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I’m not sure what I’m asking. If he wants his own stuff, that’s fine. But part of me hopes…
He steps toward the shower, his eyes locked on mine. “Yes,” Lucien says, setting the bottle in the shower. “But I want to wear you.”
He steps into the shower, and before I can say anything, he’s pressing me against the tile wall. The cold marble against my shoulders makes me gasp, but then his hands are on my waist, lifting me like I weigh nothing. I wrap my legs around him instinctively, my arms going around his neck.
“Lucien.”
He kisses me. It’s consuming, the kind of kiss that makes the rest of the world disappear. He kisses me with a fierce, burning authority, his tongue sliding against mine with a confidence that makes my head spin. Water streams between us, making everything slick and warm, and I can feel the hard length of him rubbing against my cock, can feel how much he wants this, wants me.
I kiss him back with everything I have. My fingers dig into his shoulders and my legs tighten around his waist. I pour everything into this kiss, my fear from last night, my determination to make this work, my love for him.
His hands grip my ass while he holds me steady in his arms, and I love the way he carries my weight so easily. He kisses me like he’s trying to crawl inside me, like he’s trying to fuse us together into one person.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. Water drips from his hair into his eyes, and I use my hand to direct the water away from his eyes.
“I can’t survive without you,” I whisper. It’s the truth. The most fundamental truth I know. “My soul belongs to you, Lucien. All of it.”
His eyes are so blue, so intense. “Good,” he says. “Because mine belongs to you.”
We stay like that for a long moment, just holding each other under the spray. Then he slowly lowers me back down, and we wash, though still finding excuses to put our hands on each other. He uses my shampoo, and I watch him work it through his hair, watch the suds slide down his neck and chest. When he rinses it out, I lean in and press my nose to his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent mixed with his own.
“Now you smell like me,” I say.
“Hmmm,” he hums, grabbing my hips, pulling me to him, and dropping to his knees.
Downstairs, the kitchen smells like coffee and bacon. Mom is at the stove in her robe and slippers. She turns when she hears us and smiles, and it makes me blush because I know she knows.
“Merry Christmas, boys. There’s breakfast in the nook.”
The breakfast nook is my favorite room in the house, circular, with curved bay windows that look out over the ocean. The water is gray-blue this morning, choppy with whitecaps. Plates are already set out on the round table. Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, fresh fruit.
Lucien and I sit, and every cell in my body calibrates to his presence. His knee brushes against mine under the table, and I press against it so more of me touches him. Then I catch a whiff of my shampoo on him, and I’m reminded of our shower together. God, I love him.
Mom eats with us for a few minutes, asking about how we slept, making small talk about the weather. Then she excuses herself to get dressed.
A few minutes later, Dad appears with his coffee mug. He’s already dressed in khakis and a sweater, his version of casual. He sits across from us and takes a long sip before speaking.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Morning, Dad.”
“Morning, sir,” Lucien says, and I can hear the nervousness in his voice.
Dad sets down his mug and looks at Lucien directly. “I heard something concerning last night. About your parents cutting you off financially.”
Lucien goes very still beside me. “Yes, that’s true, sir.”
“I work in finance,” Dad says. “I might be able to help.”
“I can work it out,” Lucien says quickly. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
Dad waves a hand dismissively. “You’re not a burden. But I think I might have a way to help you access your own money. Do you have a trust?”
Lucien nods slowly. “Yes. It’s mine when I’m twenty-one.”
“Often there’s a clause in these trusts,” Dad explains, leaning forward slightly. “They can be accessed early to pay for education if the trustee grants the request. Do you know who your trustee is?”
“My mom is the trustee,” Lucien says.
