32. Kingston
Thirty-Two
Kingston
The Bramble Street cottage is dark except for the solar lights lining the gravel path to the front door when we arrive.
“What time is it?” Toby asks sleepily, rousing from where he’d been slumped sideways in the passenger seat.
“Two-thirty in the morning,” I whisper.
We’d stayed at the gallery reception for a while after the drama with Toby’s dad, but eventually Fernanda shooed us away, telling us to unwind, so Pete and Jack and Van and Beck and Toby and I went out for dinner—not at the fancy French place I’d scouted earlier, but at a greasy diner for which we were all delightfully overdressed. Toby had declared a craving for lemon meringue pie and French fries, and I wasn’t about to deny him anything at that point. We ate unexpectedly decent food and drank crappy coffee and talked until nearly midnight.
The four of them had booked rooms at a nearby hotel, but after Toby and I said goodbye and headed on foot back to the apartment, Toby looked at me, face shining and beautiful, and said, “Feel free to say no, but I’d really like to sleep at the house tonight. I miss Luna. I’ve had enough of the city for now.”
And I’d wanted to be back in Rosedale so badly it was difficult to stop by the apartment even long enough to grab a few things and retrieve Daniel.
I drove, and he dozed. We’ve made the same drive together a handful of times since he started coming to the city to promote his show, but this was the first time I could look over at him and know he was mine.
Best drive ever.
I open up the house and Luna comes padding to greet us, immediately meowing to express her displeasure at being left alone for several days, despite the cat sitter looking in on her twice a day when we were gone. Toby drops down to cuddle her, but she wriggles out of his arms and comes to butt her head against my shin.
“She’s got her favorite,” he grumps, then he slides all the way down to the floor and groans. “I’m just going to sleep here.”
I lock the door, put our bags in my room, toss Luna a few treats, wash my hands, and pour two glasses of water to take with us to bed. Then I return to the living room, where Toby hasn’t moved, his face still as if he’s truly sleeping, a mask of relaxation. I consider nudging him with my foot, telling him to get into bed, like I would have when I was trying so hard to only be his friend. But things are different now. I slide down to my knees next to him, lean over and kiss his mouth, just for being all beautiful and mine.
I lean back on my haunches, watch him flutter his eyes open like Sleeping Beauty. “I think you should come to bed.”
His lips curve up. “You do, do you? But I’m so comfortable here.” He closes his eyes again, the brat. “Kiss me again.”
What can I do in the face of that request except curve over and brush my lips against his? He immediately starts kissing me back, wrapping his arms around my neck and pulling me down on top of him. I spare one sad thought for my jacket, then decide the dry cleaner can sort out any wrinkles. My hair hangs around us like a thick black curtain as I let him lure me into long, deep kisses that light up my entire body with desire.
His hands find my ass and squeeze, which I take as a green light for reaching down and grasping his cock through his jeans and rubbing mercilessly, the thick denim keeping me from fully feeling him, but I know it pleases him, because he’s bucking his hips and panting into my mouth—then he tears away to say, “Stop.”
I instantly still my hand. “What?”
“I’m not coming in my jeans.”
“Take them off, then,” I say, because I’m an intelligent man, but it’s the middle of the night and that’s the extent of my problem-solving skills at this moment.
He grins. “Good idea. You are so smart.”
“I know,” I return. “Now, can we please do this in my bed?”
He cocks his head. “Your bed?”
“Uh, or your bed, I guess.” I’ve never slept in the bed in the guest room, but it gets rave reviews from everyone who stays there.
“Is it still my bed? I mean—” He licks his bottom lip, which is fairly distracting, but it filters in that I’ve said something wrong. He doesn’t think I’d want him to move out, does he?
“Of course it’s still your bed,” I say quickly.
He pushes up on his elbows and I climb off him, sex relegated to the back burner while I redirect blood flow to my brain to figure this out.
“I thought, maybe, you’d want to share a bed?” he says quietly, like he’s not sure of my reaction.
I put two and two together at last. “Oh, fuck, yes. I do. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”
“It has been that,” he says, looking relieved. “And it’s okay if you don’t want to share. I mean, we can keep separate rooms, if that’s more comfortable for you.”
“It’s not.” I touch his arm. “Do you know how many nights I lay in that bed and wished you were there with me?”
“Probably almost as many as I wished I was in there with you,” he says, huffing out a laugh. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
“Yes, we are.” I get to my feet as elegantly as I can manage, reach my hand out and help him up.
“All right, then. To bed,” he says.
“To our bed,” I add.
I switch off the living room light and follow him into my—our—room. He strips down quickly to his boxers. I get as far as my waistcoat when he turns down the covers and gets into my side of the bed. “Wait—you sleep on the right?”
“Yeah—oh, shit. Last night you were kind of in the middle and I didn’t think about it. Are you a right side sleeper?”
“All my life,” I say.
“Same.”
We stare at each other, at an impasse.
“I can—” He starts to move to the other side of the bed, just as I say, “I suppose I can try?—”
We stop. “Maybe we do need to keep separate bedrooms. It’s not that odd.” I’ll do pretty much anything to keep him, period.
He juts his bottom lip out. “And let Luna have you all to herself?”
“I can’t believe you are jealous of a cat.” Still, I can’t deny it makes me warm inside.
“I’m not jealous of—well, fine, maybe a little. But that’s not the point. The point is, after months of pining for you, I’m not going to sleep in my bed alone.” He stalks around the foot of the bed and determinedly gets in on the other side. He looks at me triumphantly, as if daring me to remove him.
I slip out of my clothes as quickly as possible, keeping on my boxer briefs and allowing myself to simply drape items over the back of my chair instead of hanging everything up in the closet. Oh no. The closet.
“I thought of something more difficult to negotiate than the bed thing,” I say, happily settling into the right side of the bed.
“What’s that?”
“Closet space,” I say gravely. “I suppose you’ll want me to clear some room for you in there?” I nod to my beloved walk-in.
He laughs, loud and free, then plants a smacking kiss on my lips. “I wouldn’t dream of it, darling. I don’t mind keeping my things in the other room.”
“Really? You must really—” I snap my lips shut when I realize I was about to say, “love me.” “Like me,” I finish awkwardly.
But he just smiles. “I really like you,” he says. “Now rub me off so we can go to sleep, please.”
So I do, and he quickly returns the favor. Then we go to sleep, Luna worming her way in between us at some point in the night, making a cozy family of three.