Page 45 of A Matter of Fact

“Yeah?” He huffed. “Just yeah?”

Beckett wasn’t so arrogant as to think he was the best lover Rhys ever had, though he’d hoped. But ayeah? That was far more casual and dismissive than what he deserved. Without another answer, Rhys sat up, his back turned to Beckett, and he shoved onto his feet. He stood and stepped over the picnic they’d spread in the middle of the room. Beckett followed the movement, sitting up and bending his leg at the knee. He rested his arm across it, taking the time to study the smooth curves of Rhys’s backside as he put space between them.

“What do you want me to say?” Rhys shrugged, still facing away from Beckett.

Oh.

So, it was going to be like that.

“Obviously nothing.” Beckett grabbed his underwear and pants from the floor, starting to dress.

“Do you want to shower?” Rhys asked. “I need to wash up.”

“I’m already dressed.”

At that, Rhys looked over his shoulder, eyes briefly widening when he realized Beckett had gotten all of his clothes back on.

“We’re a mess,” Rhys murmured.

Beckett let his stare fall to Rhys’s exposed and glistening ass. “Well, you sure are.”

“Did you want to shower?” Rhys asked again.

“Am I going to be leaving?” Beckett shifted his weight, working his jaw to stop himself from saying something mean. “Because if I’m going, I can just shower at home.”

“Shit.” Rhys ran a hand through his hair and turned in a circle, which was more adorable than Beckett assumed he’d intended, considering he was naked with that delectable and plump cock hanging against his thigh.

Beckett fought against his want to give Rhys an out, instead pursing his lips and waiting for him to come up with something else to say. The cool dismissal stung, and Beckett wanted to believe that Rhys hadn’t meant for it to land the way it did, but he couldn’t be sure. Beckett needed to be sure before he invested anymore time—and feeling—into Rhys.

“Hmn?”

Rhys exhaled and turned to face him, his expression soured, but in confusion, not defeat.

“I’m sorry,” Rhys said softly, dropping his hands to his sides. In that moment, he must have realized he was naked because the earlier flush on his cheeks tracked down his throat to his chest. Rhys bent over and snatched his underwear, pulling them up his legs.

“For what?”

“Ruining that.”

“Ruining what?”

Rhys gestured vaguely.

“The afterglow?” Beckett prompted and Rhys nodded. “Do you do that a lot?”

“It’s generally non-existent,” Rhys admitted, mouth turning downward into a deeper frown. “I…”

Beckett had to put him out of his misery. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes,” Rhys answered quickly, the frown still prevalent, like he wasn’t sure how to wipe it off his face. A permanent extension of his features, apparently.

“Alright.” He pulled his shirt from behind, tugging it over his head before dropping it back onto the floor. “Where is your bathroom?”

Rhys tilted his head toward a hallway, and Beckett stepped over the picnic, taking his hand and pulling him to a stop. Rhys turned to face him, looking sullen still, and Beckett leaned in and kissed him until he moaned. Rhys’s mouth was warm and soft, and Beckett licked into his mouth until he whimpered.

“Shouldn’t it be a relief, Rhys?” he whispered, peppering the corner of the other man’s mouth with delicate kisses.

“What part?”