Page 92 of Savage Blooms
“Finley,” he rasped, “I’m going to—”
He never got a chance to complete his sentence, because he finished in a surge of sensation so strong it nearly blinded him. Finley sidestepped the mess, and kept stroking until Adam was entirely spent, so sensitive he considered begging Finley to stop. But Finley, who watched him with keen, studying eyes, stopped mere seconds before Adam had to ask, smoothing his hand up the plane of Adam’s stomach to hold him against the wall with a firm palm on his chest. The touch steadied Adam, acting as a center of gravity to lean on while he caught his breath.
“I’ve wanted to do that since I met you,” Finley confessed, still watching his face like Adam wasfascinating, like he could observe him for a hundred years and not get bored.
Adam huffed out a laugh, his cheeks hot.
“Does that mean I win some kind of bet?”
Finley shoved him against the wall, playfully this time, and pressed one last firm kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
A car drove by the alley, headlights skimming across their feet, and Adam remembered suddenly that they were in public.
“We should probably get out of here,” Finley said, taking a few steps back. “We’ve been gone hours; the girls will be missing us.”
Adam nodded, reality clearing through the haze of endorphins. The girls. Eileen. Nicola. Was this something Adam would have to apologize for? They had never nailed down the ever-shifting boundaries of their relationships to each other, and the rules seemed to change with the winds, or with the hurt feelings of those inside the house. Life tended to work out for Adam, in matters of career or money or love, but he was worried that perhaps there were things even he couldn’t undo, trespasses he couldn’t talk his way out of.
“Should we tell them?” Adam blurted. It wasn’t a very suave thing to say, but he needed to know.
“Absolutely,” Finley said, as though it wasn’t a question. “I’d recommend gauging what kind of mood Eileen isin before you go unburdening your heart, however. She can be…”
“Temperamental,” Adam supplied. Then, trying again for something that didn’t sound so insulting. “Territorial.”
“Sounds like we understand each other,” Finley said, clasping Adam’s arm as though they were sealing some kind of pact. Adam reeled slightly as they sought their balance on the knife’s edge between lovers and friends. “Come on. I’m driving.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Nicola
Once it became apparent that the boys would not be back for some time, Nicola wandered up the narrow stairs to Eileen’s room. She hadn’t been up to this room yet, and she was nervous to knock. But Eileen called her inside, and Nicola walked in to find Eileen playing a very serious game of solitaire. Eileen’s dark brows were creased in contemplation as she laid down cards just so on the white duvet of her bed. Nicola had imagined Eileen’s room before out of curiosity, sometimes innocent, sometimes less so, and she had always imagined some kind of gothic chamber, perhaps adorned with taxidermized birds or elegantly displayed kink gear. But instead, the room was small and cozy, hung with landscapes and tapestries and decorated with girlish trinkets like carved hand bells and miniature porcelain figurines of shepherdesses. Eileen even had acaramel-colored teddy bear on her bed, an honest-to-God stuffed animal. It appeared so well-loved Nicola supposed it must be a family heirloom.
“It’s getting dark,” Nicola said, clutching the woven blanket she had swiped from her own room tighter around her shoulders. It was nearly summer, but the weather was still mild, and the house was perpetually drafty. “Should we call them?”
“I say if they’re taking their time, let them,” Eileen said, placing down one more card before looking up at Nicola. She was wearing a simple linen men’s shirt and black trousers, her wild hair swirled up in an artful bird’s nest on top of her head. “So long as they don’t end up dead in a ditch or in the clink somewhere, I won’t complain.”
“Don’t even say that,” Nicola said, but she was chuckling. She had learned the contours of Eileen’s dry sense of humor, and she had grown to appreciate it. “Are you hungry? I’m peckish.”
“I suppose we ought to fend for ourselves if the boys won’t be back in time for supper. Do you like charcuterie?”
“I love it,” Nicola said. “Don’t we have fresh grapes?”
“And honeycomb. Come on, let’s fix a platter.”
Nicola padded after Eileen down the stairs and into the kitchen, where she and Eileen arranged cheese, rosemary crackers, and the grapes and honeycomb onto a literal silver platter. This felt a little lavish to Nicola, and the silver itself was tarnished, so well-used the floral engraving had been almost entirely worn away. Eileendidn’t seem to think there was anything odd about having a light meal on silver, but then again, she had been born into decaying finery.
Eileen produced a bottle of merlot from the cellar, and they carried their spoils into the library, where they sat close together on the couch. A little color returned to Eileen’s cheeks in the glow of the fire, and Nicola warmed from the inside out as she sipped her wine.
“Do you like that?” Eileen asked, topping up Nicola’s glass with another pour. “I’m more partial to chianti myself, but this is a nice vintage. Can you taste the clove? I like it when wine has that quality; the taste of earth.”
“I’m not very good at the whole picking out tasting notes thing,” Nicola said. “I’m more of a discount six-pack girl myself. Not very sophisticated.”
“I think you’re quite sophisticated,” Eileen said, a playful sparkle in her eyes. “And cheap beer has its own rustic charms. Although you’re an artist with an eye for color and texture; you can probably pick out more notes than you think. I’ll show you. Go on. Take a sip.”
Nicola hesitantly raised her glass to her lips, then swallowed with determination.
“A small sip,” Eileen amended. “Don’t swallow this time. Hold it against your soft palate. Let the wine caress your mouth.”
