Page 93 of Checking Out the Librarian

If Jonathan believed in auras, which he did not, Connor would be emitting a happy golden glow. He was a man who seemed to want to be of service.

Jonathan needed to handle him carefully. Connor showing him that he would kneel and listen and delicately fold his clothes, that he would serve Jonathan like this, was a present wrapped in trust that was so much larger than a clothing box and infinitely more valuable than jewelry.

He couldn’t screw this up. It would be the biggest honor of his life to be careful with Connor’s trust.

He took a deep breath but kept his voice even and unhurried. “If you are my valet, you may remove my briefs.”

Connor’s slow blink reminded Jonathan of waking up from the pleasures of a deep sleep. His fingers were steady, almost languid as he rubbed across the waistband of Jonathan’s briefs and then tugged them slowly down the length of his body. Time itself tiptoed around them, the steam blurring his thoughts as well as Connor’s movements.

When Connor finally raised his face and met his gaze, Jonathan gestured at the cascading water. “Is it ready?”

He looked so content performing the small task of standing and thrusting his hand in the water that Jonathan’s own nerves eased. Connor shook his arm in the shower enclosure, but stubborn droplets clung to the golden hair that swirled from his wrist up his forearm. “It is.”

He thought he could hear a silent milord or perhaps a your grace appended to Connor’s statement, but he hadn’t yet voiced his fantasy, so Jonathan didn’t want to make assumptions.

“You will drink a glass of water and stand here, right here,” he pointed at a spot on the tile next to the bathmat, “And watch me.”

A pleased flush lit Connor’s face and neck, and he half-bowed toward Jonathan.

The hot cascade covered Jonathan, removing the dirt but no substitute for Connor’s hands and mouth or for their bodies pressing against each other in the water. He squirted body soap in his hand, not bothering to do his hair, aware of Connor gulping water as directed, aware of Connor’s eyes following him through the steam, aware that Connor had stopped moving.

Only his gaze tracked Jonathan’s hands.

He left the shower and stood on the mat with his arms raised. The man who even remembered the buttons on his shirt from the night they’d met already knew Jonathan’s routine, and handed him the small towel he used to blot his face and hair, then held a bath sheet. His face was open and dreamy as he stared at Jonathan’s wet body and half-hard cock.

“You look like magic. A river sprite. A nymph? Is it a nymph?”

“My towel.” He let his tone be a tiny bit severe.

The sound from Connor’s throat was perhaps equal parts excitement and apology, and no parts an actual word, but he wrapped Jonathan in the towel.

Jonathan pointed at the running water. “Take your shower and get ready for me.”

Connor undressed and put his own clothes in the basket while Jonathan combed his hair. He hurried, because Connor never took long when he showered alone.

Even blurred by the steamy mirror, he could tell Connor’s hands were soaping the same circle over and over while he watched Jonathan. He was robed in steam, and Jonathan loved the way his cock, red and flushed with need, bobbed in front of him. Connor hesitated as he rubbed his stomach, but before his hand dropped to his erection, Jonathan flicked the hairdryer off.

Either the evening had slowed around them, or they had slowed, because speech seemed thick and sticky in his throat and he had to force the next command out of his chest.

“I do not wish for you to touch yourself more than necessary to prepare. Do you understand?” Being this careful with his words, treading the line between imaginary lordly hauteur and a caring lover, was stretching his own nerves.

Connor’s hands fell to his sides, and his entire body shuddered.

His hair wasn’t even close to dry, but tonight he wanted Connor too much to care what happened when he slept this way. “After you finish, wait outside the bedroom until I call for you.”

Connor nodded, the dreamy look making his cheeks slack and his eyelids fall partially closed. Was he oscillating too much between sleepy and obedient? Was taking Connor to this level tonight, after their drinks, a mistake?

He watched for another minute.

Connor didn’t look wobbly, he looked content. That cock didn’t lie.

Jonathan would have to do this right, but he could. He would. For Connor.

Leaving Connor in the bathroom scooped out Jonathan’s chest, but he held the soft-focus image of the man in the shower close as he crossed the hall and closed the bedroom door behind him. It would only be a moment before they were together.

The tag snapped easily off the blouse. The chiffon sleeves whispered across his arms and the crisp, unworn cotton cloth skimmed his nipples as he buttoned it. His back was a bit damp, and the fabric clung momentarily before the weight of it made it fall away. The bottom edge skimmed just above his cock and revealed the lacy black legs of his newest short briefs.

He checked the fit in the mirror above Connor’s dresser, standing on his toes to see how it nipped in at the waist. At home, he could alter it to have less feminine lines in the top portion, but for tonight it was perfect.