Page 44 of Snow Storm

Harley was there, hovering beside the bed. He’d straightened the duvet and moved all the pillows to the floor and was wringing his hands nervously as he stared at Claude.

“I watched some videos.”

Claude stared at him, unsure what he meant. “Okay?”

“On…on massage. I know Daniel won’t be back for a while, and I’m probably not even a fraction as good as you were, let alone close to a professional, but I think I’ve got the gist. Uh…though if you’d rather not take the risk of me fucking up your back, I totally understand, but?—”

“Oh, mon ange.”

Harley closed his mouth with a loud click of his teeth.

“Are you saying you want to give me a massage?”

Harley gestured weakly at the thermal bags. “Aminah said I could take some things from the spa. I found the oils you like and some hot towels. And, uh…I think I can at least help you relax? If you’d like that?”

Claude felt like his heart was trying to expand past his ribs. No one had ever done this for him before. Not once. Not even in the worst of his pain. At least, not when they weren’t being paid. When he’d come home from the hospital and was wracked with spasms, Anabelle had fed him drugs and then slept in the guest room.

She said it was so she didn’t disturb him—and while he knew it was a lie, he understood why she needed distance from him.But it had been achingly lonely. He’d wanted the comfort of human touch, but he’d learned to get by without it.

This felt almost cruel to accept a gift he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep.

But it was also impossible to say no.

“How do you want me?”

Harley’s mouth softened into a small grin. “I really like that question. For now, face down? However you’re comfortable. Sorry I don’t have a fancy table where you can put your face.”

Claude carefully rose from his chair and took the handful of steps to the bed. His knees trembled a bit, but they held as he pulled off his shirt, then carefully worked the buttons on his jeans. He stripped down to nothing and tried not to look at his flaccid cock. If his back wasn’t acting up, he’d be sporting at least a half chub.

And he was petrified that Harley was going to take it personally.

“You’re really hot,” Harley whispered, then pressed his fingers to his mouth like he hadn’t meant to say that aloud. “Sorry. I hope you don’t feel all gross and, you know, objectified.”

God, this man was a fucking wonder. Claude sat down, giving his legs a reprieve, and he held his hands out for Harley, pulling him between his knees. He pressed his fingers into his lover’s hips tightly and looked up at him.

“I don’t mind being objectified by you.”

Harley huffed a laugh and shrugged. “I just hope you know it’s not all about your body. You’re funny too. And sweet. And really, really kind.”

Claude had been given years and years to cope with the way his body both looked and functioned. He was fine with his circumstances. But he would be a liar if he’d said he wasn’t surehe was ever going to hear those words from an honest person ever again unless they had a disability fetish.

But Harley was neither a devotee nor a liar. He saw the whole of who Claude was and wanted him for every inch of it. His body, his mind, his heart. And it was easy to accept in that moment because that’s exactly how he felt about Harley, and the idea that it went both ways was wildly erotic.

“Kiss me.” It was the only thing he could think of to say right then.

Harley obeyed. He cupped Claude’s jaw and gently touched their tongues in a sweet, open-mouthed kiss. It lingered for a long while, probably too long, but Claude didn’t care. He felt the tension in his body leaving, and something else took its place.

Desperation. Need.

A willingness to compromise where he never had before.

He couldn’t let this be over without trying. He’d let it sit for a few days—because they had that. But he wasn’t going to let Harley leave Wrought Iron without at least trying to make something work.

This was too special to give up.

“Ready?” Harley asked, breaking the kiss.

Claude nodded. He turned his body and carefully arranged himself face down on the blankets. His cheek pressed into the mattress, gaze on the wall, and he listened to Harley unzip the thermal bag. There was a soft thud, thud, thud as he set bottles on the nightstand, then theshfftof a plastic bag—probably warm towels.

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