Page 58 of Sin Deep
Clint’s chuckle made him blush and he rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help his grin.
“Dr. O’Reilly, you’re already a bad influence,” he heard Clint say as they left the table for the dance floor.
“Sam is a history professor. That’s wild, huh? He’s young.”
Not as young as he looked. Sam was aging beautifully.
“People come from all kinds of professions. You’d be surprised. Thomas is in marketing at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Callum books talent for a lot of the comedy clubs and some smaller concert venues. The couple dancing over there? They are gastroenterologists.” Winter caught Harley around the waist and pulled him in, grinning. “I’m a mild-mannered librarian. Very under the radar.”
“My librarian.” Harley kissed his cheek. “All mine.”
“Yes, petit. I am yours.” He would take whatever was coming, even if it meant Harley eventually wanted to move on. He was too happy now, too committed. Too in love.
Harley followed his lead like he had done it all his life, letting Winter turn and sway and hold him. “My little love.”
“Yes.” Harley caught his glance. “All yours. I’m so happy, lover. I didn’t know I could feel—”
“Feel?” Winter kissed him. “Feel, what, petit?”
“In love. I’m in love with you. I didn’t think it was a real thing, but it is.”
Winter blushed, heat radiating from his chest to his cheeks. He’d been in love a couple of times, but not like this. “I suppose it takes the right person—or the right combination of people—to make it real.”
“It must.” Harley pressed in close, holding him as they rocked on the dance floor. “Because it feels pretty damn real.”
“It is. Very real.” He nuzzled behind Harley’s ear. “I want you to move in with me.”
“You do? I’d love that. I promised Ollie three—two and a half—more months, but I would love that.”
“I understand. I can wait, or…we can just pay Oliver. But that’s entirely up to you, petit. I don’t want to rush you.” Rush. That was amusing. He hadn’t planned to ask, it just popped out of his mouth. He was happy he had, but his apartment was old and cluttered, so small. He was going to have to donate a few—a few dozen—things.
“We’ll figure it. We will. Right now, dance with me. Please.”
“With pleasure, petit.” Dancing with Harley was possibly the best birthday gift of all.
16
Harley woke up early and headed to make coffee and sit in Winter’s favorite chair.
Last night had been an eye-opener. Like a hard-core one. Everyone had been nice, honestly, but Sam had taken him to a quiet little room in the back and had kind of schooled him.
Sam had shown him a cabinet of all sorts of cuffs and ropes and paddles and things. Then the man had given him a set of…hints.
Listen, man. This is new and weird, but there are a few things to remember. First, you and your man, y’all make the rules for you. Second, ask questions. Ask thousands of them. Ask the stupid ones, the hard ones, the weird ones. Third, let Winter help. These men, they’re like rednecks with a winch when there’s a stuck vehicle. They live for this shit. And fourth, in public, when you don’t know what to do, remember your manners. It’ll take you so far when you’re lost in this world.
That was all good advice, it made sense, but he wasn’t sure where to begin asking questions. Maybe the rules? Maybe whether Winter owned any of the things he’d seen in that cabinet.
Maybe why that one guy was kneeling and what ‘flying’ meant. Was he high? Harley wasn’t an innocent—he’d smoked pot, but he’d never done anything harder, and he wasn’t really interested in that.
“Mm. Do I smell coffee?” Winter shuffled out of the bedroom in his fancy robe and slippers, looking sleepy, and happy.
“You do, lover. You want a cup? I was just being lazy and enjoying your chair.”
Winter came straight to him and kissed him good morning. “You look so good in my chair. I’ll get my coffee this time, and you stay lazy.”
“Are you sure? It’s the best chair.” He snuggled back in again with a sigh.
“For now. Just look at you.” Winter watched him, an adoring look in his eyes. “We can share it when I get back.” He got a smile and then Winter ducked into the tiny kitchen. “You made a whole carafe! Excellent, we can take it slow this morning.”
