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Merrick
I’m spooned against Davis’s back when I wake the next morning.
One arm is wrapped around his waist, and he’s got a stranglehold on my hand. We’re curled into fetal positions, my knees tucked up under his, the hard press of my dick cradled against his ass. It’s exactly where I’ve always wanted to be, and the one place I know I have no right to be.
I have no idea what brought Davis to my door late last night, but I have hunch his wife had something to do with it. I’m glad he came to me. I’m thankful he trusts me enough to understand that he doesn’t have to explain everything when he shows up at my door unexpectedly. I know him pretty well by now and chances are he’ll eventually tell me all about what happened between the two of them. But as with most things having to do with Davis, it will be on his terms, and on his timetable, and no amount of pushing on my end is going to change that.
For now, I’m just going to enjoy this moment thoroughly, just as I did our day at the beach last Saturday. In this moment, he’s not a married man with a hostile wife who he’s planning on divorcing. In this moment, he’s all mine.
Snuggling into his neck, my mouth curves into a smile. In the midst of all the chaos in our lives, we have this: simple, precious moments where no one can intrude. Moments like this, where it’s just him and me.
He shifts slightly, sighs contentedly, and murmurs, “This is real, isn’t it?”
I drop a kiss on his cheek, grinning against his skin. “Yes, it’s real.”
A few minutes drift by while we lie there absorbing each other and the moment, and then he says softly, “Thank you for not asking a lot of questions last night. Not sure I could handle it if you did.”
“I know.”
Davis chuckles. “You really do know me well, don’t you?”
“Well, I’m certain there’s still a lot to learn, but yes…I think I do. However, I don’t know some of the really important things. You know, like what is your favorite food? And I don’t know how old you are. I don’t even know your middle name.”
His laughter makes me smile. “Steak is my favorite food. I turned 35 in May. And my middle name is Allen, after my grandfather.” Tipping his head to the side, he glances at me with eyes filled with affection. “Your turn.”
“My favorite food is sushi. I’m 38 and my birthday is New Year’s Day. My middle name is Alexander, because my mum liked it.”
He pulls me in tighter and growls, “Can I just say that your accent is sexy as hell.”
My grin spreads wide. “You absolutely can say that. Again and again and again.”
“Tell me something else about you that I don’t already know.”
I contemplate his request for a moment or two, picking apart events in my life that he might find interesting or amusing. “When I was a teenager, I insisted that when I grew up I was going to be a prince. You know, like William or Harry.” I chuckle as the memory comes alive. “My mum tried telling me—very gently, I might add—that one isborninto royalty. It’s not something you just do, like a profession. She went on to explain that I could marry into a royal family and depending on the lineage, I could be a prince after all.”
“How did you take that news?”
“Not very well. You see, I’d already figured out that while I liked girls, I liked boys better, though I had no idea to what extent. So I asked my mum if I could still be a prince if I married one.” I chuckle as I recall the shocked look on her face and the fumbling around she did trying to pretend like she wasn’t. “Well, she very calmly and very gently said, ‘Son, you will always be my prince, regardless of who you marry’.” Running my fingers through his hair, I drop a kiss against his ear, then continue. “From that day on my parents never questioned my sexuality. They barely blinked when I sat them down my senior year of high school and informed them I was gay. They never tried to press me to date women. They never made me feel anything other than accepted and loved. And when I was in college and brought a man home with me, they greeted him with open arms.”
“You’re pretty lucky.”
“I truly am.” Once more kiss, this one to his temple. “I need coffee. You?”
“I thought you Brits liked to drink tea.”
With a smack to his butt, I roll to my feet and head toward the bathroom. “Get your hot ass out of bed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
After a quick shower, I pull on a pair of cotton lounge pants and pad out to the front room. I can smell the scent of coffee in the air, and I smile. I’m honored that he’s so comfortable in my home and so at ease that he will help himself to anything. AndI truly love that he’s here…that he spent the night with me…and that he seems in no hurry to go back to his garage apartment.
“About time,” Davis states, turning from the counter with a taunting smile lighting his face. His eyes drift slowly down my bare torso, settle on my crotch for a very long second or two, then just as slowly roll back up to my face. “You showered.”
“How very astute of you, Mr. Morgan.” Stepping close, I drop a chaste kiss on his lips, reaching for the half-filled cup in his hand and taking a generous swallow. Handing it back, I reply, “I left a towel and toothbrush out for you on the counter.”
“I appreciate that. But I can head for home and shower.”
One more kiss is bestowed on him, before I force myself to pull away. “Not on your life. Go.” I tip my head in the direction of the hall.
While he’s gone I get breakfast going. I’m famished and I bet he is too, so I pull out bacon and eggs from the fridge, then whip up a batch of pancakes. I set place settings at the bar, since we never eat at a table unless we’re seated outside. Syrup is warmed, his coffee cup is topped off, and I’m practically floating I’m so damn happy.
