by Cara Dee
“Are you gonna?”
His mouth twitched, but he didn’t look away from the paper. “Technically, you can say it however much you please, dear.”
Uh, not when he’d threatened me with orgasm denial. What the fuck was that, anyway?
After another four days in Mexico, not an ounce of Henry was in the mood to play bottom or be “sweet and obedient,” as he called me sometimes. To be honest, I fucking loved the brief period when he surged back and was extra bossy, but right now, I really wanted to say something. And he wasn’t having it, partly because he found it juvenile, mostly because he liked to mess with me.
Weighing the options to myself, I looked out the window, stretched out my legs, and sipped my drink. We’d be landing in another hour, and if four days of trying to bargain hadn’t worked, I wasn’t gonna succeed before we got to LA.
I let it go for now.
We took a cab to our house in Santa Monica, the difference between the places we lived in never ceasing to amaze me. Back home, we had this massive home—by my standards, anyway—and here we had a fairly modest three-bedroom house with an outrageous price tag.
Henry had fallen for the cozy backyard with grapevines over the porch and the trees against the wooden fence, and I had fallen for it because of how he fell for it. Mornings of having breakfast out there, Henry picking lemons, figs, and the rare avocado ranked high up on my list of favorites.
Mattie and Ty ran the second floor. As long as shit didn’t smell, Henry and I rarely ventured up there. The boys weren’t home now, so we left our luggage in the hallway, shared a shower, then got dressed and ready for dinner with Martin.
“The place is surprisingly clean, isn’t it?” Henry commented, rounding the kitchen island. He swiped a hand along the thick oak counter. “Do you think they hired a cleaning service?”
“See, this is why you shouldn’t give them too much money,” I said.
He lifted a brow. “If our biggest problem is two college kids spending money on cleaning, we could be worse off.”
My mouth twisted. Okay, he had me there.
“Fine,” I conceded. “We have twenty-four hours. Let’s make the most of it.”
“If by the most of it, you mean avoid people, I’m all for it,” he chuckled.
“God yes, I’m exhausted.” I crammed my wallet down into my skinny jeans and pushed up the sleeves of my button-down. The sushi place Martin had made reservations for was upscale, so no funny tees for me. “I want takeout tomorrow.”
I’d asked Henry to change our flight home, so we had all of tomorrow and then our flight was at seven in the morning the day after. It should give us enough time to talk to Mattie and see what was going on with him.
“Benny’s Tacos?” Henry suggested, handing me my leather jacket.
“Yes. Shrimp quesadilla.” I donned the jacket, knowing what it did to him when I wore it. He had a James Dean fetish, I was pretty sure. “And ice cream from that place in Venice.”
He approved. “Salt and Straw.”
I nodded. They had the best flavors. Violet was only one of them.
We took Henry’s car up to Hollywood, which took a fucking eternity, but I was in a good mood. We hadn’t lost too much time—just a week. In less than thirty-six hours, we’d be back home in Westslope.
“You’re wearing the cuff links I got you.” I smiled and fingered the onyx studs. They were fancy, I thought, but just silly enough because I’d had “Z&H” engraved in the shiny surface.
“Of course.” He clasped my hand and kissed my fingertips, and as sweet as he was, I couldn’t.
“Safeword!” I yanked my hand free. “Not in these hills. Christ on a dick-stick.” This was why I didn’t drive in Hollywood. The winding roads needed to be ranked just like ski slopes.
Henry laughed. “You don’t say safeword.”
“Whatever. You know what I mean.”
Watching light bondage porn with Henry had taught me a thing or two. I was hugely relieved his desires didn’t go beyond keeping things spicy and red-hot in the bedroom, ’cause some of the BDSM stuff terrified me. But yeah, checking out that kind of porn with my man while he railed me hard from behind…? My pants got tighter at the thought.
“You’d tell me if you wanted to use whips and shit, right?” I scratched the side of my head.
He tossed me an incredulous look. “What on earth brought that on?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Just checking.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I assure you, no whips or anything of the sort.”
“But maybe a new toy for Christmas.” I threw that out there. “Like a vibrating cock ring or, or, or a prostate massager.”
At that, Henry cleared his throat and adjusted his junk. “That can be arranged. I’ll try anything that’s about pleasure.”
Unable to help myself, I reached across the middle and cupped his junk. “You’ll teach me?”
He exhaled and made a turn up a steep road. “You seem to think I sit on a wealth of knowledge about these things.”
“You’re more experienced than me.” I fondled his cock slowly as he thickened, and I rolled his balls in my hand. Kinda made me curse his dress pants.
“You’re the first man I’ve explored with at this level.” His voice came out huskier. “I’ve had my share of partners, but you can’t compare what I’ve had before with the love of my life.” He released the wheel to grab my hand and give it another kiss. “When comfort and trust are established…and our chemistry…? I can’t describe what it’s done to me. What you have done to me.” Then he sadly placed my hand on his leg instead. “You respond to me so well, Zachary. So when I tell you to stop distracting me before I have to punish you, I know you’ll obey me. Yes?”
My face burned, and I swallowed and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Good boy.”
Hnnghh.
We arrived at Yamashiro at a little before eight, and we stepped out of the car so the valet could take over, then walked hand in hand up to the restaurant that looked like it belonged in Japan.
Martin was waiting for us in the lobby, and I grinned when I saw him.
“It’s been too damn long,” he said dramatically. “Get over here, Zach.”
“It’s been less than two weeks.” I laughed and hugged him, and I even agreed with him—this time. Two or three weeks were usually nothing ’cause we texted and talked on the phone. This month, he’d been beyond busy with his company. “How was the opening in MDR?”
Henry told me Martin had opened a new pastry shop in Marina del Rey yesterday, something that was becoming the norm. His franchise was expanding quickly, and it’d already gone out of state. There was one location in Portland and one in New York.
“I’m practically famous,” he exclaimed. After exchanging a kiss on the cheek with Henry, he addressed the hostess and requested a table with a view. On the way, he filled us in more about the opening, and he couldn’t resist throwing us a dig. “If only your lumberjack town were bigger and appreciated edible art,” he sighed. “But, no. You insist on living like savages up there.”
“Savages,” I mouthed, exchanging a look with Henry.
He laughed silently.
We were shown to a table with a spectacular overlook of Los Angeles. The expansive view sparkled in the night and stretched out for miles over the city.
We placed our orders and talked more about Martin’s business until our drinks arrived. I was happy things were going so well for him, and I hoped his plans to open a shop in Seattle came to fruition.
“Enough about me,” Martin declared. “What the hell is this I hear about Joseph?”
I whipped my head to Henry. “Can I please just fucking say it? Once?”
“No,” he chuckled.
Goddammit. I slumped back in my seat and took a swig of my beer.
Henry faced Martin. “Joseph quit ShadowLight. I’m not sure what you’ve heard.”
“Well, he called me,” Martin replied. “He was drunk off his ass,
but from what I understand, he wanted to transfer immediately.” In other words, Joseph didn’t wanna work on the campaign I was on. “He stated it was a personal issue, and Brooklyn couldn’t do that with a snap of her fingers. So he said he’d quit if he couldn’t change to another project.”
“And there’s no way Brooklyn would let herself be played.” Henry poured sake for himself and Martin. “That’s essentially the gist. He up and left, and we haven’t heard from him since.”
“You forgot the part where I’m the reason.” I grinned.
“Oh, do tell.” Martin gave me his full attention.
I leaned forward a bit. “Joseph’s in love with Henr—”
“I knew it!” Martin said, and at the same time, Henry sighed, “Not this again—wait.”
“Huh?” I looked to him.
He was frowning at Martin. “You knew it? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on now, Felix.” Martin waved a hand. “It’s been obvious for years.”
Henry was affronted. “First of all, you’re Felix—I’m Oscar. Second of all, you’re out of your mind.”
“Ha!” Martin scoffed. “There’s too much stick up your ass for you to be Oscar—”
“Actually, it’s two against one,” I said, “and no one cares which one of you is a fictional character and who’s the other. You’re both nitpicking princesses.”
Martin eyed me, then Henry. And pointed at me. “He’s all grown up.”
Henry smiled. “I know, he’s adorable.”
“I give up.” I threw up my hands before slumping back again and nursing my beer.
“Darling, try this sake.” Henry extended his little cup. “It’s not too dry, I promise.”
I stared at him. Seriously. What the hell. He and Martin—I would never get used to how they functioned. It frustrated me as much as I craved it. The topic wasn’t resolved in my opinion, yet now we’d moved on to wine made from rice.
“Anyway…” I twirled a finger to circle back to the subject, and I faced Martin. “What I haven’t told Felix here is that I was fucking Henry in Joseph’s bedroom in Cancún, and he was too busy begging and moaning my name to notice Joseph in the doorway.”
Yeah, Henry wasn’t thinking about the sake too much now. He was floored and speechless.
Martin legit applauded. “This is making my night. Tell me more.”
“He came into the room?” Henry finally found his voice.
I inclined my head. “Thing is, when we were at that cantina, Joseph admitted he believed you and he made more sense as a couple than you and I do. I’m not talking outta my ass when I say he’s into you. The fucker confirmed it, and I’m not gonna apologize for staking my claim.”
“Delicious,” Martin purred.
“I…” Henry didn’t know what to say. “Christ. I had no idea.”
I shrugged. That was my man in a chastity device—or nutshell. He didn’t see his own appeal the way so many others did, so it was unthinkable that Joseph wanted more with him.
“Back to those characters,” I said. “When did—”
“Yes, he’s earned the Oscar label for a night.” Martin nodded solemnly, having no clue where I was going with this. “I’m happy to hear you’re so passionate in the sack, Henry. I thought for certain you’d be more uptight.”
“He’s tight, all right.” I pretended to be Italian and kissed my fingertips. “In-fucking-credible.”
Martin laughed heartily while Henry finished his sake in one go.
After dinner, we made plans to meet up in Seattle for Christmas shopping on the twenty-first. Martin claimed he needed a “transition city” and couldn’t go straight from LA life to Heathenville in Camassia. Henry and I humored him, and then we said goodbye for now.
Across the street from the restaurant was a Japanese garden that shared the view we’d had inside, and Henry and I walked down the steps to enjoy a little peace and quiet. That feeling was hard to come by in this town, and we tended to savor it in whatever nook we found it.
Spotlights illuminated a few bonsai trees here and there, otherwise leaving the garden blanketed in complete darkness. I paused by a koi pond, peering into the water.
“Come here.” Henry squeezed my hand and guided me over to a private spot. There, he positioned me in front of him, his hands gripping the wooden railing on either side of me. With his chin resting on my shoulder, I let out a sigh of contentment and looked out over the city.
It was so quiet and perfect. Moments like these had the best effect on me, tension draining away, my mind powering down. I placed his hands on my stomach instead, wanting his arms around me.
“Tonight was nice,” he murmured.
I hummed, definitely agreeing. My gaze landed on the skyscrapers in downtown LA. “My brain is so hooked on this.” I smiled lazily at his quiet chuckle, and I closed my eyes and brushed my hand over his. In the V between his thumb and index finger, his skin was the softest.
It was the same in the crease behind his knees and where his thigh met his crotch. The softest and smoothest skin that I could kiss and nuzzle for hours. He’d turned me into a freakishly cuddly person, and it was a hobby to explore and get to know every inch.
“I love you.”
My mouth stretched into a smile. “I love you too.”
He pressed a kiss to my neck, and then his warmth disappeared from my back. I frowned and opened my eyes, ready to demand he return my support pillar to me. Instead, he cut me off with a languid kiss. I angled my head as he cupped the back of my neck, and I stroked my tongue along his.
With a few chaste pecks, he broke the connection. And went down on one knee. Holy fuck. The rush of emotions tightened my gut and made me react weirdly. I grinned and let out a breathy laugh; my eyes watered, and I spared one glance at the night sky. Don’t mess this up, Zach! Meeting his gaze again, I felt my throat close up.
“I didn’t want you to see it coming.” His eyes sparked with amusement, and I saw a lot more too. A hint of nerves, a whole lot of affection.
“I didn’t,” I croaked. Way to be cool.
He grabbed my hand in both of his and kissed the top. “I’ve proposed to you a hundred ways in my head, darling. When you sit on the counter at home and talk about your day while I make dinner. When we get into fights about who misplaced the phone chargers. In bed, in restaurants, during flights.” He retrieved his wallet from the inside of his suit pocket, and I exhaled shakily and blinked past the burn. “I even thought about asking you to marry me at the grocery store when you—and I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but you put my preferred items in the cart first. My Weetabix before your Cap’n Crunch.”
“They’re so gross,” I whispered.
He laughed softly, the warm sound sending a shiver through me. “Ironically, ten minutes later, you dropped the not-so-subtle hint that you preferred white gold over yellow. Which I already knew, by the way.” He took my hand again, and my palm brushed against metal. “So I told myself that I was going to make a plan to be spontaneous. I didn’t want you to know when. I didn’t want you to search through the house for hidden engagement rings.”
“It’s like you know me.”
“A little bit.” He held up the ring in his free hand, a simple white-gold band. “I want to keep getting to know you for the rest of my life—as my partner, father to our children, and best friend. Will you be my husband, Zachary?”
I nodded jerkily, about to weep like a fucking baby. “Yeah. Yes. Fuck yes.” I wasn’t the only one who trembled as he slid the ring onto my finger, thank God. Once it was firmly in place, he surged up and swept me into a deep kiss, and I locked my arms around his neck. “I love you so fucking much, Henry.”
He shuddered and kissed me again, nodding slightly. “You’re the light of my life,” he whispered. “The streak of glitter, even.”
I sniffled through a laugh and pressed my forehead to his.
I guess he wasn’t done yet. He opened his hand between us, re
vealing another ring, and the evening went from perfect to…I couldn’t even describe it. I took the ring from him and put it where it belonged, then clasped our fingers together.
“Dibs on buying the wedding bands,” I said quickly. I had to get that out there. With Henry, you never knew. There was another thing I had to mention as well. “Am I really your best friend?”
“Absolutely, darling. Martin’s my oldest.”
I smirked. “Don’t let him hear the O-word.”
“Do you think I’m suicidal?”
I smiled at him, and he smiled back, and it was cheesy as fuck, and I’d gotten the best proposal I could’ve dreamed of.
I woke up the morning after to the best fucking view. With Henry behind me and his arm outstretched underneath me, our fingers were locked, and I could see the rings glinting in the morning sun. I carefully shifted away from Henry and snatched up my phone from the nightstand, then adjusted our handhold so the rings were more visible before I took a photo of it. I was having this shit framed in every room of the house. Houses.
Henry’s sleepy voice startled me. “Let me see.”
I turned around in his arms and showed him the photo.
He smiled drowsily. “Perfect.”
“Do you mind if I announce it?” I asked. “I could post it to Insta.”
“No, go ahead.” He nuzzled my neck and pressed a kiss there. “I want the world to know you’re my fiancé.”
Fiancé. I loved the sound of that.
I posted the photo with only minimal filtering, captioning it, “As of last night, engaged to the man of my dreams. December 9, the day I said yes. And fuck yes.”
“There. The world knows.” I returned the phone to my nightstand so I could enjoy a morning in bed with my fiancé.
“I think this makes you an official Angelino,” he mused.
“Because we’re getting married?”
“No, because when New Yorkers place an announcement in the New York Times, we in LA use Instagram.”
I laughed and nipped at his scruffy chin. “That has to mean I’m more official than you, ’cause you don’t have an account—” I was rudely interrupted by the ringing of a phone, and it wasn’t even my phone. It was Henry’s. “Why are you getting the calls?”
