29. Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
Sami was adorable in the morning. The grunt when he stirred and stretched his body as if all his muscles had turned to wood overnight, the way he buried his face into Baz’s neck to escape the light pouring in as if he were a vampire burning under its intensity, it all did unfathomable things to Baz’s heart.
“I can’t remember the last time I had a man in my bed.” Sami’s voice was rough with sleep. Effortlessly sexy as ever.
“Is that good or bad?”
“Hmm…” Sami cranked his head back and pressed a kiss on Baz’s lips. A faint smile crept onto his face. “Good. Definitely good.”
Excellent.
With neither of them being expected at any offices, they had the luxury of a slow morning.
Something Baz hadn’t indulged in since their last sleepover.
Except back then, he had lacked an excuse to linger in bed for cuddles, to stroke along Sami’s back and feel the scars on his arms, the smooth roadmap of his childhood curiosity.
“You’re obsessed,” Sami chuckled. So what?
“I love how they feel.”
“You’re the first.”
Hard to imagine, but he’d happily take the credit for being the first lover to appreciate every part of Sami.
“Can I be the last, too?”
Sami’s jaw dropped. His cheeks grew redder by the second, a beautiful sight Baz was deprived of immediately because Sami pressed his face into his chest with a hearty groan.
Wow. Who would have thought Sami Adam had a shy side? Oh, Baz would love exploring this. Loved him.
To prove it, once Sami let go of him, Baz instructed him to take it easy while he got them a caffeine boost and climbed out from under the comfortable bedsheets first—a gesture he immediately regretted when a chill shook through him.
The kitchen could have passed for a relic from before the Great Fire.
One drooping shelf was stocked to the brim with an array of spices, half of which Baz had never heard of; a yellow powder called ‘Dukkah,’ a crimson red powder labeled ‘Sumac,’ a jar of what looked like an herb mix that had ‘Za’atar’ written on its side in Sharpie.
Crooked cabinet doors strained the hinges.
Baz wouldn’t touch those before they fell apart.
Instead, he fished two mugs out of the hill of clean dishes stacked on the drying rack next to the sink.
The coffee machine howled a dying scream that had Baz clutching his hands over his ears.
It barely dampened the roaring and grinding of the precious beans containing his will to live.
Horrible. Even the one in the associates’ kitchen didn’t torture him so.
Granted, the end result didn’t smell too shabby, but that hardly made up for the assault.
No one should be forced to start the day like this.
Would it be too preposterous to get them a new, quiet coffee machine… ?
“You’re still here.”
Naija stood by the door, dressed for business in a white blouse, the collar of which turned into a tie and wide-legged black pants, fumbling with the clip on her watch. Her tone was too neutral for Baz to gauge whether or not she approved.
“I didn’t make him cry.”
Now that earned him a smile. “Glad to hear it. Keep it up.”
Naija leaned past him to grab an apple from the blue plastic bowl on the counter. A hint of petrichor colored the air around her.
“I will.”
“For the record, I told him to tell you about his situation weeks ago, but he refused to drag you into it. He isn’t big on talking about his troubles.”
Baz had gathered that much. Nice to know Sami’s reservedness hadn’t been personal.
“Why are you calling me out this early?” Sami whined, waltzing into the kitchen with his arms stretched above his head. He lazily threw them around Naija.
“Morning, lover boy. Didn’t hear a thing last night.” Naija pumped her eyebrows.
“You calling me easy?”
“I’m calling you smitten.”
“Shut up!” Sami exclaimed, then leaned in and whispered, “He said he loves me.”
Naija gasped. A soft squeal sounded through her pressed-together lips. They were aware Baz was standing barely two feet away and heard everything, right?
“Do you two need a moment?” he asked.
“No. We’re good.” Sami grinned as if secrecy had been achieved. He let go of Naija to melt into Baz’s chest—stealing his coffee in the process. Yeah, this was exactly the future Baz had signed up for. And what a bright future it was.
“Have fun, crazy kids,” Naija said. “I got the study group thing tonight, so I won’t be back until late.” Her wink was entirely unnecessary.
“Have a good day. Love you, N,” Sami called after her.
“Love you too.”
The front door slammed shut. Now he understood how Sami had gotten away with that bad habit for so long.
He tightened his arms around Sami, pressed a soft kiss right above the emerging stubble. Sami hummed.
“I can’t offer a bathtub, but we do have a spacious shower?”
“Lead the way.”
When Sami did, Baz stole a glance at his phone.
Eevee
cuuute omg
I’ll see what I can do!
Fantastic.
Turned out, his and Sami’s definition of spacious did not align—Baz’s was two people standing comfortably next to each other, Sami’s apparently was being able to squeeze in at all, even if one person had their back pressed against the wall at all times.
It made no difference. They could have had all the space in the world, and he still would have sought Sami’s touch.
Pearls of water stuck to Sami’s chest hair. The way he ran his hands through his dripping curls made him look like a model climbing out of a pool for a perfume commercial.
Not lathering him up with soap would have been a waste; not stealing kisses would have been a crime.
Sami pulled him closer by the hips. Just feeling his hard-on against Baz’s was enough to make him hum. He wrapped one hand around them both.
Moaning, Sami’s forehead sunk against his shoulder. His nails dug into Baz’s neck, a sharp, intoxicating pain Baz needed more of, right now.
How they had managed to make it out of the shower at all, Baz couldn’t attest to with any credibility. All he knew was his fingertips were prunes and he had the honor of watching Sami with nothing but a towel around his hips massaging moisturizer onto his face.
“You can stop staring at me any time now,” Sami remarked.
“Wrong. I’m morally obligated to admire a work of art.”
A smile twitched at Sami’s lips, one he clearly tried to stop from spreading all the way to his ears and failing miserably.
“Ew. The cheese. Get it off me.”
“You love it.”
“I’m lactose intolerant, actually.”
“Case in point.”
No one loved cheese like those whose bodies begged them to abstain.
Given the amount of yogurt Sami had for breakfast, Baz sure hoped he had been joking though. He sat at the small, scratched IKEA desk squeezed into the corner of the kitchen and watched Sami add a variety of cereal on top, from oats to off-brand Reese’s Puffs.
“See, this,” Sami made a point of letting the mix drip off his tablespoon (a tablespoon, for cereal! Baz might be in love with a psychopath), “This is what we call nourishment. You might have heard of it.”
He would never live down the plain toast, huh?
“Why do I put up with you again?”
“I don’t know. Something about you being madly in love with me. I don’t listen when you talk.”
“Ah, yes. That.” He pulled Sami onto his lap. And since he was already so close and smiling so radiantly, Baz kissed him. Once, and again, and then his cheek too.
Sami did not see the need to find his own chair after, in fact, he seemed to delight in obstructing Baz’s own breakfast: toast, except Sami sprinkled olive oil and that za’atar herb mix on top and vowed it would change Baz’s life.
Baz wouldn’t go that far, but he could admit the tangy, nutty flavor did upgrade the toast experience. More so since he got to watch Sami preen about having told him so.
By the time they finished, Baz’s legs had long fallen asleep.
Sami nuzzled into his shoulder. Baz kissed his forehead.
“Ready to get your life back?”
“Ready to risk yours?”
“Since the day you spilled coffee all over me.” If only he had realized that sooner.
“You need to watch where you’re going better. I’m still mourning that coffee.”
“Oh, so that was my fault, was it?”
“Yeah!” Sami exclaimed. The grin overpowered the conviction on his face, but he hid it with a kiss. Baz could get used to bickering over breakfast. Preferably every day.
Preferably forever.
Sami gave him an overview of Ian’s crimes he had tangible proof for: the forged signatures, fabrication of evidence to discredit the opposition, forgoing passing on settlement offers, intimidating people into accepting Ian’s terrible deals.
The picture he painted left no doubt that Ian was a criminal. Good. Anything less definitive, Ian might have been able to weasel himself out of.
They had to endure no more than two long beeps demanding patience before Aya answered.
“Hello, Romeo.”
“Hey. I got Juliet right here.” Baz bounced his leg up to send a tiny earthquake through Sami, not that Aya could see that. Baz could, though. He had all the time in the world to relish Sami’s surprised face and replay the yelp in his mind.
“Spare me the details.”
“You’ll need some of them.”
It took no convincing to get Aya on board.
Her only condition was that they thought this through— Baz ignored the ‘for once’ she added.
Impulsive as it had been, he didn’t regret letting Sami into his life.
Least of all now. Besides, the plan was simple.
Step one, free Sami. Step two, lock up Ian. Step three, settle the case.
And yet, Aya had to ruin it with follow-up questions because she ‘didn’t want to embarrass herself by making allegations they couldn’t back up.’
Baz wouldn’t dare to call her a buzzkill, but he sure thought it. And smiled. It was so good to have her back.
“How sure are you that Ian really didn’t tell Captain Green about our settlement offer?” Aya asked.