He knew it was weird, because most of the time people liked creamy shit with dill on salmon but he just didn’t get that. Maybe it was because he was so terribly American and not at all like cultured or whatever, but yellow mustard was a good thing.
They sat down at the counter in the kitchen to eat the salmon patties, squirting mustard on their plates and grinning at each other like monkeys.
Con still felt the effects of being shot, but honestly, he’d probably never been more happy in his whole life.
Race kept stealing glances at him, and each one made him buzz a little bit more, made him want to growl in pleasure.
He wasn’t up to too much in the way of acrobatics, but he could totally tank up on food and then let Race ride him like a prized bear-pony.
I could just make you feel good, too. An orgasm and you would go right back to sleep.
“Mmm yummy.” And he didn’t mean the salmon patty although that was good. “But we do have lasagna in the oven.”
“But we could just turn it off and then turn it back on when we’re ready to eat it or turn the oven way down and let it just stay warm.”
He could see that. He could accept that, in fact. Hell, Con figured he could revel in that.
He might need a couple more doughnuts though, just to carb load a little. “Let’s turn down the oven.”
Surely, he wouldn’t nap that long.
And if he did, well, he was a bear. He’d eaten out of a dumpster a few times.
Race arched an eyebrow. “Seriously? No. No, no, no. We can eat the lasagna, and then afterward I’ll give you a blow job, and you can sleep.”
His eyes went wide. “Like you’ve never eaten out of a dumpster.”
“Rescuedpeople out of a dumpster, yes. Eaten out of a dumpster, no. I am a classy bear.”
He almost got his nose out of joint, and then he saw how Race’s dark eyes were twinkling, how the bear was barely holding his smile back.
“Yeah, yeah, we all know there’s more videos of black bears crawling out of dumpsters than there are of grizzlies.” Connal honestly figured that was because grizzlies tended to hang out more at places like fishing camps or hunting lodges in Alaska, but that was okay. One man’s trash was another bear’s treasure.
“Look, the lasagna hasn’t been in there that long. We can stick it back in the fridge. It won’t hurt anything.”
“Fair enough.” Con grabbed the pan out and it was pretty cold still because, well, he had to face it, it had been a frozen lasagna. He thought War tended to make them up and then stick whole pans of it in the deep freeze.
They gobbled down the rest of their salmon patties, and he inhaled a couple more doughnuts before they joined hands and headed back up the stairs.
By the time they got up there, Con’s legs were shaking, and he didn’t want to admit how tired he was. It wasn’t fair. Getting shot sucked.
Race ran a hand down his back. “I’m sorry, babe, I really am.”
“You didn’t shoot me.” He turned to pull Race into his arms as soon as they were in the bedroom, giving him a kiss that told Race, he hoped, everything he felt.
Race hummed, hands on his chest, pushing him back to the bed. He hit it with the back of his knees, so he tipped over and landed on his ass.
Con grunted, but that hadn’t really hurt; it had more made him laugh a little bit. He did love a forceful Race.
