Page 170 of Icing on the Cake

“It’s a surprise.” He captures my mouth in a searing kiss.

I moan loudly as heat unfurls in my belly. My hand slides down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, to palm the growing bulge in his boxers.

Gerard groans, his hips canting into my touch. “Elliot…”

“Shh, let me take care of you.” I hook my fingers in the waistband and tug his underwear down, freeing his hardening cock.

I wrap my hand around him and stroke slowly from base to tip. Gerard’s head falls back against the pillow, and his eyes flutter closed.

“I love seeing that ring on your finger,” I murmur, my gaze zeroing in on the black metal band on his left ring finger.

“I’ll always be yours, Elliot,” Gerard rasps.

That sleek black band encircling Gerard’s finger never fails to make my heart skip a beat. It’s a tangible symbol of our love, our commitment, our forever.

Gerard’s breath hitches as I take his ring finger into my mouth and swirl my tongue around the digit. I hollow my cheeks and suck, mimicking the way I worship his cock. Gerard’s toes visibly curl against the sheets, and a low moan escapes him.

“Elliot,” he pants, pupils blown wide with desire.

I release his finger with a pop. “Yes, dear?”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he groans.

“But what a way to go.” I trail my hand back down to his straining erection and leisurely stroke him, relishing the velvety soft skin that stretches taut over rigid flesh.

Beads of pre-cum gather at the tip, and I swipe my thumb through the slickness, spreading it down his length.

Gerard’s hips buck up into my fist, and his hands fist the sheets as he surrenders to the pleasure I’m giving him.

I’m so lost in my single-minded focus on reducing Gerard to a quivering mess that I don’t register the sound of our bedroom door flying open.

But Gerard sure as hell does. In a feat of athleticism thatwould impress even his teammates, he yanks his boxers up and flips over onto his stomach in record time.

I blink at the sudden absence of his gorgeous cock in my hand before my brain catches up to what just happened.

There, standing in the doorway with an impish grin on his cherubic face, is our son.

“Gunnar Gunnarson!” I attempt to scold, but it comes off as more of a chuckle. “What have we told you about knocking?”

“To always do it!” Gunnar chirps, clearly unperturbed by his father’s state of undress and compromising position.

“And did you knock?” Gerard asks, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow his face is currently smooshed into.

Gunnar’s grin widens. “Nope!”

I sigh, leaning over the bed and grabbing Gerard’s shirt off of the floor. “Gunnar, we’ve talked about this. Daddy and I need our private time.”

“But it’s morning!” Gunnar protests as if that explains everything. “And Daddy promised we’d make chocolate chip pancakes.”

Gerard lifts his head, his cheeks flushed a charming shade of pink. “I did promise that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah!” Gunnar bounces on his toes, his blond curls flopping into his eyes. “So, come on, Daddy!”

As he drags Gerard out of bed, I think back to how our family of three came to be.

I never wanted nor could deal with an infant. The very thought made me break out in a cold sweat. Those tiny, fragile creatures with their never-ending needs and ear-splitting cries? No, thank you. I was content being the cool uncle to Oliver’s twin boys, spoiling them rotten before sending them home hopped up on sugar.

But then, two years ago, we met Gunnar.

---