Page 107 of Book Boyfriends
“Yes!”
His mouth covers mine, drinking up my cries. Fingers biting into my hips, he thrusts into me. The action prolongs the waves of orgasm raking through me and heralding his own.
“Peach!” he calls out, his body’s shudder rolls through both of us.
Our breaths ragged, we remain tethered together. My head on his shoulder, and his arms banding around me. Despite the kiss of cool air against my skin, now clammy from sweat, I have no desire to move away from this man.
“You were wrong,” he murmurs.
Brows knitted, I lift my head. “About what?”
He traces along my sweat-dotted hairline. “You definitely sweat sexy.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
FOLDED PANTIES AND GLUTEN FREE BREAD
Davis Makenzie is a lather, rinse, and repeat type of snuggler. After we got into bed last night, post-shower, he pulled me into his nook. His hand slid under the T-shirt he’d lent me and he rubbed soothing strokes on my flesh while we talked until I fell asleep. Later, I woke up to find him, face down in his pillow, beside me before I dozed off again. Now, I lie on my side while Davis is pressed tight to my back, his arm slung over my middle.
Contentment sighs through me at another learned factoid about this man. Since last night, I’ve collected facts like seashells, documenting my first visit to Davisland. Like, how despite the beige walls and neutral brown furniture, he has an assortment ofStar Treknovelty glasses in his kitchen. Or how he organizes his bookshelves by genre, one shelf now dedicated to the romance books he’s bought. I was also pleased to find that his shelves were not reserved for just books by white, heterosexual, non-disabled cis male authors. His preferred genres appear to be nonfiction, fantasy, and Sci-Fi.
I also got a tour of hisStar TrekMuseum, which is what I dubbed his guest room last night. Each item reveals more and more about this man as he pointed out his various treasures. Stories about how or where he got them. How his moms tookhim to aStar Trekconvention for his sixteenth birthday. The show’s importance to him.
“It’s not that Star Fleet was perfect, but the Enterprise welcomed almost everyone. Everyone had a place,” Davis said as he ran his fingers along the display case of miniature Enterprise models.
“Even androids,” I tease.
“I think Data was who I related to the most. He appeared human, but wasn’t. Still, he belonged to their…”
“Family,” I finish for him. I wrap my arms around his middle and squeeze tight.
“So much of my life, I felt like I didn’t fit.”
“I get it.” I tip my head up to look at him. “I was always sick as a kid, which led to me missing a lot of school and fun things. While my celiac diagnosis helped, a lot of parents didn’t want to deal with the food allergy kid. I was healthy, but still missed out… And even when I was invited, I still couldn’t fully participate. No cakes. No pizza. All the things.”
“You’ll always have cake with me.” He leans in, pressing a sweet kiss.
“And you fit with me,” I murmur, our gazes tethering.
The memory makes my insides all gooey. With each moment spent with this man, I like him even more. Right now, the need to pee is stronger than the feeling raging inside me than my like of Davis. Wiggling from beneath his arm, I slip out of bed without waking him. As I take one last glance at him, the blanket bunched at his middle exposing his naked torso, a gentle snore buzzes from him. A smile on my face, I tiptoe to the bathroom.
There, I take care of my business, use the spare toothbrush Davis gave me last night, and splash some cold water on my face. My freshly laundered clothes sit in a neat, folded pile atop the counter. Post last night’s rooftop romp, he’d offered to wash myclothes, so I had something clean for today after he’d asked me to sleep over.
“This man.” I chuckle, staring at my perfectly folded clothes.
Davis’s thoughtfulness is like an unexpected rainstorm on a hot day. It alleviates and nourishes all at the same time. Each time I think I know what to anticipate, he does something romantic, like folding my underwear. Even I don’t do that. I just toss it in my drawer.
Smiling, I pad to the living room. As much as my body craves to crawl back in beside Davis, I don’t want to risk waking him. It’s only seven, and he may not be an early riser like me. Most weekends, I wake early to walk Wentworth and then write, so my internal clock is preset. Whether he is a morning person or not will just be one more factoid I learn about him.
At least the quiet will give me time to mull over a few ideas. Last night, lying in bed, I shared some of the stories I’ve started and stopped over the last six months. The current work in progress is a soccer romance about the team’s publicist and the star player. I have this wholeNever Been Kissedmoment where he proclaims his love for her minutes before the game starts and just as it appears she won’t show, the publicist emerges onto the field. The ending is so clear that I can almost touch it. But I’m stuck. I just keep rewriting a scene with the team’s goofy mascot and the female main character, where he teases her about liking the star player.
Curled up on Davis’s couch, I pull up the manuscript’s backup file on my online drive through my mobile. The phone isn’t my preferred way to work on manuscripts, but from time to time, I’ll jot notes or draft things on it if I don’t have my laptop with me.
“Patrick,” I mutter the mascot’s name and tap a finger against my chin.
This is supposed to be just a comedic relief scene after Elsie, the female main character, has a negative interaction with a sexist sports reporter. But it keeps turning into more. Too much banter. Too much bonding.
“Too much chemistry.” My eyes grow wide.
