CHAPTER 24
Bruno
“Looks like I won’t be needing these anymore.” I’m standing here in just my Y-fronts, flicking through the rack of jackets and jumpers Brie brought over back in winter. “Getting too bloody hot now.”
“I dare say you’ll need one tonight for the concert. Things’ll still get a bit chilly outside after sundown.”
I glance over and smile at Bradford, who’s sprawled naked in the bed with the quilt kicked down to his ankles. It’s six-thirty and the first rays of sun for the day are streaming in the window. I study the way they dance over the side of his arse as he lies there facing me. His cock is lolling against his thigh, still half-hard for lack of attention. This residual arousal is due to my standard daily alarm for him. The first thing I do whenever I wake up is bury my face in his beautiful arse and balls. Sometimes, though, Bradford beats me to it. On those days, I feel like a king. The way he continues to love my body never fails to lift my spirits.
“Come back to bed and finish what you started,” he croons.
Normally that would work, but I ignored my actual alarm for too long today. As a compromise, I pull on the uniform I’ve just located, then slip in beside Bradford fully-clothed and cup my hand on his bum. My fingers stroke over the furry surface, relishing the way his body hair becomes denser as I delve further into his crack. “If I do what I really want to do to you, I’m gonna be late.” I nuzzle against his ear, kissing his neck the way he likes, getting the precise kind of moan I want to hear.
“You know, I reckon Brie was making a statement back when he brought all your winter stuff here. I was hoping you’d stay for good.” Bradford is shyly avoiding my gaze, and I lift his chin till his stormy grey eyes are looking right at me.
“We have a real home together now, Blinky. ” I lean forward and brush my nose against his. Things did indeed work out perfectly. When Brie and I sold our apartment, he took the living room furniture, and I moved all the bedroom stuff into the empty room here at Bradford’s place. It all happened so organically. Once I’d had a taste of domestic bliss with this wonderful little bear, there was no way I wanted to leave.
With one final grope of his arse and a long kiss to his lips, I peel myself off the comfortable new mattress and stand up. “You are an evil temptation.”
“I’m trying to con you into calling in sick.” Bradford grins at me, sliding his hand up and down his rigid dick.
“Ha! I wish. I had to swap this shift if I was gonna have tomorrow off for Summer and Nathan’s housewarming.”
“Well, I want you at their party, so you’re excused.” Bradford shoots me a wink before scooting across and hauling himself out of bed. “I need to take Brendan for his morning stroll, anyway.” Sauntering around towards me, I watch his dick swing at a ninety-degree angle, its metal ring glinting in the sunlight. As he wraps his arms around me, my fingers make a beeline for the offending piercing, jiggling it and marvelling at the way his cock jumps in response. “You’d better go,” he chuckles. “Make sure you’re not late tonight. I’m gonna get there early so we can score a reasonable spot in the park.”
Bradford’s all excited about this gala concert. It’s not at the Opera House, it’s one of those public open-air events, kind of an amphitheatre setup in the Domain. Apparently, a few famous opera names are performing, people Bradford knows well. I’ve never heard of them, but I want to learn more about this part of his life. He’s been taking regular lessons and practising away in his study these past few months. I’m thrilled that he might be considering a return to singing.
***
It’s a good thing Bradford insisted I meet him at the venue straight from work. The park is already becoming crowded, even though the concert doesn’t start for quite a while. It’s not hard to spot him down near the front on his picnic blanket with Brendan. As always, he’s prepared well, making sure we have reasonable proximity to the bathrooms—no stumbling all over other people when you’re dying for a piss after too many champagnes.
As I stroll over towards him, picking my way through the many picnic blankets and folding chairs, the crisp September air soothes me. It’s probably the last bit of cool weather we’ll have before the heat well and truly sets in, and it seems just the right atmosphere for tonight.
“You got changed,” says Bradford, smiling up at me.
“I took advantage of the shower at work. Good thing I did—look at you!” He’s swapped his usual winter bear attire of jeans, t-shirts and flannies for a beautiful button-up and chinos. His hair is swept back and his beard looks glossy and immaculate. Fuck, I adore this gorgeous man.
His hug is warm and tight as I settle next to him on the picnic blanket. Brendan is on duty tonight, so his usual enthusiasm is muted, though he responds with wags and licks as I reach across and give him his hug in turn.
“As promised, I bought champagne.” I hold up the cooler bag stuffed with four chilled bottles I grabbed on the way here.
“You’re too good to me,” coos Bradford. “I brought the ice bricks and a cheese platter.” He busies himself pulling out a board, knife, plastic cups and a box. “Sorry, it’s just one of those pre-packed assortments from Woolies.”
“Babe, I couldn’t imagine anything better.” I constantly marvel at the way Bradford prepares for every outing. He’s always lugging around a backpack and he’s never failed to forget a single thing we might need. Bringing the booze was the least I could do tonight.
By the time the concert starts, we’ve worked our way through the first bottle of plonk and made a huge dent in the cheese and crackers. I’m eternally grateful he thought to bring along something to line our stomachs with, otherwise I’d be pretty pissed already.
I don’t really know what these people onstage are singing. Sometimes it’s a whole chorus, sometimes it’s a solo singer and sometimes it’s both. Vaguely familiar tunes sail out through the speakers. Dad would very occasionally play some opera when I was a kid, though he was always much more into popular Italian songs.
A man with a booming voice is singing now, and the chorus is standing behind him. “Oh… I know this one!” I say, a little too loudly. “What is it?”
“It’s the Toreador’s song from Carmen ,” replies Bradford, keeping his voice at a more respectable level. “That’s Peter Coleman-Wright. I’ve done masterclasses with him and he’s amazing.”
The man onstage he’s talking about is all classy and debonair. You can definitely tell he’s a total professional the way he’s commanding our attention. The other singers’ voices weave in and out during what sounds like the chorus of the song. It’s the perfect complement to the powerful leading man.
I can hardly keep my eyes off Bradford as he sits forward, his attention fully focused on what’s happening onstage. Every now and then, he turns and smiles hopefully at me, checking whether I’m enjoying it too. If only he realised how much I would enjoy anything so long as he was by my side.
At one point well into the show, a woman pretty much floats onto the stage in a stunning gown and launches into one of the dreamiest, most sensual songs I’ve ever heard. Her voice lingers on every note as her intensity builds. It’s not big and dramatic, it’s soaring and delicate. Bradford is sitting there transfixed, and I really shouldn’t disturb him, but I need to know more. “Who’s this?”
“Cheryl Barker,” he says sotto voce , leaning closer but keeping his eyes on the stage . “It’s Depuis le Jour from the opera Louise .”
Bradford turns and smiles at me, his eyes crinkling at the sides. Seeing as he’s not annoyed by my question, I decide to ask more. “What’s it about?”
“It’s an example of verismo. You know, a regular girl falls in love with a regular man. And despite everything and everyone trying to keep them apart, they make it through stronger than ever.”
There’s a tightness in my chest. It sounds exactly like Bradford and me. This woman Cheryl is growing more and more rapturous by the minute. It's bloody exquisite and I'm mesmerised. “Do you know what she’s singing right now?”
Bradford leans back a bit and shoots me another grin. It doesn’t seem like he’s indulging me; he looks genuinely chuffed that I’m reacting this strongly. “I don’t really know a lot of French, but I’ve taught this aria in my Form and Analysis class.” He faces the front again, turning his head slightly as he recites the lyrics line by line. “What a beautiful life… Oh! I'm so happy… too happy… And I'm trembling with delight… from the charming memory… of the first day of our love.”
When the music draws to a close, I watch Bradford there wide-eyed as a small tear makes its way down his cheek. He’s never looked so perfect. I’ve never loved him so much. “Marry me.” The words blurt out of my body by instinct. Bradford turns around, shock written all over him. “Oh, Jesus, I’m fucking this all up.” I can’t help sounding flustered as I fumble around in my jeans. “Don’t say anything now. Please. It’s just… this has been burning a hole in my pocket for months.” I open the small box I’ve dug out. “Mum gave this to me when we got back from Italy. It was her dad’s.” Bradford reaches out slowly and runs his finger over the ring. That’s a good sign, isn’t it? I’m babbling, but I can’t stop. “I know it’s only been eight months. But Bradford—” I grab his hand and squeeze it tight. “I spent twenty years with a man I knew I was never gonna marry. Time is precious and with you it’s… this is forever for me.”
“Yes.” His response is resolute. He looks up at me. His eyes are shining. “I’ve wanted this since the first night we spent together.”
Yanking him into my arms, I muscle him down onto the grass and roll back and forth, slamming my lips into his and delving my tongue inside his sweet mouth. Bradford giggles into me, holding my face in his hands and moving back to stare fondly into my eyes. “We’d better stop before I give everyone else here more of a show than they can handle.”
I glance around, brushing off my shirt as we right ourselves into a respectable position again. In the background, the chorus is humming some kind of lullaby. I’m already high on all the champagne and excitement, so I’m not surprised when tears spring to my eyes as I recognise it. “ Madam Butterfly . Dad used to play this record on his old stereo when I was little.”
Bradford turns his head towards me again, giving me a lingering look. “I really love how close the two of you were.”
“He’d be so happy for us right now, Blinky. ”
Bradford gazes at me a moment longer and I see a kaleidoscope of emotions flash across him. The joy and exhilaration that lights up his features is tempered by a faint sadness. He never really mentions his own dad, but I know it’s still painful for him. I doubt people ever get over that kind of abandonment. I’m desperate to appease him, but he averts his eyes and looks to the front again. He’s focusing on something high; far above the stage. Maybe he’s wishing on a star, the way his lips are faintly moving. Ever so slowly, he reaches up. It’s almost as if he’s trying to touch the sky.