Epilogue #2
“Chloe’s sister is going to be her person,” Penny continued. “And I…” She reached across the table and took Samuel’s hand. Her fingers were warm. “I want you to be mine. My Man of Honor.”
Samuel’s breath caught. He looked from their joined hands to Penny’s earnest, hopeful face, then to Chloe’s encouraging smile. The noise of the diner seemed to recede. A sudden, fierce heat prickled behind his eyes.
“Me?” The word came out hoarse.
“You,” Penny said firmly, her grip tightening. “Who else? You’re my friend, Sam. My best friend. You were there in the trenches. You get it. I can’t imagine standing up there without you.”
A tear escaped, tracing a hot path down Samuel’s cheek. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. He nodded, his throat too tight for speech at first. He swallowed hard.
“Yes,” he managed, his voice cracking on the single syllable. He cleared his throat, a watery laugh escaping him. “Yes, of course. Absolutely. I would be… I’d be honored. Really.”
Penny’s face broke into a dazzling, relieved smile. She let go of his hand to wipe at her own eyes with a laugh. “Good. Great. Okay. Fuck, what a bunch of cry babies.”
Samuel laughed, the sound wobbly with emotion. He reached for his napkin and dabbed at his face. “Sorry. I just… yeah. I’ll be there. Whatever you need. Speech wrangler, dress consultant, pickle ambassador… I’m your guy.”
“We’re counting on it,” Chloe said, her eyes shining.
∞∞∞
The kitchen in Gael’s apartment was warm and filled with the rich, comforting smell of garlic, tomatoes, and browning cheese.
Samuel stood at the oven, a faded apron tied around his waist, a dish towel slung over his shoulder.
He had spent the better part of the afternoon here, following a recipe he’d looked up online, wanting to surprise Gael when he got back from his monthly meeting with Landen, Sebastian, and the others at the Club.
He heard the soft beep of the keypad on the front door, then the quiet thud of it closing.
Footsteps in the hallway. Samuel carefully pulled the heavy glass dish of lasagna from the oven, the cheese on top perfectly golden and bubbling.
He set it on the cooling rack on the counter with a sigh of relief, turning just as Gael walked into the kitchen.
Gael had gone to the club straight from the office.
He was still in his suit, the jacket unbuttoned, his tie loosened.
The severe, elegant lines of the fabric made his shoulders look broader, his frame more imposing.
He looked rumpled and a little tired, but to Samuel, he looked devastatingly handsome.
He felt a familiar, warm rush of feeling, a sheer, uncomplicated delight at the sight of him.
I must look like a besotted fool, he thought. No wonder the entire office had guessed. If his face lit up like this every time Gael Wise walked into a room wearing a suit, it was a miracle they’d kept it secret as long as they had.
He shook his head slightly at his own thoughts, a soft smile on his face. “Hey,” he said. “I hope you’re hungry. I made your favorite.”
Gael didn’t move. He stopped just inside the doorway, his eyes fixed on Samuel.
He looked at the lasagna, at the mess of pots in the sink, at the salad waiting on the island.
And then his eyes slid to Samuel. His expression was intense, but it wasn’t the sharp, assessing look Samuel knew from the office, or the dark, hungry look from private moments.
This was something else. Softer. Deeper.
It made Samuel’s stomach give a slow, uneasy flip.
“Gael?” he asked, the smile fading from his lips. Uncertainty crept in.
Maybe he had overstepped. The key Gael had given him a month ago was for emergencies, or for when Gael was running late and wanted Samuel to let himself in. Not for redecorating the kitchen with flour and taking over the oven. Maybe this was too much. Too domestic. Too presumptuous.
Gael took a step into the kitchen. Then another. His eyes never left Samuel’s face.
“I love you.”
The words were quiet. Low.
Samuel froze. His hands, which had been reaching for the oven mitts, hung in the air. His eyes went wide. His mind emptied of all thought, all sound, all smell. There was only the echo of those three words.
“Wha…?” he managed, the syllable trailing off into nothing. He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. He couldn’t have.
Gael kept moving. He crossed the remaining space between them, stopping right in front of him. He was close enough that Samuel could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the tiny flecks of darker brown in his irises.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Gael said, his voice still that low, even murmur. “It’s okay. I know these things are hard for you. The ‘gay thing,’ the talking about it thing… I just wanted you to know.” He finished speaking just as he reached up.
His hands rose to Samuel’s cheeks. They were warm, his palms smooth against Samuel’s skin. He held his face gently, his thumbs resting just below the cheekbones.
“It’s okay,” he repeated, softer now.
Samuel let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He felt his body, which had been locked in a posture of stunned panic, begin to relax, muscle by muscle. He leaned into the warm cradle of Gael’s hands, his eyes searching Gael’s face.
And he could see it. It was there, in the unwavering focus of his gaze, in the slight softening at the corners of his mouth.
He really did. He really loved him.
The realization didn’t come with fireworks or fanfare. It came with a quiet, settling certainty, like a final piece sliding into place.
“I love you too.”
The words were out before he could stop them, before he could think them through, before the old voices could rise up and censor him. They tumbled out, clear and sure, because they were simply the truth.
How could he not?
This man, who had seen his broken pieces and hadn’t looked away.
Who had built a sanctuary just for him. Who had knelt on a floor and called a crime a crime.
Who held him through nightmares and kissed him in sunlit cafes and now stood in a kitchen smelling of burned garlic and home, holding his face and telling him he was loved.
How could he not love him back?
A beautiful, slow smile spread across Gael’s face, erasing the severe lines completely. It was a smile Samuel had seen only in glimpses; a rare, unguarded sunrise. Then Gael leaned in and kissed him.
It started soft, gentle. A tentative meeting of lips, a question asked with breath rather than pressure. Samuel went still, his world narrowing to the singular point of contact; the warmth, the slight yielding, the scent of Gael’s skin, clean and sharp like winter air.
Then it changed.
Gael’s mouth grew more insistent, his lips parting against Samuel’s.
Samuel opened for him without thought. A low sound hummed in the back of his throat, barely a moan, a vibration of pure, startled sensation as Gael’s tongue swept in.
The kiss deepened, turning hungry. The softness was gone, burned away by a sudden, consuming heat.
Gael’s hand slid from his jaw to cup the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, angling his head to take the kiss deeper still.
The taste of him, dark coffee and something intrinsically, dangerously Gael, flooded Samuel’s senses.
His own hands came up, fluttering for a moment in the charged air before they found purchase, clutching at the sleek, expensive fabric of Gael’s suit jacket.
He held on, his fingers twisting into the wool, anchoring himself as the solid floor beneath him seemed to dissolve and the entire world tilted on its axis.
Gael’s arm wrapped around his back, pulling him flush against his body. The other hand slid down, cupping the back of his thigh, then his ass, gripping him through his jeans. The feel of that large, possessive hand on him, made Samuel moan directly into his mouth.
Then Gael was lifting him. He bent his knees slightly, got a firm hold, and hoisted Samuel up onto the clear space of the kitchen counter.
The cooling rack with the lasagna was shoved aside with a careless scrape.
Samuel’s legs dangled over the edge. Gael stepped between them, his hands going to the button of Samuel’s jeans.
He popped it open, tugged the zipper down, and pushed the denim and his briefs down his hips in one rough motion.
Samuel’s cock sprang free, already hard and leaking.
Gael didn’t pause. He dropped to his knees right there on the kitchen floor. He looked up at Samuel for a fleeting second, his eyes dark, before he leaned forward and took him into his mouth.
Samuel cried out, his head falling back with a thud against the upper cabinet.
The heat was shocking. Gael’s mouth was firm, his tongue a flat, relentless pressure along the underside of his shaft.
He sucked, deep and slow, then drew back, his lips tight, before sinking down again.
Samuel’s fingers scrambled for purchase on the granite countertop, his hips giving an involuntary jerk.
Gael pulled off with a soft, wet sound. He rose, his own breathing uneven, and kissed Samuel again.
His mouth traveled from his lips down the line of his jaw to his neck.
He bit, hard enough to make Samuel gasp.
He licked over the spot, then moved lower, pushing Samuel’s t-shirt up with his nose and mouth.
He found a nipple, circled it with his tongue, then sucked it into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak.
Samuel arched off the counter, a ragged moan tearing from his throat. His hands flew to Gael’s head, fingers tangling in his hair, holding him there. “Gael… please…”
Gael ignored the plea, continuing his descent. He kissed and licked his way down Samuel’s stomach, tracing the line of muscle, dipping his tongue into his navel. Samuel was trembling, his legs shaking where they hung off the counter.