Page 56 of Hush

“I have to be. I would have died if I thought things wouldn’t, one day, be better. Maybe not better for me, but… I always hoped the world would change.”

“Do you think it has?”

“I look at you, and yes. I do.”

“Me?”

“You’re my hero.” He grinned, his face heating. “You’re everything I dreamed about. Living a proud, happy life, respected by everyone. You’re amazing, Mike.”

Mike had a weird smile on his face, like he was forcing it, almost. “I’m not that great.”

“You are to me.”

He could hear Mike’s swallow, could see his Adam’s apple rise and fall. “Are you finished?”

“Oh. Yes, I am.” He started to stand, but Mike put his hand on his shoulder and stood instead. He cleared their plates and refilled Tom’s wine glass before sitting again. “So, are you not an optimist?”

Sighing, Mike reached for Tom’s hand again. “I’m a dreamer.”

“A dreamer?”

“I want a fairy tale.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“The original fairy tales all had terrible endings. They were horror stories. Warnings. They weren’t nice.”

Etta Mae scratched at the back door, and glared over her shoulder. Mike rose to let her out.

“Let’s go out to the deck.” Tom brought Mike outside, to the small deck he’d built off his living room. He had a grill and some tiki torches and a stone fireplace with a wicker couch in front of it. Mike sat, and held out his arm for Tom to cuddle close.

Yes, please. Tom probably embarrassed himself with how fast he snuggled into Mike’s side. Etta Mae did her business and then proceeded on her sniff, her daily perusal of the yard. They watched her, silent.

Mike pressed a kiss to the top of his head. He breathed deep, inhaling Tom’s hair, before kissing him again.

Slowly, Tom shifted, twisted. Turned his face up, until he was looking up into Mike’s gaze. Mike’s lips hovered above his, less than an inch separating them. Twenty-five years, twenty-five years since a man had last kissed him. He ached, his bones crying out, his heart screaming, yearning for another kiss. For Mike’s kiss.

Mike didn’t blink. He stared into Tom’s eyes as if he was searching them, searching him. Tom reached for Mike, winding his fingers up Mike’s neck, running them through Mike’s sandy hair.

“Tom…”

God, he could still count on one hand how many times Mike had used his first name. It made his blood burn, his skin light on fire. Another man was looking at him like he wanted him. Another man was about to kiss him.

“Tom, what do you want?”

“You. I wantyou.”

Something passed deep in Mike’s gaze, but then it was gone. He leaned in, closing the last half inch, and pressed their lips together.

Soft, and gentle. Warm. Hungry. Mike moved over him, his kiss starting slow, but capturing Tom completely. He clung to Mike, hanging on as his heart sang and his soul went electric. Twenty-five years he’d waited for this kiss. And what a perfect kiss it was.

Mike pulled back, jerking free. “Shit,” he whispered.

“Wha—”

But Mike’s hand rose, cupping his cheek, and then Mike tugged him close for another kiss. Time stretched, lengthened, measured in slow nibbles and gentle sucks, the press and push of their lips against one another. Mike sucked on his lower lip, and Tom’s spine arched. He pressed into Mike, rolling in his hold, and cradled Mike’s face. Mike sighed, his breath shaking. Tom slithered into his lap, straddling Mike, never breaking the kiss.

Mike’s hands ran down his body, down his shoulders, down his back, and squeezed his hips.