Page 43 of Delicious

In fact, even after two very good orgasms, he was having trouble dragging his attention to the box in Andrew’s hands.

Then Andrew opened it and Marco made a low exclamation in the back of his throat.

It was a work of art. Each piece of fruit flawlessly arranged across the pristine white surface.

And then Marco realized that he’d picked the fruit specifically.

There were delicate slivers of plums fanned out. Tiny grapes arranged in a cluster.

And a few pomegranate seeds, scattered like precious jewels.

“I . . .” Marco didn’t know what to say.

“I made it for you,” Andrew said. “Daniel helped, a little. He’d helped you clean up after Izzy, so he knew what she’d thrown at you. Though I wish she’d picked better choices.”

He smiled self-consciously and continued. “I said I’d never throw a pomegranate at your head and I figured this was a concrete example of that promise.”

“It’s beautiful,” Marco said. Andrew handed him the fork but he hesitated. “I don’t even want to eat it.”

“But it’s delicious,” Andrew teased. “I think you’ll like it.”

“I know I’ll like it. I already do. The only question is how much I’ll love it,” Marco mused.

He raised his gaze and his eyes met Andrew’s. Hoped he understood.

Andrew smiled. “The dessert’s not going anywhere—and neither am I.”

“Good,” Marco said and wrapped an arm around Andrew’s shoulders, pulling him in and pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder. “Now tell me, before I destroy the beauty of it, what it is.”

“A pavlova,” Andrew said.

“A what?”

Andrew laughed. “It’s a good thing you’re cute. A pavlova is egg whites whipped with sugar and then piped out and baked. Usually with some kind of filling.” His eyes were twinkling. “You’ll have to eat it to figure out what that is.”

“Twist my arm,” Marco said and finally dug the fork into the pristine surface. The pavlova was crisp but soft, melting into itself as he cut into it. And in the middle of it, buried deep between clouds of whipped cream and meringue, was a tiny heart of lemon yellow custard.

“I saw your face when you ate the special,” Andrew said when Marco looked up at him questioningly. “Come on, take a bite.”

Marco did, loving the crystalline sugar crunch on his tongue, the perfectly sour curd, the richness of the cream.

He’d eaten a lot of desserts in his time, but he’d never had one like this.

“You’re a genius,” he murmured, not hesitating to take another forkful. This one he slipped between Andrew’s lips as he opened his mouth, no doubt wanting to argue this inarguable fact.

“Just inspired,” Andrew said, after savoring his bite. “By the most delectable muse.”

Marco kissed him, the flavor of Andrew mingling with the creation he’d made just for him, and he didn’t think it would take him very long to be sure that this was not only love, butthatkind of love.

A love for the easy Saturday mornings and late Friday nights. A love Marco would embrace and protect with every bit of himself.

The most delicious love he’d ever tasted.

Epilogue

Four months later

Marco had never been prouder in his whole damn life.

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