Page 93 of Napkins and Other Distractions
Our naked bodies, my arms wrapped around Kent, reflect back and seeing us like this stirs something in my soul. Like two LEGO pieces snapped together, we fit perfectly.
Unable to move, I lie on Kent’s bed, enjoying the view.
“Do you want a shower?” he asks, but my buzzing brain can’t quite string words together. I nestle into his chest, the soft hair soothing me.
“Hungry?”
“Meh,” I eke out.
Kent lies next to me, and I bury my face into his torso.
“C’mere.” He wraps his arm around me. “Whenever you’re ready, my sweet boy.” Kent plants a soft kiss on my head and squeezes me close. “I got you.”
CHAPTER 30
Kent
“What exactly would you need to pet him?”
Sweetums sits on the edge of the island, staring. Not at me, the man who feeds, brushes, and scoops his litter. Not at the simple breakfast of toast with various butters and jams. At Vincent. Determined to win this new human over, Sweetums won’t relent until he succeeds.
Vincent, with his long eyelashes, pulling my focus at the most inopportune times. Vincent. Last night. Lying on my bed. Naked. Undone. Because of me. The leather harness. The toy. The lube. My cock. My fingers. Inside him. My face warms, and I tilt my head and smile at Vincent. School. My apartment. Everything seems brighter with him near.
“An army of nurses in hazmat suits scrubbing me down. A giant vat of disinfectant. A truckload of wipes. A mountain of napkins.”
“If I were to arrange this for you,” I say, spreading peanut butter on my toast, “exactly which option would you prefer?”
“Ummm … I have to pick one?”
A sly smile creeps across Vincent’s face, and the urge to throw him on the island and kiss every inch of his body overtakes me.
“All of them. Got it. I’ll begin preparations.” I bite into my toast, the creamy peanut butter coating my throat.
Hearing our plan, Sweetums lies down, exposing his belly to Vincent and bobbling his head back and forth.
“You realize he has a crush on you,” I say.
“The cat?”
“Yes, the cat. Look at him.” Sweetums reaches a tentative paw in Vincent’s direction. “He’s flirting with you.”
“Well, please ask him to stop.”
“He’s right there.” I nod in Sweetums’ direction. “Ask him yourself.”
Vincent wipes his mouth with a napkin, unfolds it, and holds it up, creating a makeshift shield between them.
“Cat. You can stop it right now, please. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
He lowers the napkin, sits, and takes another nibble of toast.
“You’re ridiculously charming, but no,” I say. “He knows his name. You have to use it. And cats don’t bark.”
“He heard me.”
It seems monumental for Vincent to eat while Sweetums lies just a couple of feet away. Maybe they’ll never be best buds but co-existing this way would be more than acceptable. I pet Sweetums’ back, lean down, and kiss his giant head right between his furry pointy ears. “Who’s my good boy?”
Chewing his dry toast, Vincent raises an eyebrow and smiles at me.
