Noah dragged his lips midway up Wade’s neck and looked into his face. “Why are you frowning?”
“I couldn’t stay away. I went to Barton cottage this afternoon. For you. I didn’t want to wait anymore.”
Noah shut his eyes briefly and clasped Wade around the back of his neck. He pulled Wade’s mouth to his.
Salt and oranges.
Wade trembled. “Jeepers.”
Noah fisted Wade’s Man Sparkle and kissed him again, deeper, pulling him to the bed as they toed off their shoes, noses bumping, teeth clashing. The mattress bounced, towers of folded laundry toppled over, Wade laughed under him and squirmed, chasing when he drew back. Their breaths tangled, half-lidded gazes locked as their shirts vanished into the disorder around them.
The outlines of the albatross came alive under the feathered touches sweeping across Noah’s chest, soaring, swooping toward home and mate.
Their next kiss tasted like a song.
Noah lowered Wade to the pillow and Wade arched under him. “What’s in your pocket? It’s hard.” He paused. “That came out all wrong.”
Soft laughter enveloped them.
Noah’s heart thunked so hard he was sure it would drum Wade’s into sync. He dragged his nose to Wade’s ear. “Find out for yourself.”
Warm pressure slithered into his pocket, curved toward his inner thigh. Wade drew out the smooth, marbled stone.
He stared at it, then past it into Noah’s eyes and they were back at the beach, wind whipping around them, stealing their words.
Penguins sifted through piles and piles of stones for the one they thought perfect. Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Sharing the sunset as he’d told Wade what it meant.
Wade’s voice rumbled. “It’s . . . what you think it is.”
Noah looked up sharply.
“I wanted a way to tell you without telling you.” A fist closed around the stone. “I like that you carry it around.”
“I haven’t been able to stop. I thought I should, but I . . .”
“I’m glad you didn’t. We should name it. John, I think—”
The stone landed on Wade’s chest, in a thicket of chest hair. Noah drank in the rest of his words, fingers feverish as they worked the buttons of their jeans. He wanted . . .
Sensation supplanted sense.
He wanted to claim this moment. Wade.
Denim bunched around their thighs, arousal working shivers up his legs to pool at his stomach, the base of his—
Wade clasped his back, fingers digging into him, a plea.
Noah felt the pounding of Wade’s heart against his wet lips. He left a message with his tongue that had Wade groaning, blunt nails dragging down his back. Lightning stole over him, bright, insistent, and commanding.
He slunk down to peel off Wade’s jeans, dropped them to the floor; his own landed on top.
Wade scrambled for the bedside drawer and pulled out half the needed supplies. “Uh, my wallet—”
Noah straddled him, thwarting a lunge into the clothes to retrieve it.
Their stone had fallen to the mattress in Wade’s urgency. It’d warmed. Noah slipped it under the pillow as he brushed their lips together.
Wade was a wanton, dark-haired mess on his bed. The bright yellow walls around them were like sunshine, everything exposed, no shadows to hide in.
This is me. This is everything I will give you, if you like it.
“More than like, Noah,” Wade said, pushing into a sitting position and lifting his chin to meet Noah’s lips. “This is definitely . . . more than that.”
Noah’s fingers stilled over Wade’s heart. This roaring in his veins, this urge to worship . . . More than like. How could he ever have thought it okay to settle for less? To not have this, to not know this . . .
Noah squeezed his thighs and Wade’s large hand wrapped around him. He dropped his head back and the ceiling spotted with blurry light, hot air stirring between them as they rocked.
Wade was watching him, mouth slackened with desire. “I want . . . Would you . . .”
“I’ve got you, Wade.”
Noah reached down and freed his wallet from the tangle of denim.
“Behind my ID.”
He pinched the condom out, then reached in again, gaze darting to Wade. He swallowed, and Noah gently freed the napkin. It wasn’t his best work, the material hard to work with, but . . . there was something a little magical about the sketch. The eyes.
Wade cleared his throat. “I hated the idea of it being thrown in the café trash.”
He laughed, flushing. “It was just a sketch.”
“Was it?”
Noah stared at the ink. Those eyes.
Wade’s breath made the corner flutter.
There was a question in there. Please tell me I was right?
Carefully, Noah slid the napkin back into its place. “I’ve always liked you, Wade. Ever since the day Franny brought me to your place and I saw you bowed over a disassembled toaster at the table. You were trying to put it back together. You kept looking at the clock and working faster. Franny said you’d never finish it before Mrs Ferrars got home. You looked over and winked at us and said ‘just watch me’. And I did. And you did.”
