Chapter 24
MATTHEW
As Louis slept peacefully in my arms, I watched fat snowflakes swirl in the light of the streetlight outside my window.
It had been snowing off and on all evening, but had really started coming down in earnest about an hour ago, piling up in the corners of the windows while wind rattled the screens.
Louis made a snuffling sound, which I thought was an indication that he was waking up, but he just wiggled against me, burrowing his head more heavily into my chest. Not for the first time, I wondered what the hell I was doing with him.
Which inevitably led to the secondary question: What was I going to do about him?
After my mad dash upstairs, driven by the uncontrollable need to know what his cock tasted like—fucking amazing—we’d spent a quiet evening enjoying soup and watching Christmas movies.
We’d started with Scrooged, then moved to my apartment so I could feed Ernie.
That taken care of, we’d started on Die Hard, which he’d insisted was a Christmas movie—it wasn’t—then he’d promptly fallen asleep in my arms. I hadn’t wanted to move him, so here I sat, with one arm tingling and the weight of a drooling man on my chest, trying to figure out how to keep this feeling forever.
I didn’t think it was too much to ask . .
. to keep him. I’d lost my wife. Didn’t I deserve another companion in my life?
Someone who made me feel lighter than I’d felt in years.
Who tolerated my grumpiness. Who didn’t seem to mind that I was inexperienced in sex with a man, and in fact made me feel like I was good at it.
Stay.
The word floated through my mind, like a whisper on a breeze. A confession. A plea. Since I’d first had the thought this afternoon in the five-and-dime, it had taken hold, popping up again and again throughout the evening, each time more insistent and harder to ignore.
I told myself the same thing I had this afternoon. Louis wasn’t meant for small-town life. He was polished and worldly and too vibrant to be contained to a three-block main street with a grumpy man who balked at the thought of touching someone else’s asshole.
Stay.
Five days since he’d knocked on my door dressed in nothing but a towel. Five nights since he’d stared up at me from the balcony, lying on my doorstep, three sheets to the wind.
Stay.
Four days since we’d decorated cookies in his kitchen. Four nights since I’d read a blow-job scene that had me questioning everything.
Stay.
Three. Christmas dinner and confessions. Two. Avoidance and denial. One. Acceptance. New beginnings. Discovery. Exploration.
Today.
Today had been a steady slip, slip, slide into something I didn’t dare name.
Stay.
Louis shifted, his eyes fluttering open then slowly focusing on me.
“Hey.” His voice was a scratchy whisper in the darkness. It was intimate and personal and just for me.
I slid just a little bit more.
“Hey,” I replied, smiling softly. He returned my smile, then sat up and rubbed his eyes. I handed him his glasses, which he placed on his nose, then bent his head this way and that, working out the kinks in his neck.
“Stay,” I blurted, the word that had been rolling around in my brain finally making its way out of my mouth.
He looked at me, eyes wide. I might have found it comical if I hadn’t been looking for a way to backpedal.
I cleared my throat and tried again. “Will you stay here tonight? It’s snowing pretty heavily.
Might be easier to just stay.” I shrugged, doing my best to appear casual about it. I was pretty sure I failed.
“I’m just right next door . . .”
“Yeah. Of course. You’d probably prefer your own space.” Hot pulses of embarrassment, or maybe it was the sting of rejection—fuck, it was probably both—had my cheeks heating and a knot forming in my stomach.
Louis leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Matty?”
“Yeah?”
“I was teasing. I’d love to stay.” I could see now that his eyes were dancing with humor behind his glasses. Little shit.
I stared at him for a moment, keeping a stern look on my face though relief poured through me. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to make him pay for that.
Without warning, I tackled him down to the couch, slid my hands beneath his sweater, and tickled the shit out of him.
Writhing back and forth and giggling like a delighted toddler, he tried to push me back, but to no avail.
And then, when he was begging for mercy with tears running down his face, I scooped him up and tossed him over my shoulder.
“Oof. Matty! Matty, put me down!” He slapped at my back, but it was a half-hearted attempt.
“Is that all you’ve got?” I asked, striding toward my bedroom.
“You weakened me with your tickling!” he exclaimed, breathless with laughter.
“Your excuses are as weak as your attempts to get down.” Ernie let out a disgruntled meow and fled the room when I dumped Louis unceremoniously in the middle of the bed. I climbed on, straddling his hips, much as I’d done a few hours ago, only this time I pinned his arms above his head.
“Always with the smart mouth,” I said, my face just a few inches from his.
“You love it!”
The truth of that statement hit a little too close to home. “I guess I’ll just have to keep it busy so it doesn’t get you into more trouble.” I surged forward and kissed him, long and deep, until we were both breathless.
Eventually, I came up for air, rolling over to lie on the bed next to him. He rolled onto his side to face me, and tucked his head into my shoulder.
“Thank you,” I said, running my fingers up and down his back.
He tilted his head up to look at me. “For what?”
“For making me laugh. You make me feel . . . lighter.”
“I should be the one thanking you.”
It was my turn to look down at him. “Why?’
“For asking me to stay.”