Page 22 of Breakfast Included

Reno shifted so his body dropped between Tate’s legs, and he kissed a trail down Tate’s stomach. He followed the lead of his hands as he roamed lower and lower. Tate bucked and moaned when he wrapped a hand around Tate’s cock, hot and silky and so hard. Slowly, he slid his hand up and down. He almost laughed in disbelief. Marveled that this was really happening. That he was in bed with Tate Boylan. The man of his every teenage fantasy and the man who still appeared regularly in his dreams. Never in a million years could he have seen this coming.

Every single dream paled in comparison to the real thing. The very real sounds of Tate’s needy breath and raw groans emanating from deep within his chest, and the unique smell of his soft skin, and the taste of his lips . . . and his cock—salty and bittersweet and heavenly—as Reno took Tate into his mouth.

Tate garbled unintelligible words, and his fingers found purchase in Reno’s hair as Reno caressed Tate’s length with his tongue. He swirled and sucked, brought Tate to the edge and held him there. He eased back and let Tate’s cock slip from his mouth with a pop, which earned a colorful curse. Reno smacked him playfully on the stomach.

“Please tell me you top,” Reno rasped.

“I top,” Tate replied, his voice reedy and rough. “And bottom.”

Reno groaned at the thought of being inside Tate. But first he wanted to be filled by Tate, owned by him . . . “And you have supplies?”

“I have supplies.”

“I want you so bad, you don’t even know,” Reno all but whined.

Tate laughed, low and husky. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Tate tugged on Reno’s arms, encouraging him to crawl back up his body, and kissed him like a starving man. He rocked them and easily flipped Reno over so he was on his back and looking up into Tate’s gorgeous hazel eyes. Desire thrummed through him.

“Stay right here,” Tate ordered.

He jumped off the bed and dug into his overnight bag, which had been sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. He rummaged around for a minute and then stood with a victorious arm raised in the air, a packet of condoms and lube held tightly in his fist.

He jumped back on the bed and straddled Reno. “How do you like it?”

“Any way you want, as long as you fuck me,” Reno replied, and he meant it. This was Tate. Though they’d never been together, he knew Tate would be a considerate and caring lover. Reno had complete trust in him. He didn’t know why, since just last night, he’d panicked that Tate would leave him again. But right now, all those fears seemed silly.

“I don’t want to fuck you,” Tate whispered, and before the words had a chance to cut through Reno’s lust haze, Tate added, “I want to make love to you.”

Reno stared up at Tate, and hefeltit. He saw the warmth and adoration swimming in Tate’s eyes, and he knew right then Tate was going to be a part of his life from now on. His heart pounded faster, and bliss flooded into his chest and spread throughout his body as emotion overwhelmed him. His vision blurred, and he blinked away the tears of joy that had gathered.

“Then love me,” he croaked.

And Tate did. Reno writhed and bucked under Tate’s hands, completely under his spell, under his control. Tate had become the composer and Reno his instrument. He played Reno like a maestro, plucking all his strings, hitting all the right chords, somehow knowing exactly what notes to play and how long to hold them. Tate’s body engulfed him, held him, rode him, filled him, and Reno’s every nerve sang in ecstasy as the delicious tension in his being increased as he raced toward climax.

Tate’s hand, hot and firm, wrapped around Reno’s throbbing cock and pumped up and down as he pumped in and out of Reno.

“Come for me, baby,” Tate growled. “Come for me.”

Reno shouted as his vision whited out. His body exploded, blew apart, and Tate held him through it all, kept his pieces together until he floated back down to earth, thoroughly and completely undone.

“Christ almighty,” Reno panted when he could see again, his body boneless and sweat-soaked. He couldn’t move to save his life, and he didn’t want to. He could die happy right now.

“Oh my god,” Tate gasped and fell back on the bed beside him. A chill from the absence of Tate’s body pebbled his skin. “I think I’m broken. In the most perfect way.”

“If you’re not here when I wake up tomorrow, I will hunt you down,” Reno teased. He’d meant it as a joke, but that annoying niggle of doubt crept into the back of his mind. “Or better, I’ll call Ricky.”

Tate turned his head to look at Reno, his expression somber.

“I will never run away from you again, Reno,” he vowed solemnly. He ran a finger gently along the trimmed line of Reno’s beard. “You’re never getting rid of me now.”

“Good.” Reno snuggled into Tate’s side, and Tate folded an arm around him to pull him closer.

A melody drifted along the edges of Reno’s mind as he came down from the high of making love with Tate, because love it was. He had never felt so cherished, so desired, by anyone before, and he knew he never would again. Tate had always been in his heart and mind, but now he was in his blood too. He was a part of Reno for the rest of his life.

He tapped a gentle rhythm on Tate’s chest with his fingers as the beat of a new song formed in his mind. Softly, he began to hum.

“What are you doing?” Tate asked. His voice was quiet, as though not wanting to disturb the moment.

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