A whoosh of air escapes me, a small grin splitting my face. “Great! Might as well get some use out of my guest bedroom, huh?”
Luke smiles a bit sheepishly, his fingers drumming on the wooden surface of the table. “Um, about that. What if I stay in your bedroom?”
My groin tightens, instant arousal surging through my veins at the mental image of a naked, horny Luke writhing in my bedsheets. Then it transitions to an image of a sleepy, sated Luke curled up on his side and snoring softly while I spoon him from behind. The amount of longing that hits me is surprising, making my breath stutter. But then the reality of our situation occurs to me, and I hesitate.
“This isn’t transactional. I’m not expecting something from you just because I’m letting you stay here,” I slowly say.
He scoffs, as if finding that idea preposterous. Then his eyes are heating, roving over my torso and down my forearms. “In case you haven’t noticed, I like what we’ve been doing. I would like to keep doing it.”
I barely stop myself from immediately screaming out an enthusiastic yes. Instead, I use all my forty-three years of life experience to remain calm and rational. “I’m too old to be somebody’s experiment,” I warn him. “Not that experimentation is wrong. If that’s what you need then you should absolutely do that, but…well, I need something more.”
I’m not so selfish and impatient that I would demand commitment right now when his life is in so much turmoil, when he’s barely scratched the surface of this newfound sexual curiosity. But I can’t be a warm body he uses to get off, someone he uses to experiment with and promptly forgets about.
I need to…meansomethingto him.
He gives me a contemplative look, and oddly enough, I appreciate the time he takes to mull my statement over. His usual impulsivity isn’t here right now, and it puts me at ease.
“I don’t see you as an experiment. I like you…” He makes a sort of laugh-cough sound, pink tinging his cheeks. “I’m not sure I want to declare myself gay, or bisexual, or…whatever I am to the world yet. And I’m not saying I want to get married or anything, but Ireallylike you.”
And there goes my heart.
Thump, thump, thump.
“I’m your boss,” I remind him. “We’ll have to act professional at work.”
“Fine by me.”
“And I’m Caleb’s dad. We’ll have to keep this between us until we figure out what it is,” I point out, grimacing as the words fall out of my mouth. It’s not lying exactly, but I also don’t like withholding information from my son. I’ve always made a point of being open and transparent with him.
“Fair enough.”
“I’m nineteen years older than you.”
He nods, a cheeky grin breaking out across his face. “You’re really selling yourself here, old man.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t keep the grin from tugging on my lips. That is, until my intrusive thoughts return.
You should tell him about your scars.
I push that anxiety-inducing thought away for now, but there is one thing he deserves to know before we take this any further. It’s a compromise, of sorts.
“I don’t know exactly what your expectations are, but I’m not always an easy man to get along with. In case you haven’t noticed, I need to feel some level of control when I’m with somebody.”
He smirks. “In caseyouhaven’t noticed, I didn’t exactly protest.”
Brat.I huff a laugh before sobering up. “I need you to tell me if you ever need me to back off…in bed or out of it.”
He bites his bottom lip, his eyelashes fluttering with a faraway look that makes me squirm with need. “Okay, I can deal with that. Honestly, I liked…what we did.”
I finally relax a fraction, allowing myself to believe we can do this. We can be together, and it won’t turn into a disaster. Maybe he won’t end up hating me. I swallow, taking a moment to appreciate his fresh, just-got-fucked hair and the rosy hue still lingering on his cheeks. Giving him a heated look, I scoot my chair back a few inches. Spreading my legs, I jerk my chin toward my lap.
“Come here, Luke.”
He sucks in a harsh breath, eyes darkening before standing up. His chair screeches as he pushes it back, slowly making his way over to me with an obvious bulge in his sweatpants. When he’s standing within arm’s reach, I grasp both hips and pull him down to straddle me. Then I thread my hand through his tousled hair and kiss him.
It's not the messy, heated kisses of before, where we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. It’s a deep, slow kiss. Tightening my hold on his hair, my tongue slips along the seams of his soft lips as I claim him with my mouth.
“That’s it then. You’re mine,” I rumble.
