Chapter Twenty-Two
Denis
He stared at his phone, willing it to ring. Or buzz. Or anything but the dead silence for the past several hours.
As if called by his stubborn gaze, the device buzzed. Just once. But when Denis picked up the phone and read it, the message carried much more than just information.
*Done. Coming home to you.*
“Coming home to me. I’m his home.” Weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying lifted from his shoulders.
Earlier tonight he’d been out for a post-work nightcap with Carole, and the moment the call with Cherry had disconnected he’d regretted not making that conversation a priority. “Won’t make that mistake again. I’ll be taking all his calls. Gonna make sure he knows it, too.”
Quickly he thumbed a response, wincing when it stuck on Delivering for several seconds. Finally, the little flag changed, to not just Sent, but Read.
*I’ll be waiting.*
He stared at the phone for a few minutes, willing it to buzz again, or ring, or anything else. Finally he shoved it in the pocket of his slacks.
“Okay,” he addressed the empty room. “What will he need when he gets home. A shower, he likes to shower after a long ride. He’ll probably be hungry.” He nodded. “That’s the plan. Start a pan of something, and set the shower up. Good plan.” He clapped once. “Break. Go team.”
In the kitchen, he did what his father had always done when stuck for a meal.
Into one pot went spices, potatoes, tomatoes, cut up sausage, and canned chicken broth.
“That’s started, it can simmer until he gets home.
” He prepared a bowl of rice and ran cool water over it.
Swishing his fingers through the water, he stirred it gently, watching as the water changed color.
Straining the washed rice, he put it in a pot with a lid and set it aside.
“That can wait. I’ll be back.” Denis shook his head. “Who are you talking to, fool?”
The bathroom attached to the main bedroom was big, with a walk-in shower featuring multiple waterheads.
Cherry had mentioned more than once how nice it was.
Hot water on demand, massage heads, towel warmer.
Oh yeah, Denis had gone all out when he’d done a remodel several years ago.
Now, every time he shared the shower with Cherry, he’d thanked his past self.
He turned on the towel warmer and draped a couple of towels over the bars. Inside the shower, he put a new bottle of bodywash, the spicy scent he had noticed Cherry liked. Denis went back into the bedroom and grabbed a robe, hanging it on a peg next to the shower.
Returning to the kitchen, Denis stirred the makeshift jambalaya and tasted it. “More salt,” he mused, grabbing the shaker and giving it a good rattle. Stirring again, he tasted again. “Just about right.”
He left it to simmer and went to the living room, turning on the TV. He watched the news with some anxiety, as if whatever job Cherry had been working on today would wind up on the evening news.
Denis woke several hours later when the door rattled open. He pushed up from the couch and met Cherry as he came through the entryway, the door shutting behind him.
Denis held Cherry close, the biker’s leather vest creaking under his grip, the faint scent of smoke and sweat clinging to him like a shadow.
Cherry’s arms tightened around Denis’s waist, but there was a hitch in his breath, a subtle wince that made Denis pull back just enough to scan his face.
Under the hallway light, Cherry looked worn, his storm-gray eyes shadowed with exhaustion, a split knuckle on one hand, and a dark stain blooming through the side of his shirt beneath the vest.
“You’re hurt,” Denis murmured, his voice thick with concern. He cupped Cherry’s jaw, thumb brushing over the stubble, feeling the tension there. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Cherry nodded, his usual gruff smirk softened by fatigue. “Just a scratch, Suit Guy. Nothin’ I can’t handle.”
But he let Denis lead him, first to the kitchen to turn off the stove, and then with one arm slung over Denis’s shoulder they made their way to the bedroom.
The air was warm, the faint hum of the towel warmer a comforting backdrop.
Denis eased Cherry down onto the edge of the bed, taking his vest with reverence, folding it and placing it on top of the nearby dresser.
He then knelt in front of Cherry to tug off his boots first, the heavy thuds echoing in the quiet room.
Cherry watched him, eyes hooded, something vulnerable flickering in their depths.
“Shirt off,” Denis said softly, his hands gentle as he helped peel the blood-stiffened fabric away.
He sucked in a breath at the sight; there was a jagged wound along Cherry’s side, packed with gauze but seeping slightly, the skin around it bruised purple and raw. “Jesus, Cherry. This isn’t a scratch.”
Cherry’s hand came up, covering Denis’s where it hovered over the injury.
“Knife glanced off my ribs. Salty patched me up good. It’ll heal.
” His voice was low, rough, but there was a tremor in it, not from pain, but from the weight of the night.
“Missed you, Denis. Thought about you the whole damn time.”
Denis’s chest ached, a swell of emotion rising like a tide.
He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Cherry’s collarbone, away from the bruises, tasting salt and skin.
“I was scared,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
“Waiting here, not knowing...I love you, Cherry. God, I love you so much it hurts.”
Cherry froze for a heartbeat, then his fingers threaded into Denis’s hair, pulling him up for a kiss that was slow and deep, like they were breathing each other in.
“You’re mine, lawyer man,” Cherry rasped against his lips, his free hand clutching Denis’s shirt.
“Love you too. Been fightin’ it, but...yeah. Love you.”
The words hung between them, raw and real, and Denis felt tears prick his eyes.
He kissed Cherry again, softer this time, mindful of the wounds, his hands mapping the familiar planes of Cherry’s chest with care.
He eased Cherry back onto the bed, propping pillows behind him to keep pressure off his side.
“Let me take care of you,” Denis whispered, grabbing a fresh towel from the warmer and the first-aid kit he’d stashed nearby.
Cherry’s breath hitched as Denis gently peeled away the old gauze, cleaning the wound with antiseptic wipes, his touch feather-light.
“Feels good,” Cherry murmured, eyes locked on Denis’s face, the vulnerability there stripping away the enforcer’s armor.
Denis applied fresh ointment, rebandaging it with steady hands, then kissed the edge of the dressing, trailing his lips up Cherry’s ribs, over unmarred skin.
“You’re beautiful,” Denis said, voice breaking a little as he stripped off his own shirt, needing the closeness.
He straddled Cherry carefully, thighs bracketing his hips without putting weight on the injured side.
Their kisses deepened, slow and languid, tongues exploring with a tenderness that built like a quiet storm.
Cherry’s hands roamed Denis’s back, calluses rough against smooth skin, pulling him closer.
Denis reached for the lube on the nightstand, warming it between his fingers before sliding a hand down, undoing Cherry’s jeans with deliberate slowness.
Cherry groaned softly, lifting his hips just enough, his hardness freed into Denis’s palm.
“Easy,” Denis soothed, stroking him gently, watching Cherry’s face for any sign of pain. “Tell me if it hurts.”
“Only hurts when you’re not touching me,” Cherry replied, his voice gravelly with need.
He tugged at Denis’s pants, helping shove them down, and soon they were skin to skin, bodies aligning in a careful rhythm.
Denis prepared himself first, then Cherry, fingers gliding up and down with aching slowness, drawing out gasps and whispers of “please” from the biker beneath him.
When Denis finally sank down onto Cherry, it was inch by inch, gaze never leaving each other’s.
Cherry’s hands gripped his hips, guiding but not rushing, their breaths syncing in the dim light.
“Love you,” Cherry whispered again, like a mantra, as Denis rocked slowly, the motion intimate, emotional, every thrust a confession.
Tears slipped down Denis’s cheeks, mingling with sweat, and Cherry thumbed them away, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted like salt and forever.
They moved together, unhurried, the build-up a sweet ache that crested in waves.
It was Cherry’s release spilling between them first, his body arching just enough to pull at the wound but not enough to stop.
Denis followed, shuddering, collapsing carefully onto Cherry’s good side, their limbs tangled.
In the quiet after, Denis traced patterns on Cherry’s chest, listening to his heartbeat steady. “Stay with me,” he murmured. “Always.”
“Always,” Cherry echoed, kissing his forehead. “Home’s right here.”
“Oh, we’re seeing a doctor in the morning. If I’m keeping you, I’m keeping you healthy.”
Cherry’s laughter rattled Denis’ head. But he simply said, “Betcha Jinx already called it in. Doc will probably be here by seven or so.”