Page 17 of Delicious (Delicious #1)

Chapter Nine

T heir cuddling led to more kissing, which led to another round. Andrew’s mouth was tight and hot around him, working his cock like he was born to do it.

When they collapsed after that—really, it was Marco who collapsed, spent and exhausted and so fucking happy he didn’t think he’d ever felt its equal—Andrew traced patterns on his chest.

“You ever think we’d be here?” he wondered.

Marco wasn’t sure if that was a rhetorical question. He’d sure wanted them to be here, from the moment he’d spotted Andrew again.

The moment he’d realized that high school Andrew had very much grown up.

“No—but I really wanted us to.”

“Yeah, for a whole seven days,” Andrew teased, but Marco could hear the doubt underneath the amusement in his voice.

“Hey, it was a hard seven days,” Marco retorted lightly. But he wanted to ask.

How could he say he was falling for him if he didn’t ask?

“You do this a lot, I know,” Andrew said, and it seemed that he was going to say it, without Marco opening his mouth.

“Not that often anymore,” Marco said wryly.

“I mean . . .” Andrew waved his hands. “You know what I mean.”

Marco was afraid he did. “Really, not that often,” he said. “You’re not one of many, you know, not even close, you’re . . .” Marco swallowed hard. He didn’t want to say it, it was too soon, even he, a Moretti, who as a clan loved love, knew it was too fucking soon. “You’re special. As a person. To me .”

“Well, that’s good,” Andrew said. “Because I love you.”

Marco froze. Andrew lifted his head, and the truth of his confession was written across his face.

He meant it.

And God , Marco wanted him to mean it.

“I know I’m not supposed to say that. I wasn’t going to. But . . .” Andrew sighed. “I couldn’t not. I feel like I’ve been half in love with you most of my life, and then the last seven days have been . . .well, you were there. You know what they were like.”

“They were great,” Marco said. “At least when I wasn’t trying to keep my hands off you.”

Andrew laughed. “Oh! We didn’t have our dessert.”

He scrambled off before Marco could wrap an arm around him and forcibly drag him back against his body.

Of course, this guy would say that and clearly mean it and then leave.

Marco huffed out as he lay back in the nest of messy sheets and blankets.

A minute later, Andrew appeared again, carrying the white takeout box in one hand and a fork in the other. “I found your silverware,” he said, settling back down on the bed, cross-legged this time, apparently uncaring that he was still naked.

Well, if Marco looked that gorgeous, he probably wouldn’t care either.

In fact, even after two very good orgasms, he was having trouble dragging his attention to the box in Andrew’s hands.

Then Andrew opened it and Marco made a low exclamation in the back of his throat.

It was a work of art. Each piece of fruit flawlessly arranged across the pristine white surface.

And then Marco realized that he’d picked the fruit specifically.

There were delicate slivers of plums fanned out. Tiny grapes arranged in a cluster.

And a few pomegranate seeds, scattered like precious jewels.

“I . . .” Marco didn’t know what to say.

“I made it for you,” Andrew said. “Daniel helped, a little. He’d helped you clean up after Izzy, so he knew what she’d thrown at you. Though I wish she’d picked better choices.”

He smiled self-consciously and continued. “I said I’d never throw a pomegranate at your head and I figured this was a concrete example of that promise.”

“It’s beautiful,” Marco said. Andrew handed him the fork but he hesitated. “I don’t even want to eat it.”

“But it’s delicious,” Andrew teased. “I think you’ll like it.”

“I know I’ll like it. I already do. The only question is how much I’ll love it,” Marco mused.

He raised his gaze and his eyes met Andrew’s. Hoped he understood.

Andrew smiled. “The dessert’s not going anywhere—and neither am I.”

“Good,” Marco said and wrapped an arm around Andrew’s shoulders, pulling him in and pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder. “Now tell me, before I destroy the beauty of it, what it is.”

“A pavlova,” Andrew said.

“A what?”

Andrew laughed. “It’s a good thing you’re cute. A pavlova is egg whites whipped with sugar and then piped out and baked. Usually with some kind of filling.” His eyes were twinkling. “You’ll have to eat it to figure out what that is.”

“Twist my arm,” Marco said and finally dug the fork into the pristine surface. The pavlova was crisp but soft, melting into itself as he cut into it. And in the middle of it, buried deep between clouds of whipped cream and meringue, was a tiny heart of lemon yellow custard.

“I saw your face when you ate the special,” Andrew said when Marco looked up at him questioningly. “Come on, take a bite.”

Marco did, loving the crystalline sugar crunch on his tongue, the perfectly sour curd, the richness of the cream.

He’d eaten a lot of desserts in his time, but he’d never had one like this.

“You’re a genius,” he murmured, not hesitating to take another forkful. This one he slipped between Andrew’s lips as he opened his mouth, no doubt wanting to argue this inarguable fact.

“Just inspired,” Andrew said, after savoring his bite. “By the most delectable muse.”

Marco kissed him, the flavor of Andrew mingling with the creation he’d made just for him, and he didn’t think it would take him very long to be sure that this was not only love, but that kind of love.

A love for the easy Saturday mornings and late Friday nights. A love Marco would embrace and protect with every bit of himself.

The most delicious love he’d ever tasted.