Chapter 12 #2
I woke as gray light filled the room and Francis wasn’t in bed with me.
I started to go looking for him, but then I caught movement outside the slider.
Francis sat on a lounger on the balcony, wrapped in a bathrobe with his knees pulled up, drinking from a mug.
I watched him for a long time, worried he might be upset after last night, but then he smiled at something, and I relaxed.
I went into the bathroom and took care of business, then slid back into bed, enjoying the view of Francis with his morning thoughts.
After all the negotiations, all the banter and sharing of personal details, we’d consummated our agreement, and it had been the most incredible sex of my life.
I’d been nervous leading up to the act with Francis, but once we came upstairs, I stopped worrying about whether I was doing it right, like I had with previous lovers.
Even my wife had never been fully satisfied, a fact we’d talked about at length.
After years of self-reflection, I came to the conclusion that it hadn’t been my bisexuality, because I’d had positive experiences with men and women after my divorce.
I just think we weren’t compatible, or maybe disappointments in other areas of our life together bled over into our sex life.
Francis stood and came back inside, the slider barely making a sound.
“Good morning,” I said, and it startled him.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
He set down his mug on a table by the window and approached the bed hesitantly.
I reached for him and ran my hand up under his robe and the back of his thigh. “I was dreaming of you.”
“A good dream?”
“A very good dream. Come here.” I pulled back the covers, and he dropped his robe before sliding in next to me.
“Last night was a dream,” he said, kissing my chest. “I’m glad we waited.”
“If it meant you feeling one hundred percent about it, I would have waited forever, Francis. I mean it.”
“I know you would have, and that’s why I was ready. But we didn’t negotiate terms going forward.”
I pulled him on top of me and brushed his hair back from his face. “You mean, who makes the coffee and cooks breakfast? Who gets what side of the bed?”
“I was actually going to ask if last night was okay and whether you wanted more?”
“Were you worried?” I asked, stroking his back. “Francis, last night was so good. I’m so happy. Why, was it not—”
“It was perfect. I hoped it was for you, too. Hoped this was the first of many nights.”
“God, I want that.” I couldn’t help the huge smile that took over my face. “In fact, I’m pretty sure the refractory period is over.”
“Is that right?” He sucked in a breath and was already moving his hips against me when I slid my hand between us and grabbed both of our cocks together.
He pushed up on his hands and straddled my thighs, giving me a better angle.
I reached for the lube, and he took it from me, poured some in my hand, and I stroked us with both of mine.
“I love those big hands of yours, Kendall mine.”
“All the better to love you with,” I said—and love him I did, with my body and my heart, and though it was still scary at forty-seven years old to say those words, the relieved smile on his face let me know it was just what he’d needed to hear.
He thrust harder into my hands and sped up his movements until we were both panting and sweaty. Like the night before, he took what he needed from me, and I loved watching him move with abandon, hearing him moan softly, feeling his lithe body shake against mine.
When he came, he moaned, and it turned into a series of long sighs that were so damn sexy, I wasn’t far behind him.
He collapsed on top of me just as my orgasm hit in luscious waves, the morning sex kind that are sleepy, warm, and move through your whole body unhindered by the tension you carry throughout the day.
Your body is still relaxed, and it heightens the sensations exponentially.
“The answer to your earlier question,” he said, still out of breath, “is that of course I cook breakfast and fix the coffee. Remember? Feeding you is my absolute pleasure.”
“Well, mine are a tie between acts of service and touch, so I guess I’m done.”
I held on, keeping his arms pinned as he tried to pinch me, and we both laughed.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I actually brought you something last night, but being late to the party meant I couldn’t take care of it for you.”
“You didn’t have to bring me anything,” he said, rolling to his side.
“But I did, so whenever we manage to get downstairs, I’ll show you.”
“There’s a surprise for me downstairs, and you think it can wait? Oh, Kendall mine, you are hereby warned that I love surprises and have no patience for them, so up, up. Let’s shower together and go.”
I groaned, feeling the effects of the dancing, the sex, and my crazy work life lately. I could have slept all day, but I wanted to see Francis’s expression when he saw what I’d had made for him.
Our shower was glorious, and I happily accepted his offer—well, his demand; he was greedy and demanding, and I loved it—to wash me. I would have loved to spread him out and have another taste of him, but he pushed my hands away every time I attempted to distract him.
He asked me about my favorite breakfast foods, whether I was a morning or night person, and what was the perfect amount of times to have sex each week.
“Steel-cut oatmeal, usually morning unless it’s my day off, and then I love to sleep in, and there is no perfect amount of times.”
“What do you mean?” He shut off the water and wrapped me in a towel, taking time to pat me dry before lathering me in the coconut lotion that made my stomach growl.
“If there’s a lot of physical affection with my partner outside of bed, I don’t feel that desperate need to have sex all the time.
I get just as much joy from hugs, back rubs, spooning…
If I’m with someone who isn’t physically affectionate, then sex feels more important to me.
I guess that connection lets me know that everything’s okay and that I’m loved, and if that’s the only way I get it, then I want it more often. I don’t know if I’m even making sense.”
“No, I think I understand. So you’re saying you’re good as long as we’re touching. Cool. I can work with that. It won’t be too much of a hardship to caress that incredible ass of yours. Is that also part of your job as a fireman? You gotta fill out the pants, huh?”
“Naturally,” I said, though I appreciated how easy he took everything.
I’d initially worried that his humor was a way to cover up his feelings, but it seemed it was just how he liked to express them.
He didn’t shy away from talking about anything, except for whatever awful thing happened to him a year ago, which still poked at my consciousness.
I hated not knowing, but it wasn’t something I could push for answers.
“Having a great ass is a prerequisite for the academy.”
I slid on my sweaty jeans, thinking I’d love to put on comfy clothes and wondering if I should bring a few pairs of boxers over. Were we at the stage where I got to have my own drawer and toothbrush? Was it too soon to ask?
He snorted and strolled over to his dresser, where he pulled out a pair of those tiny trunks. My mouth started watering all over again, despite the fact that my old man body was telling me to rein it in. Take a breather.
“Well, seeing as this is your day off, and I woke you up early, how about I feed you, and, if you don’t have other plans, we can be lazy together?
” He stepped into a pair of those flowy lounge pants I loved, and another stretched-out crop top.
This one was an ’80s pink and gray number that had Annie Lennox’s face on it.
“I don’t have other plans. My shift doesn’t start till tomorrow morning.”
“Good. Then after we eat, you can run and grab comfy clothes so we can be sloth-like until you have to leave.”
“Sounds like heaven. But first, I have to give you your surprise.”
His eyes lit up and he took off down the stairs. “Where is it? Where is it? Oh—shhhh.”
He pointed to the guest room on the second-floor landing, which still had the door shut, and he proceeded to dramatically tiptoe past it before trotting down the last set of steps.
“I so want to fuck with them,” I whispered, when I caught up to Francis. “But I don’t want to see the aftermath of whatever they got up to last night.”
“Well, if the smell of coffee and my breakfast doesn’t do the trick, we can totally blast the music in their room.”
“That’s a pretty neat feature. Did you have that put in?”
“Sure did. It’s so awesome.”
“Oh, come here.”
I took Francis by the elbow and led him into his office. Derek had indeed set the tool bag on the floor inside the door.
“First,” I said, turning around. I handed him the bag. “Your very own tool bag. I wanted to take you with me to put it together, but I was over there anyway…”
His whole face lit up as he took it gingerly out of my hands.
“It says ‘Saucy.’ Oh my goshness, Kendall! Whoa, it’s heavy—”
“Reach inside carefully.” I put my hands under it to support it as he pulled out the main present. It was wrapped in brown paper with twine tied around it.
“What is it?”
“Open it,” I said, taking the tool bag and putting it on his desk. “You need scissors?”
He shook his head as he slid the twine over the end. The piece was eight by ten, not huge, but perfect for his front porch.
When he slid the paper away, he gasped and put a hand to his throat. “Kendall!”
“I hope I had them spell it correctly.”
It was a bronzed plaque that said Maison De Reve, Est. 2026.
He hugged it to his chest and looked at me with tears in his eyes. “This is perfect. Thank you so much. I want to hang it up right now. What do I need? Is everything in there?” He grabbed the tool bag and ran for the front door.
I followed him, chuckling to myself as he turned off the alarm—but all laughter stopped when he opened the door.