Chapter Nine #4
“You good?” Rio murmured against that spot, feeling Kevin’s pulse still racing under his mouth. “Sex on a desk isn’t exactly comfortable.”
“Mmm.” Kevin’s head dropped forward. “My brain melted. Ask again in five minutes.”
Rio pulled out carefully, steadying Kevin with hands on his hips when his legs wobbled.
The office smelled like sex and garlic bread, which shouldn’t have been a pleasant combination but somehow worked.
Kevin turned, leaning back against the desk, completely unbothered by his naked state or the mess they’d made.
“This has been the most bizarre night of my life,” Kevin said, voice hoarse.
Rio huffed a laugh against his shoulder. “Regrets?”
“No,” Kevin said in a softer, uncertain tone. “You might regret being tied to me. I literally crashed into your life.”
“Not a single regret.” Rio grabbed the tissues from his desk drawer and cleaned them both up with gentle care.
Kevin watched through half-lidded eyes, boneless against the desk like his skeleton had taken a vacation.
“Couch.” Rio tossed the tissues in the waste basket.
“Bossy even post-orgasm, pussycat.” But his mate pushed off the desk and let Rio guide him to the leather couch. They collapsed onto it, Kevin immediately curling into Rio’s side like he belonged there. Like they’d done this a hundred times instead of once.
Rio’s arm came around him, fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on his mate’s shoulder. His snow leopard softly purred.
“Stop staring at my face,” Kevin said without opening his eyes. “It’s giving me a complex.”
“I’m not staring.” He was totally staring.
“You’re doing something eyeball-y in its general direction.” Kevin’s hand spread across Rio’s stomach, fingers splaying wide. “I can feel it even through my eyelids.”
Rio’s other hand came up, thumb ghosting soft skin, thinking of the trouble his mate was in. His snow leopard wanted to hunt the bastard down and gut him. Make them understand that Kevin was off-limits.
Chapter Three
Rio’s truck had heated seats, which Kevin discovered forty seconds into the drive. He chose to focus on them rather than whatever Rio was doing with his face over there.
Kevin looked out the window.
“Good night at the restaurant,” Rio said. “Before the wildlife showed up.”
“Glad I could provide the evening’s entertainment.” Kevin watched the dark tree line blur past. “Very cost-effective floor show.”
A pause. Rio tried again. “You sleep okay on that couch? It’s not the most—”
“Slept great.” Kevin turned up the collar of the jacket Rio had lent him. “That leather is top-tier. Very ergonomic.”
Rio didn’t force a conversation to fill the sudden quietness, which Kevin appreciated. The truck moved through Crimson Hollow’s main street, past darkened storefronts and traffic lights blinking yellow. Kevin focused on the scenery like it was genuinely fascinating.
He wasn’t trying to be a dick. He was just being practical.
Yet, the night in the office had been…
Stop being delusional. Mate or not, he’s gonna walk away like your mom did when the crazy starts piling up.
Rio turned off the main road, climbing a side street that wound into the mountain’s lower slope. The truck’s headlights swept over pine trees and a gravel drive before landing on a house that Kevin had not been expecting.
He’d built up something in his head. Bachelor pad. Minimalist. Clean lines and no throw pillows.
This was not that.
The house sat low and wide against the hillside, the kind of structure that looked like it had grown there rather than been built.
Warm wood siding, a covered porch with actual chairs on it—not lawn furniture, real chairs, with cushions—and a light on inside that threw a soft amber square across the boards of the porch.
“You have a porch,” Kevin said.
Rio pulled the truck to a stop. “I do.”
“With chairs on it.”
“That’s generally where chairs go.”
Kevin got out before Rio could come around to his side, which would’ve been the kind of thing that made his impala do something embarrassing. The night air hit cold and clean, smelling like pine and the faint sweetness of wood smoke. Somewhere above them, the mountain went on for a long time.
Inside, bookshelves ran along one wall, filled with actual books, not just for decoration.
A stone fireplace had been laid with a low stack of wood.
The rug on the hardwood floor had been there long enough to develop good color.
The kitchen opened off the main room, separated by a broad island.
Whoever had designed it understood that the window above the sink should face the mountain.
Kevin stood in the doorway and took it in.
“Sit,” Rio said, already moving toward the kitchen.
“You live like an adult,” Kevin said, dropping onto one of the island stools. “You’re an actual adult with a home.”
“Most people do.”
“Most people have a futon and a TV that’s too big for the room.” Kevin propped his elbows on the island. “You have a throw blanket that looks intentional.”
“It is intentional.” Rio opened the refrigerator and pulled out a container. “I like my house.”
Kevin’s stomach chose that moment to produce an embarrassingly long, low complaint that echoed off the kitchen tile. He pressed a hand to his abdomen like that would retroactively muffle it.
Rio looked at him over the refrigerator door. Not smug. Just aware.
“Steak,” Rio said. “Sit.”
Kevin was already sitting, but he didn’t point that out.
Rio heated the steak without fanfare, sliced it while it rested, plated it with some leftover roasted vegetables that had been keeping it company in the container. Kevin watched Rio’s hands moving steadily, economically with no wasted movement. It was annoying how competent he was about everything.
“You didn’t say anything at the restaurant,” Rio said, setting the plate down in front of Kevin. “Before we left. You went quiet.”
Kevin looked at the steak. It smelled incredible. “I was tired.”
“You were fine twenty minutes before that.”
“Tired hits fast sometimes.” Kevin picked up the fork Rio had set beside the plate. “This looks great.”
Rio sat down on the stool across the island, not eating, just settling his forearms on the wood. Kevin ate because it was genuinely good and also because chewing gave him something to do with his face.
“Kevin.”
“Really good sear on this.” Kevin pointed at the steak with his fork. “What temperature do you pull it at?”
“One-thirty.”
“Smart.” Kevin ate another bite. “Carries over to 135 perfectly.”
Rio let the subject drop, and Kevin was so grateful he could’ve put it on a card.
He didn’t want to explain himself. He also didn’t want to sit in this warm kitchen in this house that felt like a home and have a conversation about what the pull between them meant or what last night had been or what Kevin’s general plan was going forward.
His general plan was not to have a plan. His general plan was to keep things light.
“So you’re a small-town person,” Kevin said.
“I like slow-paced.”
Kevin looked around the kitchen, at the mountain framed in the window over the sink. “Yeah,” he said. “I can see that.”
They talked through the rest of the plate.
Rio had a dry, unhurried sense of humor, which came out understated, the kind you had to be paying attention to catch.
He said something about a delivery driver who’d been afraid of the Glass Oak’s cat—a cat Kevin hadn’t encountered yet—and the way he told it, completely deadpan, made Kevin laugh before he’d realized it was coming.
It was easy, which was the problem.
When Rio asked how long Kevin had been in the city, Kevin said long enough, and meant it as a pivot. Rio took the hint, but his eyes said he noticed the pivot. Kevin filed that away.
“You should sleep,” Rio said when the plate was cleared and Kevin had run out of ways to redirect.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re drooping over the island.”
Kevin straightened. “Honey, I’m not drooping. I do not droop.”
“Kevin.”
“I was just resting my face. Near the counter. With my eyes closed.” He slid off the stool. “Fine. You busted me.”
Rio’s bedroom was at the end of a short hallway, past a bathroom and what appeared to be a room that had been converted to a home office, smaller and messier than the one at the restaurant.
The bedroom had the same qualities as the rest of the house—lived in, considered.
A window on the mountain side, curtains that were actually closed.
A bed that was large enough to not feel crowded.
Kevin sat on the edge of it and looked at his hands.
Behind him, he could hear Rio in the bathroom, the sounds of water running and cabinets opening and closing. Normal, domestic sounds. Sounds that were easy to imagine waking up to, which was exactly why Kevin’s brain had no business going anywhere near them.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling.
The mate pull was a low, constant thing, like a string pulled taut from his sternum toward the bathroom door.
His impala knew exactly where Rio was at all times, had been tracking him all night, would probably track him through walls if necessary.
Kevin had been ignoring it with the dogged focus of a man trying not to look at a car accident.
He wondered, lying there in the dark, how long the easy part lasted.
Weeks, maybe. A month if Rio was patient, and he struck Kevin as patient.
Then the reality of his life would show up uninvited, the way it always did.
Something would go sideways. Something would follow him, find him, use him to get to someone else. It had happened before.
Nobody wanted to sign up for that on a permanent basis. Not really. Not once they understood what they were actually agreeing to.
Rio would figure it out. He was perceptive enough to see it coming.