Page 10 of At His Wife’s Behest
While Kellan started the soup, he climbed the stairs.
After a speedy shower to rinse off the chlorine, he threw on some sweats and returned to the kitchen.
In one corner, there was a small table beside a wide window with an excellent view of the gardens and the lake.
Along one wall was a stone fireplace stocked with wood and kindling.
Even after the warmth of the shower, he still felt a bit of chill.
He knelt and built a small fire to fend it off.
Once it came to life, the embers cast an orange, flickering glow over the room.
He ambled over to the stove and gave the pot a stir.
It was lukewarm, so he brought up the flame before searching the kitchen for bread to serve with the soup.
He found a small, round crusty loaf in a breadbox, a perfect accompaniment.
By the time Kellan reappeared, he had the table set and a wine picked from a selection in the pantry.
“You’ve been busy,” Kellan remarked before eyeing the fire. “Oh, great idea.” He walked closer and warmed his hands. “Is it almost dinnertime?”
Connor stirred the bubbling soup. “I think so. This smells amazing.”
He poured them two bowls and headed for the table. Kellan sat opposite him, wearing pajama pants and a Allton Academy t-shirt under a beige cardigan. The firelight danced over his handsome face, casting shadows and light. It made his full lips seem fuller. More kissable.
Connor wondered what they’d feel like against his.
“I hope you don’t mind that I opened a bottle of wine?” he asked, pouring a glass for Kellan.
“When in Rome…” He laughed. “Or rather… when at Lake Como.”
He reached for the glass, his fingertips grazing Connor’s. It wasn’t the first time they’d touched, yet there was an electric spark there he hadn’t noticed earlier in the bedroom. There was something in Kellan’s eyes that took a simple caress and made it more.
Much more.
Desire radiated from Kellan. Connor wrestled with his own.
He poured himself a glass and lifted it, holding Kellan’s gaze. “Salud.”
“Salud,” Kellan repeated, his gaze locked on Connor’s.
They both sipped the wine, neither breaking eye contact.
Not until Kellan tore his away, lowering his glass.
Awkward silence hung between them before Connor’s brain caught up.
He uncovered the loaf of bread he’d discovered and offered it to Kellan.
“Found this in the pantry. Thought it might go well with the soup.”
Kellan ripped a piece off, dipping it into his soup bowl before taking a bite. “Delicious.”
“It sure is,” Connor whispered, staring at Kellan.
It was hard to tell if the man blushed with the amber glow of the firelight. If he was a betting man, he’d say those cheeks were rosy red.
“Would you like to see that villa tomorrow?” Kellan asked, eyeing his bowl.
“This is your trip. I’m just here for the ride.”
Kellan shrugged. “I was so busy, I didn’t come with plans. I brought a couple of books and figured I’d spend the week here, for the most part. Maybe eat out a few meals.”
“We can do that, if you’d rather. I know you came here to relax.” There were plenty things they could get into all alone in the big house. Relaxing wasn’t one on his mind.
“No,” Kellan said, shaking his head. “If Emma’s selling this place, I don’t know that I’ll ever come back. This might be my last chance to see the sights.”
“It’s a shame she’s selling it.”
“It’s a shame a place like this sits empty except for a week or two a year,” Kellan replied. “I’m glad she’s selling it. Her father bought whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted without considering the impact. Hopefully a local buys it. Or an Italian, at the very least.”
Connor was used to wealthy people who threw their money around, showing off.
Impressed at Kellan’s practicality, he fought a grin and dug into his bowl.
Flavor exploded over his tongue at the first bite.
He moaned—louder than he’d intended—and closed his eyes.
When he reopened them, he couldn’t ignore the fire in Kellan’s.
“That’s good zuppa,” Connor said, pointing at his bowl. “Ana Maria is my new favorite person.”
“Lucky her,” Kellan whispered.
Connor’s gaze flicked to Kellan’s.
“I said that out loud again, didn’t I?” Kellan asked, covering his face with his hands. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
Kellan dropped his hands, a hint of a smile on his lips. He opened his mouth, and Connor stiffened with anticipation.
I know what you want, all you have to do is ask.
Disappointment came when Kellan closed his lips, before taking another bite.
Connor spent the rest of their quiet meal hanging on every word, every breath, hoping Kellan would ask for what he wanted.
The sounds of their utensils and the crackling of the fire were all he heard.
When they were done, Kellan cleared the table.
Kellan sidled up beside him at the sink, bringing their glasses and the bread bowl.
They worked quietly to clean up their meal.
Little was said, but Kellan’s eyes spoke volumes.
Connor banked the fire, sensing he’d have to do the same with his libido.
Once the kitchen was back to right, Connor trailed Kellan to the foyer, where he punched in the alarm codes at the door.
He turned to Connor, expectation once again in his eyes.
Anticipation filled Connor’s belly. Earlier, he’d agreed no lines would be crossed.
All he could think of was bypassing his moral dilemma and giving in to his baser instincts.
Kellan had seemed relieved at the thought of them not sharing a bed.
Yet he stood at the base of the staircase, that hope in his eyes screaming for attention.
Connor couldn’t be the one to make the first move. Could he? “What time would you like to head out in the morning?”
“I’m usually an early riser,” Kellan said before covering a yawn. “But after that trip, I’m not so sure.”
“We’ll get up when we get up, hmm?”
Kellan nodded. “Yeah.” He smiled. “Well… um. Goodnight.”
Goodnight? Connor’s feet moved before his brain caught up. He grasped Kellan’s arm and tugged the man close. So much for your agreement. “Goodnight,” he murmured before descending for a kiss.
The moment his lips met Kellan’s, blood roared in his ears. His lips were soft and supple, crushed under Connor’s, just as expected. Kellan melted against him, eager. He wanted to continue the kiss… allow it to move wherever it naturally would.
Let him come to you. Connor broke the kiss, leaning back. He grinned down at Kellan’s kiss-drunk expression and whispered, “See you in the morning.”
Kellan clutched the newel post at the end of the staircase, panting a bit. He appeared to shake himself before nodding. “Yeah… see you in the morning.”
Connor watched him escape up the stairs, not missing the backward glance at the top. He smiled to himself, eager to see where the week took them.
Kellan collapsed on the bed, lifting one hand to brush against his lips, still swollen from the kiss.
He fought a smile, his stomach in knots.
Lust whispered naughty things in his mind, demanding he rush to Connor’s bedroom and see where another kiss might take them.
Fear kept him where he was. He rose, pulled back the bedding, and slipped under the covers.
As exhausted as he was, he couldn’t sleep. Not with thoughts of the man sharing the house with him running rampant. He heard Connor pass his door and move down the hall. Must be sleeping in the room Emma and I shared last time.
He had a location. He had desire and what appeared to be a willing partner.
What he didn’t have was nerve.
His inner voice was fed up. Just get up and go in there. You saw the look in his eyes.
And what if I’m wrong?
You’re not wrong.
Kellan ignored the angry voice in his head.
He rolled to his side and attempted sleep—and failed.
An hour passed, his body aching and cock hardening as he replayed the kiss over and over again in his mind, along with images of Connor in his little swim brief.
Reaching under his pants, he stroked his shaft, closing his eyes and imagining it was Connor’s hand.
Silently, he brought himself to the edge, as he’d done time and time again to seek relief from his self-imposed solitude. If he’d been stronger, he’d have lived a life of freedom. But he wasn’t strong. Never had been.
His father’s voice whispered in his mind, telling him he was weak. His erection retreated short of release. He was weak. Too weak to walk away when he should’ve. Too weak to be the man he wanted to be.
Too weak to love whomever he wanted.
“You’re pathetic,” he whispered to himself, the sting of tears coming to the backs of his eyes.
Another of his father’s many complaints—how emotional he could be.
He wore his feelings on his sleeve, unable to shutter the easy flow.
Years of beatings hadn’t made him stop, no matter how hard his father had tried.
No matter how badly he wanted to protect himself from more of the same.
After an hour of silently berating himself, sleep finally claimed him.