Chapter Eleven #3
Bastian shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, looking frustrated. “This isn’t just fucking to me. I don’t want to be your dirty secret.”
“And you think I do?” Kian questioned. “You think that’s how I think about this? After two years of waiting, and wishing that we could do something about how we felt, you think I’m only here for sex?”
There was a part of Kian, vocal but somewhat drowned out by the overwhelming exhaustion he felt, that told him they needed to talk about this when he wasn’t already in such a bad mood.
The problem was that the conversation had already started and from the way Bastian’s expression had tightened, Kian knew he wasn’t just going to leave it.
“Listen,” Kian said before Bastian could say something else—probably something he’d regret later—“I’m worn out, I had a fucking long day. I’d like to take you up on the food and hot bath idea, but I don’t want to fight about this. Not now.”
Bastian surprised the hell out of him by laughing. “Are you trying to avoid a fight?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Yes. No. I don’t really fucking know. I just know I don’t want this to be a secret. Not forever, anyway.” Bastian looked confused, and sounded confused, which probably confused him even more.
Kian reached up and slid a hand around Bastian’s neck, tugging him down closer. Bastian leaned in, like he’d only been waiting for the invitation. “Not forever,” he agreed. “But you just promoted me to chef de cuisine at twenty-three fucking years old. Let’s give it a little time.”
Sighing, Bastian leaned in, resting his forehead against Kian’s. “You’re right. I’ll change the reservation. We’ll go someplace else.”
“Thank you,” Kian murmured. “I know it sucks, I know this isn’t . . . normal.”
Bastian’s grip tightened on Kian’s hips. “I don’t give a fuck what’s normal. I love you. I just want to do right by you. Always.”
Kian reached up and kissed him then. It was just a quick little brush of his lips against Bastian’s, but that still felt like risking it.
The parking lot was empty, but anyone driving by right now would see all the evidence they needed.
“Let’s go home,” he said, reaching for his door handle.
“Someone pretty amazing promised me a hot bath and some food, and I’m starving. ”
Bastian’s smile was warm and sweet. “For the food or for something else?”
Kian risked another quick peck, this time to Bastian’s cheek. “Can’t I be hungry for both?”
“Go,” Bastian said, chuckling with amusement, “before I decide that this parking lot is private enough for what I have in mind.”
Kian didn’t know if Bastian had deliberately lured him to his house with only a promise of a bath, but once he’d suggested it, Kian wanted it. They’d spent more than a few late nights tucked up together in Bastian’s oversized tub and it was already a favorite spot of his.
“Food first or bath?” Bastian called out as Kian let himself in the front door of his house.
“Food,” Kian said, walking into the kitchen. They tended to get distracted in the bath and he had a feeling that an orgasm would be enough to finish him off completely for the evening.
“I figured,” Bastian said. He was sautéing some ingredients in a pan, and there was already a pot of water bubbling on the stove. “Pasta?”
“Works for me.” Kian slid onto one of the barstools. “This doesn’t really get old, you know.”
Bastian looked up, and the boyish smile on his face made Kian’s heart contract. “Me cooking for you? Why wouldn’t I? You’re the one who worked hard in the kitchen today. I only had the longest fucking meeting in the history of meetings.”
“That bad, huh?” Kian asked.
“I knew Nathan Hess was difficult,” Bastian admitted. “But he makes me look like a fucking saint, and that’s a problem.”
“What was the meeting about today?”
“We were supposed to be finalizing the contract, but instead he threw me and my lawyer for a loop. Demanded a percentage of profits as well as a monthly rent. Seemed to think I was doing him a favor, instead of the other way around.”
“You know Xander’s boyfriend is his son, right?” Kian said.
“I am well aware.” Bastian’s voice was testy as he added a pint of cherry tomatoes to the pan. “I am not going to ask Xander to intercede on my behalf.”
Kian stole a tomato from the pan, quicker than Bastian could bat his fingers away with his metal tongs.
“I didn’t think he should,” he said. “I’m just saying that maybe it would be easier to do this without Hess.
Xander says he made Damon’s life a living hell.
Do you really want to make that your problem too? ”
Whatever Bastian answered, it was clear how he felt from the expression on his face. He grunted noncommittally as he used his tongs to check the pasta.
“Get the plates,” was all he actually said, which Kian thought made it rather obvious.
They were sitting side by side on the barstools, eating their late night pasta in silence, when Bastian brought it up again.
“I’m hoping my lawyer can convince his lawyer that he’s fucking insane,” Bastian said but he didn’t exactly sound confident.
“If he thinks I’m paying a dime from my profits, he’d have to be. ”
“Why don’t you just do this without him?” Kian asked. “You don’t need him, not really.”
“No,” Bastian sighed, pushing the food around his plate.
A bad sign all around, because like everything Bastian made, it was delicious.
“But it would be easier. He already has the facility, the kitchen. It needs some updating, but that would only take a few weeks. Staff wouldn’t be difficult.
Menu wouldn’t either. It’s . . . a lot, honestly, building from the ground up.
I was trying to avoid it. Maybe it’s unavoidable. ”
There was a part of Kian—a part he’d been trying very hard to ignore these past weeks—that wanted to tell Bastian that this clearly wasn’t the right time to do this, and that even if it meant a demotion, it was okay to give up the proposed partnership with Hess.
It was the same voice that wouldn’t stop whispering at him that he was ill-prepared and not experienced enough to run Terroir nearly by himself.
Kian ignored the voice. “Maybe it is,” he said, trying to inject as much cheer into his voice as he could, despite his exhaustion.
“Let’s take a bath,” Bastian said. “It seems we both had trying days. I’d frankly like to forget mine as soon as possible.”
That was the most direct reference Bastian had made to the scallop incident yet—nearly like he wished Kian would tell him, but despite that hunch, Kian had no intention of saying a word.
Bastian had tasked him with running Terroir, had given him Mark, and despite Kian’s concern, believed in him completely.
There was no way Kian was going to tell him that he was over his head and that Mark was a nightmare, possibly developing into something even worse.
It just looked bad, he told himself as Bastian took care of the dishes and Kian walked to the bathroom, because he was so tired.
Everything would be better in the morning.
He flipped on the hot water and plugged the drain, perching on the edge of the tub. He stripped off his t-shirt, toeing off his socks.
Bastian appeared in the doorway and pulled a small lighter out of his pocket, flicking it on and lighting the vanilla-scented candles scattered around the tub. They were new, Kian realized, and he hadn’t even noticed, he was so god damned worn out.
“I told you,” Bastian said quietly, placing his hands on Kian’s bare shoulders, “I want to take care of you.”
Kian had never been particularly interested in being taken care of before, but he was too tired to fight it.
He looked up, and nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said.
“Then what are you waiting for?” Bastian asked, gesturing to the rapidly filling tub. “In you go.”
“You’re not joining me?” Kian frowned, slipping his jeans and then his underwear down over his hips, leaving them in a pile with the rest of his clothes.
“Sweetheart, you’re dead on your feet. I’ve been there, so I know how you feel. Get in.”
Kian did as he requested, sliding into the water, sighing at how perfect the temperature was—just a shade cooler than too hot to stand.
Reaching up, Bastian flipped the lights off, and then to Kian’s surprise, Bastian turned back with a few little bottles and drizzled one in the water.
The scent of chamomile and vanilla filled his nostrils and he sank back against the tub edge, his head tipping back.
He could fall asleep right now, just like this.
“I’d say you work too hard, but . . . I’m still me,” Bastian said, his voice a dark rumble.
“And I’m still me,” Kian retorted with only a little heat, “and I wouldn’t stop even if you asked me to.”
“I don’t want you to stop, I just want to make it a little easier when you do,” Bastian murmured. He leaned against the tub deck, wetting a washcloth and reaching out for Kian’s leg.
Never in a million years would Kian have imagined that Bastian would take such a subservient role, or would bend that everlastingly proud back to wash him, but he was doing it now, hands careful and firm on his skin.
It was inevitable, because Kian would have to be dead to not be aroused by the feeling of Bastian’s hands on him.
Lazy arousal unwound through him, the scent of the steam surrounding them lulling him to a dreamy state where even his cock thickening under the water wasn’t something to be worried about.
He felt his blood quicken when finally Bastian closed his fingers around it, giving it a gentle but purposeful stroke. “Is this okay?” Bastian murmured, the dim light of the candles shadowing the stunning angles of his face.
Kian found he couldn’t even reply, could only nod as Bastian continued to stroke his cock, fingers wringing the pleasure from him with a measured, even touch.
His orgasm took him by surprise, but Bastian must have realized it was coming, because he was ready with the wet washcloth, and as the aftershocks faded, Kian slumped back against the lip of the tub.
“Feel any better? Bastian asked.
He was in a warm, cozy tunnel, so far away, so out of it, that he thought he’d answered, but maybe he didn’t at all. Maybe he fell asleep in the tub, and maybe Bastian lifted him out, as gentle as he’d ever been with anything in his whole life, dried him off, and took him to bed.
Maybe, because in the morning, Kian still wasn’t sure how he got underneath Bastian’s soft, silky sheets.