Page 54 of Spiced!

“Thank you, Adrian, but it’s 2026. I’m on PrEP, too.” It was my turn to smile. “Though, I’m not sure I’m ready to, well, you know. It’s been a while, and that’s a big step. I—”

He stared a moment, as though processing a foreign language he only knew a few words of. “You what?”

My head lowered as I muttered, “I’m not very good at keeping the physical and emotional separate. If we, you know, went there, I think I’d . . . I might . . . it would just really confuse me.”

When I looked up, I found the most caring eyes staring, searching, asking questions to which I had no answers, not yet, at least.

Then he leaned forward and kissed me again, returning to his gentle, almost tentative touch.

“I want to be with you tonight,” he said. “What we do is less important than doing it together. Okay?”

The sincerity in his words stilled my heart. This beautiful man, how could I not want him?

“Okay,” I said. “But this counter is digging into my back. Mind if we move to a more comfortable surface?”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” He had the good grace to look embarrassed as he stepped back, took my hand, and guided me away from the cabinet.

“Don’t be. That counter’s never felt so good.” I chuckled. “But I think the bed will be a lot better.”

Chapter 14

Adrian

Brendan always seemed so confident, so sure of himself. He was a doctor, after all, a healer of animals and counselor to vexed humans. He was more educated than most people, and his easy way with others was nothing short of art in motion.

And yet, as he took my hand and stepped in front to lead me toward his bedroom, I saw tension in his muscles and felt sweat slicking his palm. I’m not sure why that made me smile, but my lips twitched at his discomfort. It also gave me a momentary spike of panic, my heart hammering to the tune of, “What the fuck are we doing?”

My dick, however, harbored no doubts.

Little Adrian was standing at attention like the good soldier he was, pointing forward in the direction of the battle to come.

We passed the bathroom and its open door to the right before coming to the bedroom on the left. A bedside lamp offered a dim, warm glow, painting the walls with a faint gold reminiscent of classic Florida pastels. Brendan’s furniture matched the man I knew, simple yet sturdy, reliable, and sensible. There were no frills or French filigree, only heavy wooden pieces for whom utility was paramount.

Brendan stepped inside, pulling me along, then sat on the edge of the bed. I stepped before him, our hands still entwined, and closed the space between us, his legs to either side of mine. With his other hand, he reached up and placed a palm on my stomach.

“What have I done to deserve you?”

That was the last question I expected. My mouth opened, but no words fell out. All I could do was blink in wonder.

“God, Brendan, I’m the one who should be asking that.”

He snorted, as though I’d said something utterly ridiculous.

I reached down and cupped his cheek, a gesture I was quickly learning to love.

“Brendan, we’re still learning one another, but the man I am coming to know is remarkable. He’s kind and good and cares so deeply. He smiles at little things and makes me want to be better. He makes me want . . .” I choked on whatever I was about to say.

Brendan’s eyes glistened in the lamplight.

“He makes you want what?” he whispered.

I swallowed.

“He makes me want to be worthy of him.”

Brendan’s eyes closed. I could practically see thoughts racing through his head. His hand didn’t flinch or move from my chest. If anything, I felt his fingers grip lightly, as if fixing me in place. His eyes remained closed as he spoke.

“Adrian, I think you . . . no . . . I know you don’t give yourself enough credit. You are so talented, as a dancer and baker and—”