Anna Martin's British Boys Box Set: My Prince - The Impossible Boy - Cricket

by Anna Martin

  He thought that telling her he’d fallen in love had softened the blow slightly as well. He’d never admitted that to his mother before, not once in all the years he’d been with Drew. Still, her overwhelming response had been disapproval. Let her disapprove, Henry had decided. He was his own man now. This was his decision. His marriage.

  Oh, fuck.

  They’d decided not to exchange rings or vows or names. That would all come later, Ryan had insisted, when they had a ceremony in front of all their family and friends. Henry had pushed the initial disappointment about not having a wedding ring from his head—that wasn’t what this was about. He would get all that early next spring, maybe a year after they’d first met. For now, this was as much a formality as anything else. Not that this self-reassurance had any effect on the butterflies in his stomach.

  Andy, Stella, and Jack would be their witnesses, the first two signing the document for them. Giving Jack Jack pens was a bad idea. Henry had learned this the hard way.

  “Is this it?” Stella said as Andy parked behind Ryan’s truck in a side street next to the registry office. “Not much, is it?”

  “Not like the grand old mansion where we’re getting married, darling,” Andy said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. He kissed her on the cheek. “Come on, you two.”

  To keep his hands occupied, Henry scooped Jack up and carried him up the short flight of stairs that led to the reception desk. He was thankful that Ryan was doing all the talking. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d be sick.

  The registrar was a woman, a nondescript, middle-aged woman with blonde hair she’d tied up in a twist.

  “We’re just signing the documents today. Is that correct?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Ryan said and pulled out his binder full of documents. She smiled at him and double checked the spelling of both their names as she filled in the paperwork.

  “Sign here, please.”

  The four of them took turns to print and sign their names. Then the registrar added her own with a flourish, added the date, and gave them official copies.

  “Congratulations, gentlemen,” she said with a smile.

  “Thanks,” Henry murmured.

  “Go on, give him a kiss,” Stella said. Her voice was teasing, and Andy scolded her, but Ryan was already leaning in, brushing his lips gently over Henry’s.

  Henry grabbed his hand, laced their fingers together, and squeezed. He’d just done it. He was married.

  He was mostly quiet on the drive back home, a heavy feeling settling in his chest as he watched the Somerset countryside whiz past them, the windscreen regularly wiped from falling rain. After every time Ryan changed gears, he took hold of Henry’s hand again.

  They took a detour through the village and headed up through the gorge, the natural valley with its spectacular caves that was such a big tourist attraction during the summer, and the site of the only big coffee shop in the area. The only place that served Henry’s favourite hazelnut latte.

  “Are you okay?” Ryan asked as they took two takeaway cups and two nice cakes back to the car. “You’re awfully quiet.”

  “I can’t believe I really just did that.”

  “I’m sorry it was a bit anticlimactic,” Ryan said. He put the drinks on top of the car and pulled Henry close, his hands on Henry’s hips as Henry wound his arms around Ryan’s neck.

  “It’s not that,” Henry said. “I’m just a bit overwhelmed.”

  Not caring that it was broad daylight and still raining lightly, Ryan pressed a kiss to Henry’s lips, a kiss that deepened quickly into something hot and messy and raw.

  “God. I love you so much.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Come on. Let’s get home before the coffee gets cold.”

  Chapter Twenty Two

  There was an offer to go to the pub that night to celebrate. If Ryan wanted to go, Henry was ready to agree, although all he really wanted to do was close the house up to intruders and spend time with his husband… fuck. His husband.

  He didn’t even want to see a delivery guy, so they made dinner from what they could find in the fridge—spaghetti and meatballs, the red sauce loaded with vegetables. Henry put the radio on and laughed again at Ryan’s terrible singing, told him off when he fed the dog a meatball right out of the pan, and threatened him with a spatula if he did it again.

  Their hands barely left each other’s skin, this now being normal for them on most days and even more important on this day. He didn’t want to be out of contact with Ryan, not for one second, not one second when they’d come so close to losing each other.

  “I have something for you,” Ryan said as the sauce simmered on the hob and they stood leaning against the counters, sipping at wine from the nicest bottle of red Ryan could find in his wine rack.

  “Oh? Kitchen sex?”

  “No, not kitchen sex,” Ryan said, throwing his head back to laugh. “Better than that.”

  “Better than kitchen sex? Bloody hell.” Henry had no idea where this was going and was amused at his own unintentional use of the phrase “bloody hell.”

  Ryan pulled something out of his pocket, extended his hand to Henry, and uncurled his fingers, revealing two shiny rings.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s your wedding ring,” Ryan said softly. “If you want it.”

  Henry’s heart slammed into his throat. “I thought you didn’t want to wear a wedding ring,” he said breathlessly.

  Ryan smiled shyly. “I didn’t want to share this with anyone else,” he admitted. “I wanted this to be for us. Just for us. Go on. Have a look at them.”

  Henry reached out for the rings. They were warm, probably from being in Ryan’s pocket for so long. He turned the rings toward the light so he could read the inscriptions inside. One read “For today” and the other one “For tomorrow.”

  “You pick,” Ryan said.

  “I’ll promise you today,” Henry said. He took Ryan’s hand and pushed the ring onto its fourth finger.

  “So I’ll promise you tomorrow,” Ryan said, taking the other ring and gently sliding it onto Henry’s finger. He brushed Henry’s cheek. “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

  “I’m not crying,” Henry said, although the words were useless. He was definitely crying. “I’m mad at you for making me get married in a fucking kitchen.”

  Ryan laughed and kissed away his tears.

  “Do you want to eat or go to bed?” Ryan asked as his fingers gently combed through Henry’s hair.

  “Bed now,” Henry said. “Eat later.”

  Ryan turned the stove off and transferred the pan to the oven to stop the dog getting at the rest of the meatballs, then slipped his hand in Henry’s and tugged him up the stairs that led to their attic bedroom.

  It was everything they had had before and more. It didn’t seem to matter that only a day ago they were insisting this was just a formality. The universe didn’t want to give them just a piece of paper today. It gave them all the shades and colours of love that a wedding was supposed to have. Everything with Ryan was different from how it had been before, and he was still working that out, untangling the threads of what had been hidden and what he’d just discovered was true. For the first time, he was convinced this was the right decision. There was no way he would have been able to leave Ryan and keep his heart intact.

  They stripped off clothes Henry hadn’t paid much attention to putting on that morning, and was now sure were permanently implanted in his memory. Layer by layer, skin was revealed and worshipped with lips and fingertips, quietly, reverently.

  Vows were not spoken; they were kissed. In place of prayers, they touched. And the songs of a traditional ceremony were replaced with soft sighs, sweet moans, and murmured adoration.

  Their naked bodies aligned on the bed, and Ryan’s hands, so much more confident now, swept effortlessly across all the places Henry was craving to be touched. He found himself wanting to be on his back for this, to cling to the
man whom he had just agreed to love forever.

  Ryan laughed as much as he moaned, cried out with the pleasure Henry insisted on giving him with lips and fingertips before they moved on to making love. His eyes went dark when Henry reached for the lube and stretched himself with one finger, then two, keeping his eyes on Ryan as he pressed the slippery liquid up deep inside himself.

  When Ryan reached for the box of condoms, Henry grabbed his wrist to stop him.

  “No,” he insisted. “Go bare.”

  “Are you sure?”

  It had been something they’d discussed previously but had yet to find a situation where it felt right, for them both, to make that step.

  “Yeah,” Henry said.

  When Ryan smiled, little lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. Henry reached out to touch them, then ran his fingers over the seam in Ryan’s lips. Obligingly, he licked, then sucked Henry’s fingertips.

  “Will I ever be able to say no to you?” Ryan asked, withdrawing his hand and leaving the condoms untouched.

  “I hope not,” Henry said, matching his partner’s grin.

  Ryan laughed, a sound that Henry was now unashamed to love, and poured a generous amount of lube over Henry’s crotch. When Henry squealed at the cold liquid and attempted to squirm away, Ryan held him fast, peppering kisses over Henry’s face, sinking into deeper kisses that connected them on another level entirely.

  With one hand pressed against Henry’s face, the thumb gently caressing his cheek, Ryan pushed gently against Henry’s hole, waited patiently until Henry nodded his assent, then pushed in deeper.

  This meeting of bodies was slow, controlled, and Henry couldn’t help but smile as he met Ryan’s eyes, feeling slightly silly. It was this lightness he was addicted to. They had been friends before they were lovers, and he was convinced that made the sex between them better.

  Their movements slowed further, and Henry tugged Ryan down into more kisses, loving the way their bodies seemed to melt into each other. His fingers pulled at Ryan’s hair, a plea for something more.

  “Henry,” Ryan whispered, in the same way other lovers would whisper baby or sweetheart or other meaningless terms of affection. “Henry.”

  Henry closed his eyes and loved.

  It was nearing midnight when both men dragged themselves down two flights of stairs to eat cold meatballs straight out of the pan, forgoing pasta and using a loaf of fresh bread as an accompaniment.

  “Share,” Henry grouched, tearing a crust off to dip in the rich tomato sauce. Ryan huffed a laugh and leaned in to lick a speck of sauce from the corner of Henry’s mouth.

  “It’s good,” Ryan said softly, his lips still close to Henry’s mouth. Close enough that Henry only had to turn his head to demand a kiss.

  “Yeah, it is,” Henry agreed.

  It was raining as Henry drove home from yet another meeting with the British border police. He could understand their reticence. He was sure he wasn’t the first person to be denied a visa, then marry a British citizen a few weeks later in order to stay in the country. It was convincing them that he and Ryan were in a committed, loving relationship that was taking time. They seemed to want to trip him up or catch him out. He had to remain calm and patient, even when he felt like rolling his eyes—partly in boredom, partly in frustration.

  The last few pieces of the Stretton House puzzle had fallen into place just in time for his grand opening to the public. He had employed himself as the general manager since he was now planning to stay in England for the long term, and had found several reliable local people to work for him as tour guides. He’d also set up a connection with a temp agency, who were willing to provide waiting and bar staff for when he hosted events, the first of which was going to be Stella and Andy’s wedding at the end of the year.

  Life was busy. He checked his rear-view mirror and caught sight of his reflection. Despite the fact that there was no one else in the car, he was smiling.

  Henry parked the car and checked the time. He was back slightly earlier than expected. There was a light rain falling, but he wanted to go and find Ryan. Plus, after being cooped up in the car, the thought of a walk was more than a little enticing.

  The dog wasn’t in the house, so Henry guessed Ryan had taken him out that morning. From the elevated point on the deck at the back of the house, Henry could just about see the tractor working one of the fields. It would take about twenty minutes to walk down there. He pulled on a pair of boots, choosing to wear those instead of walking down in the mud in his nice shoes.

  By the time he reached the field, his hair was slick with the rain, and he was slightly out of breath. He’d pushed himself to walk faster to outrun the rain. The tractor wasn’t particularly loud. Even so, he made sure he approached it from an angle where Ryan couldn’t possibly miss him.

  “Hey,” Ryan called, letting the tractor idle. “Can’t stop right now. Do you wanna hop up?”

  Henry nodded and swung himself into the cab. With the door shut, the noise from the engine was dulled enough for them to hold a conversation.

  “How did it go?” Ryan asked as he resumed ploughing the fields, the tractor dragging the heavy machinery behind them.

  “Not bad,” Henry said. “They were asking a lot about our sex life this time.”

  “Fucking bastards,” Ryan muttered.

  “It’s fine. They wanted to know how long I’ve been out, that sort of thing. I gave them the names of some people in New York they can contact if they want to know exactly how long I’ve been taking it up the ass. These guys won’t hold back. It’ll serve them right.”

  Ryan snorted in amusement and began the awkward process of turning around to work back up the field.

  “I told them we don’t use protection.”

  “Why?”

  “To show them that we’re committed to each other.”

  Ryan huffed.

  “And they asked me how often we make love. And when was the last time.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told them I blew you in the shower this morning and asked if that counted.”

  “You’re a nightmare,” Ryan said, but with affection.

  “Where’s Hulk?” Henry asked to change the subject.

  “Oh, Stella picked him up this morning. Apparently, Jack wanted to play with the doggy today, and it meant I didn’t have to worry about him while I was working.”

  “Sorry. Should I go away?”

  “No. You’re fine.”

  It was sort of relaxing—for Henry, at least—the gentle rumbling of the tractor’s engine and the light rain and the deep, steady breaths of Ryan’s concentration.

  Due to things being so tempestuous with the British authorities, they’d made the decision not to go on a honeymoon until things had started to settle down. Henry wanted to take his new husband to New York, not just to meet his parents but to take him around the city where he’d grown up. In return, Ryan’s parents had agreed to do a “house swap” for a week. They’d come back and live in the farmhouse, to take care of the dog and the farm, and Henry and Ryan could stay in their little beachfront house in Tenerife. It was a good plan all round, although Henry wasn’t expecting to do it until next spring.

  He was daydreaming about that beach now, imagining getting up late every day and applying layers of slick sun cream to Ryan’s skin every couple of hours.

  “I told them that I’d never been in love before I met you,” Henry said. His eyes were closed and his feet propped up on the dash in front of him. “There was a woman there. I’ve not seen her before, and I got the impression she was gay. I don’t know if they pulled her in on purpose or if it was a coincidence. Anyway, she asked me why you. And I said I never meant to fall for you. I tried so hard to stay away, because I didn’t know what you wanted, and you were so far from what I thought I wanted for myself. So when I fell for you—no one was more surprised than me. And now I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I want to keep waking up every morning with
my husband next to me.”

  “It was pretty much the same for me,” Ryan said softly. “It didn’t take long for you to completely change my life.”

  “For the better?”

  “Oh yeah. God, yeah.” He laughed and shook his head. “I thought we’d already done the big declarations.”

  “We did. It’s nice to hear it again, sometimes, though. And I like saying it too.”

  Henry tipped his head back and allowed the rumble of the tractor to lull him into a dozy sort of nap. He only woke when Ryan turned the engine off, apparently finished with this job. Sighing in contentment, Henry looked across the cab, prying just one eye open.

  He considered initiating some kind of… unusual sex, tractor sex, but he couldn’t find the energy to do it. There was plenty of time for tractor sex another day. They had plenty of them.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  They strung fairy lights in the trees that lined the drive so the wedding guests could find their way. The ceremony wasn’t due to start until late in the evening, and the night was cold and crisp and clear.

  Planning a wedding for Stella had meant Henry had been forced to throw the rule book out the window, then forget rules had ever existed. She wanted things he didn’t understand and things he refused to understand on principle. For those reasons, he’d arranged for a full-size funfair carousel to be delivered down the narrow, winding road that led to Stretton House and installed in the vast garden.

  She didn’t want a traditional sit-down dinner, so he’d set up a series of huge barbecues serving burgers and hot dogs and grilled chicken. He’d hired a cotton candy machine and a popcorn machine and bought so many sparklers he was afraid one stray match could burn the house down. There were many, many health and safety precautions in place.

  Henry had arrived at the house in the morning to start setting up, even though guests wouldn’t start arriving until much later in the evening. There was plenty to do, all the boring stuff like making sure they had enough toilet paper in stock and his serving team knew what their responsibilities were.