Page 34 of Midnight and Mistletoe

“Fox…fuck…”

“Is this what you came home for?”

I close my eyes and drop my head back. “Yes.”

He wraps his hand around my length, stealing my next breath. I get my hand between us and pull his cock from his sweatpants. If this man never again wears anything else, I’ll be happy.

I try to return the favor with slightly less finesse—because the way he twists his hand around my shaft as he moves up and down might unalive me—and considerably more desperation. He drops his forehead against my shoulder, his breath hot against my collarbone.

“You’re so fucking hot. You drive me insane, Griffin.”

I swallow. “How do you even have words right now?”

“I will always have words for you, Finn.”

My orgasm hits me so hard I practically black out. Or maybe that’s what happens when you hear something you don’t know how to process.

Fox comes next, a low sound in his throat that I feel more than hear, and for a long moment, neither of us can do anything but breathe.

“Well,” Fox says eventually. His voice is wrecked.

“Was that worth coming home for?”

I chuckle, but it dies in my throat when he kisses my forehead before stepping back carefully. We both look down at the state of our clothes and start laughing at the same time.

We clean up and then stand in the kitchen while Fox makes lunch because apparently that’s how this goes now. Grilled cheese. Tomato soup from a can that he doctors with cream and pepper, and it’s perfect.

After lunch, I set my laptop up on the kitchen table. Fox picks up his bass and settles on the couch again, quietly playing something I don’t recognize. Not a song from Hall of Fame’s catalog.

I try to work, and unlike in the office earlier, I mostly succeed. Occasionally I look up and watch him.

Every time I remember he’s moving to the farm in six days when the rest of the band arrives, my stomach does a small, tight, unfriendly thing.

Six days feels like nothing. I know I’ve already had more than I could have ever asked for, but it’s not enough.

My phone rings. I see Taylen’s number and answer on autopilot. “Hey.”

“Hi. So. Dinner tonight? I have some ideas about how to remind your brother that he’s been gone for twenty-five years and doesn’t get to just show up and be everyone’s favorite again. I need a professional consultant.”