Page 93 of Muscle Cub

“Well…” I saw him make the calculation that he should try to lighten the mood. “Because you’re hot, and you’re really smart, which is really, really hot. You’re fun to aggravate, and you love my singing—”

I huffed out a laugh. “Come on. Be serious.”

He waved his hand through the air, flailing, struggling to find the words. “It’s… the spark. I don’t know if I can explain it. I’m not a writer. It’s a light in the dark, and I’m just following it. With other guys, it’s like chasing lightning bugs in the woods. There’s a thousand of them. They wink out, move around, disappear, but with you, the closer we get, the light keeps growing. Like you came out here to find me too.” He laughed nervously and groaned in frustration. “You show up. You picked a fucking red lanyard for me. And you care about what happens to me when the party’s over.”

I swallowed. “Yes. I do. Which is why I don’t want you taking on my shit. I want to protect you.”

“I have a word for you,” he said abruptly. “Karezza. Ever heard it?”

I frowned. “I don’t think so. Is it Italian?”

“It could be. It means, like… affection and touching without being overly focused on completion. It’s supposed to be good for all kinds of different… sexual disorders and stuff.”

“Oh my God. See? You shouldn’t feel like you have to google how to fix me.”

“I didn’t. I heard about it from Jim.”

“You told Jim?”

“No. It came up while we were decorating earlier. One of his random, new age, teachable moments.” He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “The man listens to too many self-improvement podcasts.”

I stared at him.

He sighed. “Listen. All week long, what I’ve been looking forward to the most is spending the night with you, spooning, waking up with you…”

I sighed. I could’ve thought of more doubts—I could’ve conjured more reasons to worry—but my heart said I had no choice but to believe him. “Really?”

“Yes. Really.” He toed off my shoes and let them drop to the floor. “Now let’s get under the covers and fucking cuddle.”

32

The alarm I’d set for Austin went off like an air-raid siren. Ignoring the pounding in my head from dehydration, side effects, and regret, we made out. We kissed and frotted, hitting the snooze button three times too many until the need to pee was greater than his fear of being late for work.

We showered in the large glass enclosure. Having enough room to kiss under the spray while we lathered each other was heaven. I was seriously considering hiking out to the pole after breakfast, calling Ben, and telling him I wanted a do-over on my bathroom remodel at home. To hell with the charming original clawfoot tub. The tiny circular curtain wasn’t going to cut it.

I lined up Austin’s cock with mine and stroked us together. “You wanna get off real quick?”

“It doesn’t have to be about getting off,” he said with a coy smile, massaging my shoulders.

“It does if you’re blue-balled.”

He slid his hands up the tense muscles at the back of my neck and squeezed my skull, pressing his thumbs against my temples. “Karezza, remember?”

“You’re killing me,” I lied, not wanting him to stop.

“Karezza,” he whispered sotto voce.

“Italian for torture-edging.”

He laughed. “Hang in there. I’ll have a couple hours free after the contest. We can come back here and take a special nap.”

“Fine,” I said petulantly, stepping away and giving him room to rinse off. While he leaned back into the spray with his eyes closed, I chanced an apology. I needed to reassure him that I’d had a moment of weakness, testing a fear that I’d lose him, but I wasn’t going to give up. “Listen. About last night—”

“I had a fucking blast.”

“Good. But I’m sorry I—”

“Shh.” He clumsily swiped his fingers down my face like he was petting a horse. “Karezza,” he said as if it were a calming incantation.