Chapter 12
Clayton
My brothers like to rag on me because I've always liked going to self-improvement workshops and retreats.
I admit, sometimes they can be a little too woo-woo, even for my liking, but I always find I get something out of it.
As Michaelangelo—from the Renaissance, not the Ninja Turtles—said at the age of eighty-seven: "I am still learning. "
And I think it's because of my lifelong interest in exploring emotions and being able to identify and communicate what I'm feeling that I've been able to cut through my confusion, surprise, nerves, and trepidation at the recent development between Vaughn and me.
Despite the less-than-ideal timing, I'm giving myself permission to just enjoy it, go with it, and see what happens.
Since our kiss last week—the proper one, where tongues were involved and his erection pressed against mine—we've started hanging out most days after work.
It's nice to watch the sunset and share a meal with someone.
I'm enjoying getting to know Vaughn better, or rather, what he chooses to offer of himself.
And I'm definitely enjoying our post-food, post-chat make-out sessions on my couch.
We're in the middle of one right now, with Vaughn lying on top of me, his tongue plunging around in my mouth and my hands kneading his tight ass so hard it'd make Buddy Valastro proud.
I thrust my hips up, grinding against his equally hard cock, eliciting an unguarded grunt from him that's quickly become my favorite sound in the world.
If Mabel wasn't in the room, I'd be more adventurous, testing his limits, seeing how far underneath his clothes he'd let my hands roam, but it doesn't feel right with her here, even though a cyclone could probably hit and she wouldn't notice, transfixed as she is by Bluey playing on the flat screen.
"Any updated thoughts on this particular Montanaian's kissing skills?" Vaughn murmurs, his voice tinged with that subtle accent I'm really digging.
"Beyond exceptional." I stroke a stray strand of dark hair off his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. "The Montanaian Tourism Bureau should reach out. You'd be an asset."
He grins and frowns at the same time. "You want me to take my kissing skills to a wider audience?"
"Hell, no," I growl when the implication of what I blurted hits me. "Sorry. A bit hard to think when I'm experiencing a severe lack of blood supply to the old noggin."
"Don't be too hard on yourself." He bats those long eyelashes at me. "You're doing pretty well to keep up with me…for an old guy."
I'm only two years older than him, so I smile, let the dig slide, and grab his ass so hard two handprints will greet him in the mirror tomorrow.
"Thank you for another wonderful evening," Vaughn says as I walk him and Mabel back to his boat along the golden-lit pier at the end of the night.
It's beautiful out. A sequined blanket of stars twinkle overhead, and the warm tropical breeze carries the scent of salt with a hint of frangipani.
"Working here, you've met all the liveaboards at the marina, haven't you?" I ask, glancing around at the boats swaying on the dark water, golden light spilling from within most of them.
"I have."
"Who's the weirdest person here?"
Vaughn stops and looks at me, a smile ghosting his lips. "That's easy. This dude from the Gold Coast. Lives in that audacious, oversized yacht at the end of the pier. Definitely overcompensating for something."
It's not the first time he's made that joke. I tug him into me. Well, him and Mabel since she's slung across his chest. "Rest assured I am not overcompensating for anything."
"Guess I'll have to take your word for it…" His smile grows as he gives my chest a few taps with his knuckles. "For now."