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“How do you like my fourteen-year-old decorating skills?” I teased as I watched him through the glass.
Saint turned around, presenting me with the front of him.
His cock was flaccid, but the moment that he saw me, it started to grow.
“It’s a teenage boy’s nightmare,” he teased. “My adult self can see the appeal of letting my child get in on the process of doing the bathroom, though. Your mom told me that you not only helped pick out the colors but lay the tile.”
I nodded, licking my lips.
“I did. I also painted the walls by myself, helped put in the new toilet, screwed in the toilet paper holder and the towel holders, and installed the sinks,” I admitted.
He leaned his head back and rinsed the shampoo out of his hair.
When he next looked at me it was to see a gleam in his eyes.
“Is that why you’re living in that old house?” he asked curiously.
The ‘old’ house wasn’t really all that old.
“No,” I said. “I’m renting it with an option to buy it. When I moved back here a few months ago, I found that all of the rental options for me weren’t really options because I don’t like neighbors. And the ones that I wouldn’t mind, like Cop Row, are booked solid. Did you know Cop Row has like a two-year waiting list?”
He squirted the smallest amount of conditioner ever into the palm of his hand and worked it into his hair.
“I’d heard that it was, but I was the first person to move out there. I then told a few others in the SWAT team about it, and then we were all of a sudden all out there,” he admitted. “I never really thought about the popularity of it. Though, saying that, Malachi’s duplex is about to be available. I can probably talk to someone…”
I frowned. “Why’d you trail off?”
He scratched his head. “I wanted to talk to you about this later.”
My lips curled up in amusement.
“Talk to me about it now,” I ordered.
He ran the soap up over his thick thighs, propping one foot up on the corner of the bathtub.
My eyes automatically went to his cock and balls that were hanging heavily between his legs.
His cock that was growing in size the longer that I stared at it.
“It’s nothing bad,” he hedged.
I brought my eyes up to his. “So then tell me.”
He sighed. “I wanted to tell you I love you when I wasn’t naked.”
My breath hitched.
“What?” I breathed.
“I wanted to tell you I love you,” he said, putting the soap up and stepping under the water to rinse off completely. “But you are a pain in the ass.”
I laughed. “A lovable pain in the ass.”
“A lovable pain in the ass, yes,” he agreed.
I stepped forward until I could feel the heat coming off of his body.
Once I was close, I looked up at him.
“I love you, too. You know that, right?” I asked.
He curled his palm around my face, pulling me until he could reach my mouth.
“Honey, I knew that the moment that you let me back into your life after I decided to be a douchebag for half a week,” he admitted.
I leaned forward onto my tippy toes and stretched my neck up, pouting my lips.
He dropped his mouth down onto mine, his mouth taking my innocent kiss and raising me one.
His arm slashed around my hips and pulled me in tight while he thrust his tongue into my mouth.
I moaned against his lips, my nipples tingling and other body parts starting to wake at his extended closeness.
When he finally pulled away, I was clutching on to his biceps for dear life, and wondering if we could get away with a quickie without anyone being the wiser.
Probably not.
His eyes were lazy and hot as he stared down at me.
“You have my photo up,” Saint said as he ran the towel over his hair.
I grinned. “I do.”
“How many of those calendars do you have?” he asked curiously.
“I have one up here,” I said. “I got it for my mom, but Dad didn’t really like it, so we hung it up in here. I have one at my office, and one at home.”
He grimaced. “I’ll never do a calendar again.”
I frowned. “Why not?”
“Because I’m tired of being called Mr. December,” he admitted. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it when people still, twelve months later, ask me to sign their stupid calendars because they’re trying to win a beach vacation to somewhere that ended like nine months ago. To make matters worse, I’m objectified. I think I’m one of the only ones, though, that didn’t face the camera, so not many people know that I was on it. I only get ‘Mr. December’ comments from people that heard I was in there from someone else.”
“Awww, Mr. December,” I teased as I sat down on the counter. “Your poor little self.”
