Page 72 of Burn the Script

“What color are you wearing right now?”

“Green.” There’s a long pause, and his thighs squeeze my waist. “What about you?”

“Also green.” My underwear drawer had been full of black boxer briefs until Miguel took over the shopping and added color to my wardrobe. “Looks like your fantasy has come true. We could take a picture to memorialize the day, if you’re a good prince and ask nicely.” The squirming intensifies, but he otherwise ignores my taunts. “You want to know another one of my fantasies?”

“I’m afraid to ask.” His voice strains, as though he’s the one carrying extra weight.

“You, wearing lace.” I groan, low and growly. “I’d do naughty things with my tongue while you have the lace panties on.” Gripping his thighs, I lift him higher on my back to give his crotch a blast of friction.

He grunts. “You’re the worst hiking buddy I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll make it up to you with a foot rub later.”

“Now you’re being mean.”

For Miguel, a foot massage is a direct pathway to an orgasm. And as he continues dry humping my back, I smirk and continue down the trail, determined to carry him the whole way.

30

GRAHAM

THEN

March, Year Four

The taste of blood hit my tongue as I gnawed my thumb and paced the kitchen. While Miguel was away for three days at a work conference, I did something questionable. I crossed into his territory without permission, and he may not welcome the homecoming surprise.

A beep alerted me to the front gate opening. I rushed down the stairs and waited in the foyer, placing an elbow on the railing and removing it twice. The car door slammed, and seconds later, he burst through the door,

“Happy anniversary! I have news!” He jumped, and his hand flew to his chest. “Oh, shit. You’re right here.”

I slid the laptop bag off his shoulder and hung it on the coat tree. “How was the conference?”

“Boring, but I have good news. I finally put in my notice at work. I’m joining the collective.”

When he rose on his tiptoes and planted a firm kiss on my lips, I slipped an arm around his waist and locked him to my body. “That’s great, darling. What did your boss say?”

“Who cares what that asshole says? I’m about to be free of that nightmare. And I have enough money saved to cover all my living expenses for the next year.” Too soon, he peeled away and removed his blazer. “If we can’t get the collective off the ground in the meantime, then I’ll find another job. Anything would be better than working at the firm.”

“You don’t need to worry about expenses. We live together.”

He hung his blazer next to his bag. “I’m not mooching off you, Graham. I have a car payment and school loans and expensive fabric to buy.”

“Okay. Whatever you want.”

In the slow seconds he turned and looked at me with narrowed suspicion, I could’ve written a how-not-to essay on playing it cool. “You’re being too agreeable. What have you done?”

Preparing for a spike in his blood pressure, I threaded my fingers through his and pasted on my best smile. “Let me show you.”

Downstairs, I led him to the bedroom at the far end of the hallway, across from my home office. The room had remained empty until he moved in and set up his sewing table in there. He liked having a space of his own where he could unwind and flex his creative muscles.

When we stopped outside the closed door, he asked, “Did you finally put a chair in there so you can sit and stare at me?”

“Not a chair, but I love the idea.”

I pushed the door open. He stepped inside and gasped, loud. I couldn’t tell if the sound was a positive reaction or a negative one with his back to me.

“Graham.” My name was a sigh on his lips. “What is this? Why would you do this?”