Page 156 of Detectives in Love
We just stand there for a second, looking at each other. Quiet. Uncertain.
Then I glance toward the stove. Bacon sizzles in the pan.
“What are you making?”
“Breakfast,” he says—and that’s when I notice the two plates on the counter. Eggs, avocado, toast. Everything already plated.
“I was going to bring it to you,” Xavier adds, looking away as color rises in his cheeks again.
“Breakfast in bed?” I ask, smiling.
He nods, a little stiffly, the blush creeping down his neck now. I can see how unsure he is, and something about it is so endearing I can’t stand it. So I close the space between us, slip my arms around his neck, and pull him down.
His breath hitches—like all his focus narrows to just me.
I kiss him. His arms come around me instantly, wrapping tight around my bare torso as he kisses me back.
“Morning,” I whisper when we part.
He leans in, resting his forehead against mine, eyes closed, his breath warm between us—and he doesn’t let go.
“Are we good after last night?” I ask—surprised by how direct that comes out. It’s not how I usually talk to Xavier.
“You tell me,” he whispers, eyes still shut, like he’s bracing for the answer. His thumbs trace slow circles against the small of my back.
“I’m amazing,” I say—and he opens his eyes, searching my face like he needs to see it to believe it.
“Are you sure?” he asks quietly—uncertain in a way I rarely see from him.
“Yes,” I say, laughing a little. Then I kiss him again—firmer this time, with intent.
It’s not a good morning kiss anymore. It deepens fast, turning hungry in seconds. Xavier exhales hard against my mouth, arms tightening around me, his hands finding my ass and pulling me in. His tongue slides against mine—slow, hot, greedy—and just like that, we’re gone again.
His hands grip my hips, grinding us together, and I feel how hard he is. We both exhale—ragged, in sync. The fact that Xavier gets this turned on just from kissing throws me a little. And yeah—it’s insanely hot.
Then he turns me around and backs me into the counter, his mouth dragging down my neck. One hand slips intomy boxers and wraps around my cock. I’m hard too—obviously—and the way he touches me makes my knees buckle.
“Fuck,” I breathe, as his thumb slides over the head. “X-Xavier…”
“Newt,” he murmurs against my skin, leaving another bite on my neck. Of course he does. That’s already a thing with him.
“Ah—” I moan, my body buzzing with arousal, but then something flickers at the edge of my vision. I turn—instinctive—and freeze.
There’s someone standing in the living room doorway.
A man in a suit.
Ernest. His face unreadable, caught somewhere between disbelief and barely contained fury.
“Xavier…” I mutter, trying to pull away.
“Yes?” he murmurs, distracted, still at my neck—until he looks up and sees my face. His whole body tightens. “What is it?”
I nod toward the doorway.
He turns—sees Ernest—and finally lets go of me with a low, irritated breath.
Ernest doesn’t move. Just stands there, stiff and silent, eyes locked on us like he’s still trying to process what he’s seeing.
