Page 61 of Delicious

He reaches up to touch my face, his fingers calloused from farm work but so careful, like I’m something that might spook.

“You okay?” he asks. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

At the sensation of his fingertips on my cheekbones, everything I’ve been denying myself crashes over me like a wave that drowns out doubt and hesitation. My heart pounds a deafening rhythm against my ribs as I pull him closer.

His stubble scratches against my palm as I cup his jaw. He makes a low noise in his throat that unravels something deep in my gut, something that’s been wound tight for longer than I can remember.

I catch his bottom lip between my teeth and his hands fist in my shirt like he’s afraid I might change my mind. He doesn’t seem to understand that I couldn’t stop this now any more than I could stop the seasons from turning.

Somehow, we end up with Benji pinned against the wall, me crowding against him.

His back arches as my hands find their way under his shirt. I’m dizzy with the taste of him, honeyed and familiar in a way that makes no sense. It’s like finding a path in real life that I’ve walked a thousand times in my dreams.

Benji’s breathless and panting when our kiss finally breaks.

“Fuck, it’s always the quiet ones,” he says.

“Didn’t hear you complaining,” I manage to grind out as I catch my breath.

“Oh, trust me, I’m not complaining about anything right now.” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing before he fixes his green eyes on me. “When did you realize that this was…this?” He waves his hand between us to illustrate whatthishe’s referring to.

“In the hedge today,” I admit.

He grins. “I’ll have to thank Pepper next time I see her.”

“My sheep do not have names,” I growl, but it only makes his grin grow wider.

“What about you? When did you figure it out?”

“About two years ago.”

“Two years?” I grunt the words. I clear my throat, but my voice still sounds rough as I continue, “You never said anything.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to spook you. And you’re a smart guy. I figured you’d catch up eventually.”

I’ve never been particularly good with words, so I answer him in what feels like the most logical way—by pulling him closer and claiming his mouth with mine.

To let him know I’ve definitely figured it out now.

We stagger toward my bedroom, making it to the bed. My bed with its mismatched sheets and the quilt Emma gave me two Christmases ago. The frame groans beneath our combined weight, which I’d find alarming if I could think straight, which I decidedly cannot with Benji’s breath hot against my neck.

It should be awkward coming together like this for the first time. God knows I have limited experience with anyone in the bedroom.

Instead, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to unbutton his shirt slowly, kissing every bit of newly exposed skin, methodically, deliberately, making sure I don’t miss an inch.

I touch his skin the same way I touched blackbird eggs and four-leaf clovers when I was a kid, when they’d been my most treasured and cherished possessions.

Benji’s shirt falls open under my fingers, revealing skin that’s tanned golden where the sun catches him working outside and pale as fresh milk everywhere else. I can’t help tracing the boundary line between those two tones with my lips.

His breath hitches, and he reaches for my shirt.

When he finishes undoing the last button and pulls off my shirt, he splays his fingers across my chest, rough palm catching on the coarse hair.

When he lifts his gaze to mine, his eyes are molten.

“Holy fuck, David. Why the hell don’t you go shirtless more?”

“Pretty sure that would scare the livestock,” I reply.

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