Page 39 of Tinsel & Tools
I froze for a second, my palm hot with the weight of him. I’d never touched a man before. I had only thought about it alone in my bed, fist tight around myself while I pictured Gavin instead of fighting it. I’d told myself it was just a slip, a forbidden thought I shouldn’t have had. But now he was here, real and solid in my hand, and it felt better than anything I’d imagined.
My breath hitched as I gave him a tentative stroke. He shuddered as he dragged his mouth along my jaw. I tightened my grip, stroked him again, and his hips jerked, a rough groan spilling from his lips.
“Jesus,” I muttered. What hit me wasn’t only the sound he made or the jolt of his body under my hand. It was knowing I was the one pulling it out of him, and how much I wanted to keep going.
“Don’t stop,” he begged, desperate now as he rocked into my fist.
I didn’t. My hand moved faster over his skin, which was slick with pre-cum under my palm. His breathing was ragged in my ear. All I could think was how close this was to what I’d imagined—except better, so much better—because he was here and saying my name.
“Cole,” he gasped again. “I’m gonna come.”
His body tensed, every muscle straining as he bucked against me, and then he came, hot and messy in my hand. His forehead dropped to my shoulder once more, a raw sound spilling out before he went still.
When he slid off my lap, I stood and headed to the bathroom to wash my hands at the sink. When I came back, Gavin was already pulling on his coat.
“I should go.”
I nodded, though every part of me wanted to tell him to stay. “Yeah.”
I walked him to the porch. He turned to me, and without thinking, our lips met again in an unhurried kiss before he stepped back.
“Goodnight, Cole.”
“Night.”
He headed down the steps, and I stayed on the porch watching his taillights fade down the road. My hand flexed at my side, phantom heat still clinging to my skin, and I knew nothing about this felt like a mistake anymore.
16
Gavin
When I woke up earlier than usual, there was more optimism buzzing through me than I’d felt in months. I wasn’t sure if it had to do with finally being able to write again or because of what had happened at Cole’s house the night before.
I’d gone to the tree lighting knowing it was likely I’d see him there. I had just figured it would be like the last two times he’d been at the inn where we were polite and professional or we didn’t say more than a quick hello. I sure as hell hadn’t expected to end up back at his place, kissing him like I couldn’t get enough, then allowing him to explore further than we already had.
The only problem was that I felt bad for bolting right after things had ended. I’d told myself it was better to leave than to stay for the awkward moment when Cole started to regret what had happened. But after having some time to think about it, I realized I may have been the one making things uncomfortable for no reason. I’d given him multiple opportunities to tell me to go home, to stop what we were doing, but he hadn’t put on the brakes. Maybe I needed to give him the benefit of the doubt that he wanted me as much as I wanted him.
Back in New York, hookups were fun, uncomplicated, and easy to forget the next morning, but this wasn’t the Big Apple. Brookhaven was a small town, and Cole wasn’t a stranger I’d never see again. He was in my space most days, helping restore the place I was betting my future on. Which meant I didn’t have the luxury of ignoring the situation. Not when he could walk through the door at any minute.
Once I had my coffee, I sat at the table and opened my laptop. Just as I was starting to get into a flow, the sound of tires rolling over the gravel lot carried through the walls, followed by the rumble of another engine.
I walked to the window and pulled back the curtain to take a peek outside. Sure enough, Cole’s pickup was parked in the usual spot, and next to it was a white van with “Lawson & Sons Plumbing” on the side.
Since we weren’t going to be alone, I figured I could go back to work and let Cole do his thing, just like I had the day before. A moment later, the back door opened, and his voice carried down the hall.
“Hey, Gavin.”
“Good morning,” I replied and stood.
“This is Dale Lawson with Lawson & Sons Plumbing,” Cole said.
I reached out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Dale and I shook.
“He’s going to take a look at the water heater and the other plumbing concerns that need to be addressed. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or two,” Cole explained.
“Sounds good.”
