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“Yes, and then we could adjust things until he was happy.”
“What else?”
“I’d want him to be honest with me. I need to know how he feels. How can I fix it if I don’t know something’s wrong?”
“Of course. Good communication is important. Would you tell your boy if you were sad or unhappy? D-types need looking after too.”
I smile. “Yes. Absolutely. I’d reserve the right to tease him sexually as much as I wanted. To edge him, without any promise of letting him orgasm.”
Wren’s pupils shrink as he sucks in a breath. He fans his shirt against his skin. “Maybe this wasn’t the right place for this conversation.”
“Getting hot and bothered?”
“Very.”
“We don’t have to have dessert here,” I point out.
“By dessert, I hope you mean sex,” he whispers.
“If you’re sure that’s what you want, sweet thing.”
“It is. More than anything. I’ve loved reconnecting with you, but now I want to rediscover you in a different way. An intimate way.” He looks at his barely touched glass of wine. “I’m not close to intoxicated. I’m not upset. I know what I want, and that’s you.” He bites the inside of his lower lip. “Inside me.”
“I’m not intoxicated either,” I whisper. I’ve only drunk half a glass of wine. “I want you too. We could go to yours if that’s where you feel most comfortable.”
“Mine is a bit of a trek. We have to get back to King’s Cross and then wait for a train.”
“It would take us the best part of an hour to get to mine,” I say. “We need to go to Baker Street to get the Bakerloo line to Waterloo Station and then the overground from there to Twickenham.”
“A bit of a trek either way, then,” Wren says.
“Yes. Tell me where you’d feel most comfortable.” I can’t make this decision for him.
“Yours,” he says after a short pause. “I want you to take care of me, and you’ll be able to do that best in your own home.”
“All right. Let’s finish our meals and go.”
Wren grins. “Let’s.”
Chapter 6
Wren
* * *
During the walk to and from train stations, Tanner doesn’t hesitate to hold my hand. On the tube, he doesn’t shy away from wrapping his arm around my shoulders. As we wait on the platform for a train to Twickenham, he stands behind me, arms looped over my shoulders in a protective embrace. Part of me wishes he’d been like this five years ago. Not that there’s any point in thinking that way. I need to keep myself in the present and enjoy the rest of my evening with Tanner.
His apartment is on the top floor of a four-storey, modern development. Once we’ve gone up in the lift, he shows me into his apartment via an entrance hall.
“Main bathroom,” he says, pointing at a door on our right. “Shoes go in here.” He opens a closet door on the left, waits for me to take my shoes off, and then takes them from me and puts them beside his on a rack.
He leads me down the corridor until it turns to the left. “The bedrooms are down there,” he says. “Let’s go in here for a while.”
We go through a door on the right, into an open-plan living space with recessed lighting in the ceiling. A surprisingly roomy, modern kitchen in trendy shades of grey is on the right. With the exception of the fitted double oven, all the appliances are hidden. There’s a glass table with four grey chairs on one long wall and a desk and a fancy-looking computer on the opposite wall.
On the other side of the door, the lounge area is big enough for a four-seater sofa, a massive armchair, and a long, white coffee table. A large, flat-screen TV is hung on the wall above a waist-height bookcase, which is home to a stereo and dozens of books.
“Look up,” he says, pointing at the ceiling above the lounge.
