Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Garrett
The room is quiet, save for the gentle snores emanating from the man next to me.
Roman’s in a deep sleep, lying on his side, with his back to me and his hand tucked beneath the pillow.
He’s in one of my t-shirts, which is long on him but in this position is bunched around his stomach, his pale, naked ass on full display.
A sliver of light seeps through the open door from where I’ve left the bathroom light on. It wraps around his lithe frame, sliding over the curve of his hip, and along the slender line of his neck, making him appear ethereal.
He’s so beautiful – inside and out – and the fact that he trusts me with his body in this way fills me with a deep sense of appreciation.
I’m glad he knows I’d never hurt him, or do anything he didn’t want, and I hope he knows how bad my desire to take care of him is.
I’ve never done this before. Never even considered it until Roman brought it up.
But the thought of sliding into him while he’s sleep-warm and supple is thrilling.
I’ve stripped myself naked and placed a condom and lube on the table next to me.
With a hand on my soft cock, I give a tentative stroke, keeping my eyes on Roman as I do.
I plump up quickly, my breathing picking up with anticipation.
Once I’m fully hard, I open the condom and roll it on, then roll onto my side and close the space between our bodies.
Roman grumbles in his sleep and I pause, waiting for him to settle before slowly lifting his leg and tucking it forward.
I keep as much of the blanket covering him as I can, hoping the cooler air doesn’t wake him.
Covering my fingers in lube, I slide them along his crease and coat his hole before pressing one finger inside.
He’s warm and tight, his ass clenching around the intrusion.
His hips move, but he doesn’t wake. I exhausted him before bed, edging him for an hour before finally letting him come, and I’m hoping it’s enough to keep him asleep until I’m inside him.
I need to give Roman the Christmas present he wants.
Adding a second finger, I move closer and wrap my free arm over his waist. He’s quiet, but as I open my fingers, stretching him wider, his face pinches and he rubs it on the pillow before resuming his position – eyes gently closed, mouth parted in a soft o.
I stay like that for a few heartbeats, letting him adjust to my fingers and giving myself a chance to look at him, to take in every line and dip of his stunning features.
He is the most wonderful and unexpected thing to ever happen to me, and I’m struggling to picture walking out of this cottage and returning to my real life.
How can I be expected to continue, business as usual, knowing this man exists?
Knowing he took my world, spun it on his finger and then flung it into the universe, leaving me a different person?
It’s ridiculous – I barely know Roman, yet I feel like we were always meant to be here, in this cottage, at this time. Like he’s that mythical missing piece people talk about finding.
I kiss his shoulder, breathing in his sweaty, sleep scented skin, then nuzzle against his neck while sliding my fingers out. He moans again and I tighten my hold on him, keeping his back to my chest, letting him feel the beat of my heart and the gentle rhythm of my breath until he settles.
“Shhh, sweet thing. Sleep. Let me take care of you,” I whisper, adjusting myself so that I can slick up my cock before guiding it to his waiting hole.
The head of my dick breeches the tight ring of muscle and I edge in slowly, holding onto his hip and pushing until I’m fully seated, a satisfied grunt leaving my lips.
His channel squeezes me, sending electric bolts of pleasure through my entire body.
My pulse races, heat radiating from my tight balls and into my lower belly.
The room is filled with Roman’s heavy breaths, as sleep starts to give way to awareness and his body reacts to me being inside him.
I kiss the skin of his shoulder, keeping my thrusts restrained.
Sliding an arm under him, I tuck it around his chest and pull him closer, latching my lips onto the side of his neck.
Roman mewls, his eyes still closed and I struggle to hold back, letting my hips slam into him harder. He’s pliant in my arms, and I push him onto his stomach, his cheek pressed to the sheets as I fuck him harder.
“Gare.” Roman’s eyes blink open before he closes them again.
“You feel so good, wrapped around my cock.” My voice is thick with desire.
His eyes open again, a dazed look crossing his features.
“What’s happ…Oh fuck.” Roman turns his face and buries it in the pillow.
I pull all the way out, spreading his cheeks to look at his slick hole.
Bending down, I swipe my tongue over the area, tasting a mix of lube, musk and something uniquely him.
He moans, his hips jutting against the bed with abandon.
My face is wet with spit when I pull back and, without warning, slam into him and set a brutal pace.
Roman writhes beneath me. Whimpers and curses fall from his lips.
The warmth in my groin intensifies, my nerve endings firing off zings of pleasure as my orgasm builds.
“Gare, Gare, Garrett,” he cries, his hips rotating and grinding against the sheets, chasing his release. I pound into him harder, sweat beading on my forehead. He comes with a muffled roar into the pillow and I succumb to the tight grip of his channel on me, unloading deep inside him.
Flopping down to blanket Roman with my body, I wipe the hair from the nape of his neck and place a gentle kiss to the delicate skin there.
“Merry Christmas, sweet thing.”
“Hmmm…yes it is,” he says, his eyes blinking and adjusting to the dim light. “That was…” He chuckles. “Fuck.”
“That good?” I roll onto the rumpled sheets and pull Roman into my arms. His eyes are glossy with sleep and arousal, his bottom lip swollen where he’s bitten it.
“Better than good.” He smiles and slants his lips over mine. We kiss lazily, arms and legs tangling in the sheets until the sun peeks through the cracks in the curtain.
Carrying a tray laden with Christmas Berry tea, toast with jam and a diced fruit salad, I enter the lounge to find Roman, fresh out of the shower, with damp hair and wearing his purple leggings and oversized reindeer print hoodie.
He’s sitting crossed legged at the foot of our Christmas tree.
It’s decorated in gold, red and green baubles, tinsel to match and twinkling fairy lights.
A glittery star perches on the top, tipping ever so slightly to the side thanks to the weight of it on the slim branch.
For a last-minute activity, we did a great job filling the cottage with festive cheer.
From the tree, to the garlands hanging from the ceiling, to the three foot smiling Santa perched to the right of the fireplace.
Two velvety red stockings bearing the letters ‘A’ and ‘T’ hang from the mantel.
Had we been more prepared, we may have found ones with our actual initials, but these were the only two left in the little kiosk at the farm last night.
I put the tray down on the coffee table, folding my legs beneath me and settling next to Roman. I kiss him, then pull the tray to the space between us.
“Thank you,” he says. “For all of this.” He brings a slice of apple to his mouth, munching on it while looking up at the tree. I wish I could have surrounded it with gifts.
I make a silent promise that if I ever get to spend another Christmas with Roman Otley, that I’ll fill the room with gifts just for him. Even if he needs nothing, I’d still give him the world if I could.
And that thought scares me. Because in all the time we’ve spent here together, neither of us has once mentioned what happens when we leave.
The words are on the tip of my tongue, but the fear of rejection blocks them. It’s easier to exist for the moment than to look at the future. And that’s what I’ll continue to do. What comes after this cottage – that’s future Garrett’s problem.
“I found this in the cabinet under the TV,” Roman says, breaking me out of my thoughts. He reaches under the tree and pulls out a white, red, and yellow box. “I haven’t played Connect 4 in years,” he says. He levels me with a fierce look. “Do you dare, Rhett Kingsley?”
Grinning, I open the box and divide the counters between us. Yellow for me and red for Roman.
“I should be asking you that, Supernova. What are we playing for?”
“Blowjobs?” he suggests, that sly grin I’ve become very attached to settling on his face. “Though I’m not sure there’s a loser in that scenario.” He has a slice of toast in his hand and a smudge of jam on the side of his lip. He goes first, slotting a counter into the holder.
I take my turn, putting my counter right next to his.
“Loser does the dishes after dinner,” I reply, wiping my thumb across his lip, then bringing it to my mouth to suck off the sweetness.
Roman drops his counter on top of his last one and I block it. Then it’s his turn again and then mine and by the end, there’s no winner.
“I guess we’ll go with the old ‘I cook and you clean’ adage. Or visa versa, if you want,” I say, emptying the counters so we can play again.
Roman eats more of his fruit. When he’s finished, he pushes his bowl away and shimmies closer to me. “I have a confession,” he says.
“Go on,” I reply, taking a slice of tangerine from my bowl and popping it between his lips. They close around my fingers, his tongue swiping at the juice before they drop from his mouth.
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed or not, but I can’t cook.” There’s a mischievous grin on his face because I’m pretty sure he knows that I worked that out ages ago.
“No!” I feign shock, relaxing my jaw to let my mouth fall open, while holding a hand to my chest. “You mean you don’t know how to make spotted dick?”
Roman laughs. The sound light and cheerful, filling the room and my heart with warmth.
“I don’t even know what spotted dick is,” he admits before a full on belly laugh rumbles from his chest. “I just said it to impress you.”
I lean forward and drop my voice to a whisper. “I kind of figured that. Especially since I’m the only one who’s cooked anything other than beans on toast since we arrived.”
His nose wrinkles. “Umm…what about the cheese toasties I made?”
“My apologies. How could I forget?”
Roman punches my arm playfully.
“Well,” I start, sipping at the horrendous tea in my mug. “I have a confession, too.”
Roman raises a brow. “Go on,” he says, repeating my earlier words.
“I hate tea.” I hold my mug up to him.
“What!” he exclaims. “But I make you multiple cups of it, every day.”
I nod. “I know. And I drink every last drop.”
He takes the tea from my hand and puts it down next to us. Moving onto his knees, he crawls over to me and straddles my lap. I brace one hand on the floor and grip his hip with the other.
“Why? Why would you do that?”
Shrugging, I go with the truth. “Because I like how happy it makes you to share it with me.” I kiss his nose. “I love the way you have rules about what tea gets served when. And what the perfect amount of milk each variety needs. And which is best drunk with biscuits, and which is best alone.”
“You’re ridiculous,” he replies, shaking his fringe out of his face. His smile reaches his eyes, the brown in them sparkling with gold as bright as the baubles on the tree. “What is your hot drink of choice?”
“I would do terrible things for a latte right now,” I admit with a chuckle. Roman laughs again, then rests his head on my shoulder. He smells like a mixture of my shampoo and his cologne, and I’m not subtle when I take a deep breath and imprint his scent on my lungs.
Roman falls silent, his hand drawing circles on my forearm, over my flannel shirt.
“Gare?”
“Hmm?”
“Has your detective fallen in love yet?” He asks the same question he did days ago and my heart trips over the words, my answer sticking in my throat. I think about the last chapter I wrote, my own feelings poured into the words on the page.
“We barely know each other,” Jack says, his hand on Blaine’s cheek, the younger man’s body pressed to his.
They’re in Jack’s office. The door closed and case files laid strewn across Jack’s desk.
This was never meant to happen. He was never meant to fall for the guy he’s sworn to protect.
But what choice did he have when Blaine speaks to a part of Jack that he’d long ago closed off?
Making him believe in a future he wasn’t sure he deserved.
“What does it matter? I know how I feel. Don’t you?” Blaine asks. His eyes boring into Jack’s, searching for the answer in the depths of his lover’s baby blues.
I nuzzle my face against the top of Roman’s head.
“Yeah,” I say after a moment of silence. “He has.”