“I’m gonna come all over your back. Jesus, Rory. Do you have any idea how good you look?” He was panting, and his voice sounded strained. I managed to turn my head enough to look at him over my shoulder just as he lost it. He was squeezing himself so hard his fingers were red, but he groaned and released. His spunk shot out to land on my sweaty skin. I felt the hot drops, and my dick made an effort to rise. I was so sensitive it hurt.
Deacon landed on the bed beside me, panting hard. He pulled me back against him, and I felt his cum squish between us. When I made a face, he chuckled tiredly and nosed my hair off my temple so he could kiss it.
“God, that was good.” I stretched in his hold, and despite the twinges of pain and soreness, I loved every second of it.
“You can say that again.”
“God, that was good.”
Deacon snorted. “Funny. We’re going to have to clean up a little.”
I nodded. I liked the feel of his cum on my skin, but when it dried, it would be itchy as hell. “Go get a wet cloth or something.”
He propped himself up so I could see his incredulous expression. “Why me?”
I squinted at him. “It’s your mess.”
Deacon’s eyes heated. “Yeah, it is.”
“And it’s not like I can reach all those spots where you unloaded all over me.”
He sucked in a breath through his nose. With one hand he tilted my head back so he could kiss me thoroughly. Then pushed himself off the bed. He returned with a damp cloth, ran it over my skin to wipe off the worst of the mess, and dropped it on the bedside table. He was also thoughtful enough to bring back a towel to throw over the wet spot so I didn’t have to sleep in it.
I pulled him back into bed with me, and he was quick to snuggle us together. I loved him spooning up behind me. It was one of my greatest pleasures, having a lover hold me while we slept, fitted so closely behind me I wasn’t sure where he ended and I began.
At the sound of a snap, we both glanced at the pocket watch on the bedside table. I hadn’t even remembered setting it there in my haste to get undressed, but I was glad I’d taken enough care to not leave it in my pocket when I threw my jeans across the room. My arm was heavy, and sleep was trying to creep in as I reached for it. I had to tilt it to catch a beam of moonlight to read the face.
“Hey, look at that,” I murmured softly. “It’s after midnight.”
Deacon kissed the back of my neck. “Merry Christmas, Rory.”
I smiled and set the watch back down. “Merry Christmas, Deke.”
DEACON WAS still sleeping when I crawled out of bed the next morning. I rummaged around as quietly as possible, found some clothes that would fit him, and left them next to his on the top of the dresser. Then I stole out of the room. I stopped in the short hallway and took a minute to breathe and remember. Deacon was in my bed. Deacon had fucked me perfectly and soundly before we fell asleep in each other’s arms. It was the best Christmas present I could ask for.
I showered and dressed, having brought my own clothes into the bathroom with me, and then retrieved Apollo. He was already awake when I lifted the covering on his cage.
“Morning.”
I smiled at my bird because he was just the cheeriest little shit I’d ever met. I’d had him for fifteen years, and with any luck, we’d have another twenty or thirty years together.
“Good morning, Apollo. How’d you sleep last night?”
He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sex groan, and embarrassment heated my blood. He was an exceptional mimic and incredibly intelligent. While I was certain he didn’t know what that noise meant, he associated it with last night.
“Don’t do that,” I chastised.
He, of course, did it again. Crap.
I carried him into the kitchen and set him on his feeding perch in the corner by the window. He preened his feathers and chattered away while I filled his food and water bowls. At last count he knew over one hundred words, but he had favorites he liked to repeat. When I was done, he picked through his food.
“Almond.”
“After breakfast if you’re good.”
“You still talk to him like he’s human.”
I startled and then laughed. A freshly showered Deacon leaned against the doorjamb. Christ, but he was beautiful. His dark hair was damp and slightly curling, though by the time it dried, it’d be pin straight. He was wearing his jeans from the day before, but he’d pulled on the long-sleeved tee I left him. It was tight across the shoulders and showed off his muscles.
“Helloooo, gorgeous.”
Deacon grinned. “He remembers me.”
I snorted out a laugh and turned toward the stove. “I’m gonna make french toast, all right?”
“Sounds good.”
Apollo barked, made a knocking sound, and barked again.
“The neighbors have a dog,” I said by way of explanation as I gathered ingredients. Deacon chuckled.
“Apparently a yappy one.”
“Step up. Want some water?” Apollo called from his perch. Then he sang, “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle bells.”
“I can put him in his room if he’s too noisy,” I offered.
“Hell no. He’s better entertainment than TV.”
Apollo picked at his food for a minute and ate a few bites. Then he made that sex groan again, and I dropped an eggshell into the batter I was mixing. Deacon laughed so hard he had to brace himself on the counter.
“Shut up,” I grumbled, but I was smiling too.
“Don’t worry, Rory. I like that sound coming from you.”
A pleased feeling spread through my stomach. It only intensified when Deacon stepped up and wrapped his arms around me and turned me so he could kiss me. I melted against him and was only vaguely aware of Apollo barking in the background.
“Make the coffee, will you?” I asked when he pulled away. Deacon nodded and headed for the machine, and I blew out a silent breath. I needed the distance.
I had to get myself under control. I didn’t know what was between us, and it was too soon to ask for a definition. It could be just a “friends with benefits” thing, or it could be so much more. We used to be good together, and it was clear we could be again. But maybe he didn’t want that. Until I felt comfortable enough to ask, I was just going to enjoy it. Whatever it was.
Chapter Six
“I FEEL weird going in there without gifts.”
“Don’t.” I nudged him with my shoulder as we walked up the front steps of my da’s house. I held out one of the bags I was carrying. “Here. So you don’t walk in empty-handed.”
He shook his head, and a small smile played around his lips. “Not exactly what I meant.” But he took the bag.
“Seriously don’t worry about it. Present time is pretty low-key in our family, and no one expects you to bring anything. We all know you were a last-minute addition. It’s about spending time together. That’s the important part.”
Of course I’d stopped at a used bookstore on my way home from work on Saturday to pick him up something to open with the rest of us—a Bach biography I was hoping he’d appreciate. And if I knew my da, he’d have gotten something when I told him Deacon was coming.
Deacon didn’t quite look convinced, but he nodded anyway and followed me through the door into my da’s warm and wonderful-smelling house.
Introductions went smoothly, and everyone was beyond welcoming. Deacon began to relax after a minute. And when my brother Lachlan engaged him in a conversation about music—albeit contemporary—Deacon let the rest of the tension go. I stood to the side and took the scene in. He looked perfect sitting among my family with the tree on in the background and a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. I couldn’t wait to see him involved in future family gatherings.
My heart thudded, and my breath caught for a second. Damn. I hadn’t expected that thought or the feelings that came with it. I guessed I’d be having that conversation with him sooner rather than later.
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Which wasn’t a bad thing, I told myself. It would be good to make sure we were on the same page. If all he wanted was to be friends, I could handle that—especially if the extras were thrown in as well. Plenty of people did it. I could too.
I knew it was crap the moment the thought entered my brain. I wasn’t built like that. I could have friends, and I could have a boyfriend, but I needed it to be one or the other. I thought Deacon could be great at the whole boyfriend thing. If he was ready. If he wanted it. I had to remember not to put my own expectations on him and not assume I knew what he wanted and needed either way.
The conversation definitely had to happen.
But not then.
“Rory. Come with me.”
I gulped hard and turned to Grandda. He had the barest of smiles on his lips. What was that about? Grandda wasn’t much of a smiler. For him that was like a full-out grin.
“Okay. Just….” I glanced around, and my gaze landed on Deacon. He was staring at me with an eyebrow raised in question. “You gonna be okay for a minute?”
“Sure.”
I nodded and pointed to the corner where a dusty upright stood. My mother had played a little, and she put Keira through lessons until my sister decided she liked hitting a tennis ball more than being cooped up inside.
“Look! A piano!” I gasped playfully, as though it had magically appeared. “Maybe you should give it some love?”
My da laughed and shook his head at my antics. Then he turned his attention to Deacon. “We’d be honored if you’d play for us, son.”
Deacon nodded and crossed the room.
“Just not too much or for too long. Okay? Your hand.”
He smiled at me, and affection brimmed in his eyes. “I know my limits.”
I held his gaze and nodded. When he turned back to the piano, I followed my grandfather into the kitchen. Before the door even swung shut, I heard the opening notes of “O Holy Night.” The piano was slightly out of tune, but Deacon made it sound good. I couldn’t stop the smile.
“I see the watch worked.”
I snapped my gaze to Grandda’s. “Umm… what now?”
He scowled, but there was no heat in it. “I told you it would help sort out your life. And it seems it has. That Deacon lad? You were seeing each other once, aye?”
“Aye, er, yes. A long time ago. We ran into each other the other day. We’re friends.”
Grandda’s stare was full of disbelief, and I tried not to squirm. I was too old to squirm, and there was no way I was going to tell my grandfather exactly what we’d gotten up to the night before. Especially because I didn’t know what it meant yet.
“Lyin’ll get you boxed ’round the ears, Rory. I gave you the watch, and he came back into yer life. How do ye explain that?”
I squinted. “Coincidence.”
“Or fate.” His gaze was steady on me. I felt the weight of it, but I couldn’t look away. He sighed and reached out a hand to squeeze my shoulder. “I dinnae teach ye the old ways—my ways—but maybe I should have. Then you’d know.”
“Grandda,” I said softly and leaned into him a little. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“Aye. Maybe. Or maybe ye should talk to the lad.”
His knowing look made me laugh, and I hugged him hard for a quick second. He kissed my head and gently pushed me away.
“He makes ye smile. And he makes beautiful music. Aye?”
The last strains of “O Holy Night” sounded in the air. There was a pause, and then a new song began. I groaned because I knew those notes so well. Bach’s Air, played with such emotion, and I nearly melted into a puddle.
The watch shifted in my pocket, and I shook my head. Maybe it was trying to tell me something after all.
And maybe with the song, Deacon was too.
IT WAS late in the evening by the time Deacon and I made it back to my place. The day had been a rousing success, filled with carols, presents, and family. I’d enjoyed the crap out of it, and I could tell Deacon had too. He’d been wearing a smile for most of the day.
“Want to come in?”
Deacon stared at me and glanced at his car parked next to mine in the driveway. My heart sank. He was ready to leave, and I didn’t want to let him go.
“Yeah.”
It took a second for the whispered word to penetrate my brain, but when it did, I grinned and held out my hand. Deacon twined his fingers with mine and let me pull him into the house. I kissed him the minute we crossed the threshold, and he had a hell of a time trying to get us out of our coats. When he stumbled sideways, I laughed and instantly steadied him.
“Just get your coat off so I can kiss you,” he grumbled, but the heat in his eyes let me know he wasn’t angry.
I was all for that, and I scrambled to do as he directed. But the watch made that loud poing noise just as I hung up my coat, and I stilled. I thought of earlier—my emotions and what I wanted—and I knew the conversation had to come first.
Deacon reached for me, but I caught his hands. I kissed them both, lingered a little on the scar on his right hand, and then looked up at him. “Can we talk for a minute first?”
“Of course.”
I led him into the living room, my mind suddenly a jumble. I didn’t expect him to agree so quickly, but I wasn’t sure why. Talking was never a problem with us, and I didn’t know why I thought he wouldn’t want to. When he sat on the couch, I took a seat beside him, but left just a little bit of room. If I was too close, we wouldn’t get any talking done.
I waited for him to start and then remembered I was the one who suggested conversation. I mentally kicked myself, took a breath, and looked up at him.
“I guess I just need to know that we’re on the same page about things.” A flutter of nerves jangled in my gut, and I had to swallow. “I need to know if we’re just friends. Or if it’s more?”
“What do you mean?”
He was sincerely asking. Okay, then. I could spell it out if he needed me to. “Seeing you again, talking with you and spending time with you, has been awesome. Last night was amazing. But, umm… I just need to know if it was a onetime thing.”
Deacon shook his head and pushed a hand through his hair. “Do you think I would have gone to bed with you if it was just a onetime thing?”
Confusion crinkled my brow. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t do hookups?”
Deacon laughed, but it was a short sound. “I do. Or have in the past, at any rate. But you don’t.”
“No, not usually,” I agreed. That was never me. I needed a connection and at least a tentative commitment before I slept with a man. Deacon was the only exception, back when we were in our twenties. And even then it spawned more.
“Yeah. I didn’t think that had changed in all these years. So yeah. I knew it was important when we went to bed. I was going to ask you out.”
Relief sang through my veins. “Yeah? When?”
“When was I going to ask you out? Or when are we going out?”
I laughed. “Either. Both.”
“Tomorrow. For both. Dinner?”
“I’d love to.”
Deacon grabbed me, pulled me in, and hugged me tightly to him. Then he lifted my chin and kissed me. What started out as gentle and sweet quickly heated to more, and we were both panting by the time we pulled apart. I stared at him and took in his happy, lust-filled eyes.
“I didn’t expect to see you again. It was fate we ran into each other. I had a bad patch for a while, but I finally feel like things are looking up. You showed up exactly when I needed you to.”
I shifted so I was sitting in his lap, and with the motion, the watch shifted too and reminded me of its presence. I smiled, amused that even then, the watch wouldn’t be ignored.
“What?”
“I think it was fate too.”
I wasn’t going to tell him about the watch. Not yet, anyway. That was a story for another day, when he wouldn’t think I was a little bit crazy for believing an
old pocket watch handed over on the solstice had some magical power. Grandda said it would sort my life, and it seemed like it did exactly that. I’d been content, but with Deacon and the promise of a future, I was happy.
Deacon put his hands in my hair and pushed it back off my face. “You are the best Christmas present I ever got, Rory.”
I sighed and kissed him, sank down over him, and let him take my weight. It was as natural as breathing, the way we fit together. Thirteen years ago, he left to pursue his dreams, but it only hurt a little. I wondered if my heart always knew we’d make our way back to each other eventually. I didn’t know what would keep us happy in the weeks and months to come, but having Deacon with me truly felt like a gift.
“You’re my best present too.”
KRIS T. BETHKE has been a voracious reader for pretty much her entire life and has been writing stories for nearly as long. An avid and prolific daydreamer, she always has a story in her head. She spends most of her free time reading, writing, or knitting/crocheting her latest project. Her biggest desire is to find a way to accomplish all three tasks at one time. A classic muscle car will always turn her head, and weekend naps are one of her greatest guilty pleasures. She lives in a converted attic with a very fluffy cat and the voices in her head. She’ll tell you she thinks that’s a pretty good deal. Kris believes that love is love, no matter the gender of the people involved, and that all love deserves to be celebrated. And she loves to hear from readers, so feel free to drop her a line.
Email: [email protected]
Blog: kristbethke.com
Twitter: @KrisTBethke
Facebook: www.facebook.com/people/Kris-T-Bethke/100014524539852
By Kris T. Bethke
Don’t Wanna Lose Your Love
His Needs
Love at Roades End
Love Wins (Dreamspinner Anthology)
Pumpkin Rolls and Porn Sounds
A Timely Gift
Worth It
A Timely Gift Page 4
