Page 20 of Astaroth
Aster’s eyes flicked around his face.
“It’s a rather large shower, Aster. I’m sure we’ll fit.”
“I have a private washroom.”
“Well, I’m sure it’smuchsmaller than the guest washroom, then.”
Aster narrowed his eyes.
Briar huffed. “Just say no if you’d rather not—”
“It’s been quite a while since I showered with someone,” he said, and took Briar’s hand.
They slipped through the house. Briar’s knees protested on the stairs, but the stiffness faded as they hit the landing and turned down the hall. A door nearThe Witches’ Sabbath, one Briar had assumed was an east wing guestroom, opened to a magnificent washroom. The shower was open-air, facing a mirrored wall. A short, steel countertop fixed with a marble sink filled the far corner next to another, smaller toilet room. Briar didn’t know what to do. He only knew what he wanted. So, he reached for Aster’s shirt, thumbed each button open, unbuckled each clasp on his corset, and then reached for his belt. Aster did the same, undressing Briar attentively. Once Briar’s shirt was gone, Aster kissed his temple, his cheek, and carefully untied the bandages from around his chest, exposing his clippings.
“You’re spotted,” Aster said, trailing his mouth along Briar’s freckled shoulder. He turned the knob on the wall and hot water rained from spouts in the ceiling.
Briar moved carelessly, instinctually. He looped his arms over Aster’s shoulders and nodded, touching the hard line of his wings. “My wings were, too.”
They were bare—soaking wet and impossibly close. Aster kissed him, and Briar imagined this was how it felt to be a lover. To be kissed passionately. To have soapy hands slip across his body. To be insatiable. Aster gripped the soft dip where his thigh met his ass, and Briar opened his eyes. Water dripped over Aster’s collarbones, down the planes of his stomach and beneathhis hipbones. Droplets gathered on his eyelashes, caught on the bow of his top lip, beaded on his pale feathers.
Soon enough, he was holding the back of Aster’s head, gasping and whimpering while Aster mouthed at his nipple. He rocked against Aster’s hip, listening to their breath shake. Kissed him hungrily. Met his eyes and breathed against his mouth. Aster’s hand slipped between his legs, covering his hole, massaging him there. Briar clung to him through another orgasm, and Aster’s teeth left crescents on his shoulder.
Aster kissed him through the aftershocks. Sighed, satisfied, and came on his thigh. Whispered against his neck.This is what I wanted.Soft, fluttery words.
Briar’s brows knitted, but he stayed quiet, inhaling eucalyptus steam.
After they untangled, Aster lathered his buzzed head. “I’ve been invited to a gallery showing,” he said.
Briar snatched the shampoo bar and scrubbed his hair. “And?”
“And I need a date.”
“Is that right?” Briar lifted a brow. He stood on post-sex sea-legs, still wobbly and half-numb. He lifted to his tiptoes, stretching his calves.
“Would you like to accompany me?” Aster tipped his head back and opened his mouth, then turned and spit water at Briar. His cheeks were still beautifully flushed.
How romantic.Briar swatted him. “Wouldyoulike me to accompany you?”
He leaned in, teasing at Briar’s mouth. “Yes, I would. Tomorrow. Six o’clock. Evening wear, obviously. A dinner jacket. Or a dress, if you’d like. Luca will have something on standby, I’m sure. They always do.”
Briar didn’t know if he could blush any worse, but he might’ve. “Fine. I’ll go.”
“Good.” Aster smothered a laugh and pecked him on the lips. He turned the knob and snatched a towel from the shelf above the counter. “I’ll go put the kettle on.”
Chapter Seven
Aplate shattered. Luca wailed. Their shrill, maddening howl echoed through the halls on the second floor. Briar, dressed in a blushing coral kaftan, lifted his brows and sighed. He fidgeted, perched on the edge of the bed, missing—to Luca’s absolute dismay—his shoes.
“I had those overnighted,” Luca snarled. Someone in the hall scurried by. “I don’t care about weatherissues, I don’t care about snow, I don’t care about plowsmalfunctioningor shipment delays—I care about the black velvet Marpyramide moccasins that were supposed to arrive this morning.” Another ghoulish shriek shook the estate. “No, Jennifer, donotlaugh! They’re Louboutin!”
Nearer, a small, familiar voice slid into Briar’s bedroom. “Don’t be alarmed, dear,” Mallory said. She smiled, holding a stack of clean sheets. “They’re in one of their moods is all. Happens from time to time.”
“Is everything all right?” Briar asked.
“Oh, yes. They’ll simmer down soon.”
Mallory continued on her way. Briar leaned to the left, glancing at the perfectly suitable shoes lining his closet floor.
