Pisces Floors Taurus: Signs of Love 4.5

by Anyta Sunday

  Pisces Floors Taurus

  Signs of Love #4.5

  Anyta Sunday

  First published in 2019 by Anyta Sunday,

  Contact at Bürogemeinschaft ATP24, Am Treptower Park 24, 12435 Berlin, Germany

  An Anyta Sunday publication

  http://www.anytasunday.com

  Copyright 2019 Anyta Sunday

  Cover Design: Natasha Snow

  Pisces and Taurus Art Design: Maria Gandolfo (Renflowergrapx)

  Line Editor: HJ’s Editing

  All rights reserved. This publication may not be reproduced without prior permission of the copyright owner of this book.

  All the characters in this book are fictional and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Warning: This book contains explicit sexual content.

  Contents

  Foreword

  Pisces Floors Taurus

  Also available: Pisces Hooks Taurus (Signs of Love #4)

  Anyta Sunday

  “Pisces Floors Taurus” is a short, erotic follow-up to Pisces Hooks Taurus (Signs of Love, #4).

  Pisces Floors Taurus

  Zane ushered Beckett inside the cabin he’d booked, dropped their ill-fated backpack and sleeping bags, and hurriedly blocked out the frosty night. Dim lights popped on, but Zane was too distracted to take in details. He stripped Beckett out of his clothes and steered him toward the thick rug seated before a leather couch.

  “Undress, too,” Beckett demanded, trembling.

  Without preamble, Zane yanked off his boots and clothes and tossed them atop Beckett’s near the bunkbeds.

  He scanned the room and spotted a thick, decorative blanket hanging on the wall.

  “Are you sure we should be taking that down?” Becky’s teeth chattered.

  “It’s a blanket, Becky. You’re shivering.”

  “Yes, well. I’d rather catch a cold than have you commit a crime.”

  Zane laughed at Beckett’s over cautiousness. “It’s just a blanket nailed to a wall.”

  “In a historic cabin. In the middle of native New Zealand land. All the furniture has backstory.”

  “We should give it more story.” Zane winked, then tugged the thick woolen weave, freeing the blanket of the last nail. “A happy story about being the blanket that stops my boyfriend”—fiancé?—“from getting hyperthermia.”

  Beckett shook his head. “Hypo.”

  He erupted into another shiver, and Zane curled the blanket around him. “What type of tapestry is this?”

  “The warm type.” A card dangled from a tassel at Beckett’s shoulder. Zane leaned in, read the scripted font, and froze.

  Beckett swung his head toward him, those beautiful blue eyes striking Zane with a flutter in the chest, just as they had when they met, and every time thereafter.

  “What is it?” Beckett said.

  Zane flashed a meek smile and feathered a kiss on Beckett’s frosty lips. “Getting arrested would be worth it. You’d fall ill without this wooly weave. You don’t have my Kiwi blood to be able to walk around naked and not feel the cold.”

  Beckett’s disbelievingly impressed gaze flittered down Zane’s bare length. “Why would you get arrested?”

  “According to this tassel, it’s a pretty old blanket? A few decades. Closer to a dozen, actually. This blanket should be in a freaking museum.”

  Beckett groaned and started slipping it off.

  Zane picked up the fallen corner and tucked it back around Beckett’s shoulders. “But not as much as it should be around you.”

  He hunkered down next to his boyfriend and studied the warm reds and whites of the blanket. “Huh.”

  Beckett managed to quirk his brow between shivers. “Huh?”

  “This pattern,” Zane said. “It’s a giant fish hook.” He eyed his Taurus boyfriend and his stomach lurched giddily. Beckett Fisher had surely hooked Zane Penn and he never wanted to be set free. “This moment feels strange. Like it’s meant to be.”

  “That strangeness you are feeling?” Beckett whispered. “It’s called numbness.”

  Zane laughed, scoring a hand through his damp hair. “I’m sorry about the bridge thing.”

  Beckett opened the blanket and wrapped it around Zane, sidling over the rug until their sides met, Beckett’s arm and hip cold against Zane’s warm skin. Now there was an idea to keep his man warm. Zane scooched in front of Beckett, cushioning Beckett’s front with warmth while the blanket cloaked his back. Zane steered Beckett’s arms around his chest.

  Beckett shivered and pressed a tickling kiss on Zane’s shoulder.

  “It was supposed to be romantic,” Zane said, sighing.

  “Nothing says romance like being jumped on a semi-collapsed swing bridge over a dirty creek in the middle of the night.”

  “It was a full moon. I thought you were into it.”

  A chuckle skittered over his shoulder blade. “I was into it. Until—”

  “We toppled into the creek?”

  “Before that, when—”

  “I accidentally kicked our pack over the edge?”

  “Before that.” Beckett clamped his front flush against Zane’s back and Zane willed all his warmth into Beckett’s body.

  “Before that?” Zane warmed Beckett’s thighs that were clenched around his. “It was totally hot before that.”

  “Hmm. Hot. Not the word I’d currently use for it.”

  Oh. Zane stared at his feet poking out from the tapestry-blanket. Embarrassment burned through him.

  Beckett rested his forehead against Zane’s nape. “You’ve gone quiet.”

  Zane shrugged. He tried to laugh but it sounded panicked. “So . . . you weren’t into trying, um, that with me?”

  Beckett’s arms stiffened around him. His fingers curled around Zane’s upper arms, the blanket pooling to their waists. “Turn around, Zane.”

  Zane turned onto his knees and kept his gaze cast at Beckett’s smooth, hard chest.

  A finger curved under his chin and steered his face up. Beckett sized-up Zane’s expression, his gaze soft, curious, and cautiously desiring. “I refuse to top you for your first time on a semi-collapsed swing bridge over a dirty creek in the middle of the night.”

  Zane tried to drop his gaze, but Beckett pinched his chin in place. He leaned in until his lips hovered at Zane’s. “But I’m definitely into the idea.”

  Zane shivered, and it had zero to do with the cold. “Now I’m all nerves and hypo-exhilaration.”

  Beckett smiled against his lips and Zane pulled back to admire the way Beckett’s face transformed with joy, eyes twinkling, mouth curving sensually.

  Zane crushed Beckett into a smoldering kiss.

  Beckett pulled back, chuckling. “Not tonight.”

  “But what a brilliant way to keep warm.”

  “How romantic,” Beckett said, dryly.

  Zane saluted him. “Totally right. My first time should be. I’ll continue offering romantic suggestions, Becky, and when the feels overwhelm you, you’re going to peg—”

  “Not what you think it means.”

  “Piston—”

  “Good Lord.”

  “Plunge? Whoa, where are you going?”

  “To plunge off a bridge. Apparently once wasn’t enough.”

  “You’re back!” Darla called out the moment they fell out of the taxi in front of Beckett’s duplex.

  Zane abandoned his suitcase, rushed up their neighbor’s path, and whisked the old bull into the biggest, foot-popping hug.

  “Now I remember why I missed you,” she cooed in his ear. “Side note, could you maybe toss me over your shoulder and spank my bottom
next Tuesday at five o’clock?”

  Beckett coughed behind them, and Zane pulled back grinning. “What’s next Tuesday at five?”

  “Oh, this gentleman I met at the library is coming over to pick up an antique chair.”

  “You don’t own an antique chair.”

  “Maybe he’ll pick up an antique something else,” she said.

  Zane laughed. “I’ll spank you any time at all.”

  “I feel like I’m in class,” Beckett said. “The professor no one pays attention to.”

  “What was that?” Zane asked.

  Beckett gave a cute, irritable growl. “Darla, move your insanely manicured fingernails off my boyfriend.”

  Darla lifted her nails off Zane’s jaw. “Boyfriend or fiancé?”

  Zane’s stomach dipped. Beckett had said he wanted to marry Zane when he was eligible to enter the States. After months in New Zealand travelling with Beckett, here Zane was, back on American soil on another visa.

  Were they officially fiancés? Or was it only official if they wore engagement rings? Did guys buy engagement rings?

  He glanced at his bare fingers and over at Beckett’s and shifted uneasily.

  Darla grabbed her cane and pivoted suddenly, mumbling about a package as she smacked her way inside.

  Beckett stepped closer to him and words skittled over the shell of his ear. “I’m not letting you leave again.”

  Zane swallowed Beckett into a tender embrace. Their warm breaths tangled and their legs slotted easily together. Their kiss crackled with electricity.

  “So many feels,” Zane croaked. He pressed against Beckett’s warm body and deepened their kiss.

  A muffled laugh. “Not now, Zane.”

  Darla returned with a package addressed to Beckett and Zane. One glimpse at the sender, Zane knew what was in the box. After the bridge incident a few weeks ago, he’d organized this.

  With a grin, he plucked the package from Darla, and pivoted to Beckett. “This is for us.”

  Once they’d lugged their suitcases inside, Zane dragged Beckett to the bathroom with a giddy grin. Jetlag was fast catching up to him, but he didn’t care. He wanted Beckett to open the package now.

  Beckett perched on the tiled rim of the bath. With an inquisitive brow, he carefully opened the package and peeked inside.

  Zane could barely restrain from helping him rip into it. He bounced on the balls of his feet.

  Finally, Beckett pulled out the plastic material. “A shower curtain?”

  Zane tapped the rail high above the bath that held a navy shower curtain. Nothing wrong with it, but it was nothing special either. “Open it out.”

  Beckett did. Zane had sketched a Taurus and Pisces either side of a large hook. The hook he’d modelled off the historic tapestry they’d used to keep warm in the cabin. Once they’d reached civilization, Zane had sent away for his design to be printed on this shower curtain.

  Beckett scrubbed his smile and carefully gathered the material onto his lap, twisting it so the bull, hook, and fish faced him.

  “It had to be a bathroom related gift,” Zane blurted. “You know, because of all the fond memories we’ve had in here.”

  “Remembering them gives me a real high.” A twinkle danced in Beckett’s eye, and a gentle shiver slid through Zane.

  Beckett laid the shower curtain over the bathtub and crossed over to him. Blue eyes simmered with fondness, lust, and shyness—something he wasn’t used to in Beckett.

  Beckett laid a warm hand over the side of Zane’s neck. His thumb tapped with the rapid beat of his heart. A question brewed in his gaze, and the answer was yes, yes, yes! But Zane’s throat dried, and he croaked.

  Flustered, he broke their connection, scooped up the empty box, and shifted it from arm to arm.

  “We should put the curtain up.” Zane peeked inside the cardboard box. Just a bunch of screwed up packing paper. “Shit. No shower rings.”

  Beckett frowned. “I’ll order some. Should arrive tomorrow.”

  Zane slumped his shoulders and followed. For weeks he’d tossed out romantic opportunity after romantic opportunity. Beckett hadn’t so much as nipped at the bait.

  Now he had, and Zane had gutted it.

  After a day recovering from jetlag, Zane redoubled his efforts.

  In the early evening, he drove to the florist and returned a dozen scarlet roses richer. He smuggled them into the bedroom and scattered the ripped petals off eleven of them over the bed.

  Gently oiled and wearing an assless thong—step four on a “How to Seduce” blog he’d discovered—he slipped the last rose between his teeth and snuck to where Beckett was working in the living room.

  Admittedly, this was cliché. But clichés were clichés for a reason. They worked.

  And hopefully it’d work for him right now.

  Zane hovered in the doorway. The curtains were drawn and bright light filled the room. Beckett sat at the table, sloped over his journal, writing vigorously, his blazer open and his shirt unbuttoned to the sternum.

  He tapped his pen against his lips in thought. Zane couldn’t contain the crazy love swelling in his chest. He never needed Darla’s dodgy brownies; he was always high around Beckett.

  He cleared his throat and Beckett glanced at him with a warm smile. He refocused on his journal and then whipped his head back up with a startled blink.

  Zane dimmed the lights and sidled to Beckett, removing the bitter tasting rose stem from his mouth. He offered the flower.

  “Uh, what?” Beckett said.

  “How elegant, professor.”

  Beckett’s gaze roamed Zane’s length up and down, and again, lingering on his jockstrap. His hand twitched with his pen. “What’s going on?” he rasped.

  “If I do it right, this’ll be a seduction.”

  Beckett regained his composure, dropped his pen, and took the flower. Amusement creased the corners of his eyes. He leaned back in his chair. “You’re the cutest man I’ve ever met.”

  “Cute? Try sexy.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Zane growled, then turned around and showed him his gaping backside. “See, sexy!”

  Beckett laughed, and Zane felt the seduction leak through his fingers like the coconut oil he’d slathered himself with.

  Another fail.

  At least he wasn’t the type to give up easily.

  He excused himself to the bedroom—despite Beckett’s baffled frown—and returned a few minutes later, nervously gripping a piece of paper.

  Beckett remained where he’d left him, twirling the rose between his fingers, a soft smile playing at his lips.

  Zane moved to him.

  Beckett eyed the boxers and T-shirt Zane now wore with a glint of disappointment.

  “I’ve made a list.” Zane slid the paper over the table toward Beckett, who glanced at it. “I don’t want to keep messing it up, so choose which scenario makes you feel the most.”

  “Zane.”

  “I mean it. I want this to be perfect for both of us.”

  Beckett twisted on his chair and captured his hand. Warm fingers tightened around his and Zane folded toward the pull.

  Beckett tugged him again and Zane scooched onto his warm lap, straddling him.

  Zane brushed a stray hair off Beckett’s face. “I’m sorry I ruined our moment in the bathroom yesterday.”

  “You’re nervous.”

  “Yeah.”

  Beckett leaned in, nose dragging along Zane’s cheek to his ear. “Me too.”

  Zane pulled back. Beckett’s grip was confident at Zane’s hips, but his eyes wavered between desire and uncertainty.

  “You are?”

  Another nod.

  “Have you never done it before?”

  Beckett smiled against Zane’s lips. His words were a warm whisper. “I have. Most times with my ex.”

  Zane jerked back and Beckett gripped him tight.

  “You mostly topped? But I’ve been . . . we’ve been . . . on an almost daily ba
sis.”

  “And it’s perfect. What we have works for us. I don’t have to do it any other way, Zane.”

  But Zane saw a curious flash in Beckett’s eyes. “You want to, though.”

  “I don’t . . . Maybe. Yes.”

  “Why haven’t you, then? I’ve offered a million and twenty-seven times in the last three weeks.”

  Beckett swept a hand up Zane’s back and squeezed his nape. “Because I want you to like it, Zane.” He loosened his grip to a tickle. “Really like it. I don’t want you to be disappointed, and first times can be . . .”

  “Painful.”

  “It’s a lot of pressure.”

  “Was that a pun, Becky?”

  Beckett laughed abruptly. “Not intentionally.”

  Zane understood. Beckett felt pressured to make it perfect for him. “Thing is, I do hope it feels great. Wonderful. Mind-blowing—”

  “That isn’t helping.”

  Zane swallowed Beckett’s exasperated groan into a kiss. “Eventually. But the first time is not about that. It’s about me and you. About being close. About sharing that intimacy.”

  They pressed their foreheads together and Beckett’s breath shuddered over the top of Zane’s lip.

  Professor Beckett’s voice came out soft, breaking on his name. “Kiss me, Zane?”

  Zane slid his palms across Beckett’s freshly shaven cheeks and whispered his lips over Beckett’s. The soft touch sent a shiver through him, and he squirmed on Beckett’s lap.

  They had kissed ten thousand times already, yet each kiss still felt like a snowflake: tender, fresh, unique.

  This one was all nervous edges.

  Zane slipped his tongue inside Beckett’s mouth, reassuring and pleading, and Beckett rolled his hands down his back, pressing him tight.

  Zane moaned and Beckett deepened their kiss. He tasted faintly of wine and under that, sweet, like he’d eaten apricots.