Page 51 of Next Season

I taggedalong with Vinnie to the diner rather than having him drop me off at my place later that afternoon. It was early for dinner, but Nolan had raved about Jean-Claude’s specialdu jourand promised to save us a spot at the counter if we arrived before the rush.

I perched on my barstool, dragging my fork through rosemary-and-garlic mashed potatoes and stealing glances into the kitchen in the hopes of spotting the chef. He stopped by to say a brief hello and accept compliments for the amazing roast chicken with herbs de Provence. He greeted Vin with a fist bump, nodded in my direction, and politely asked about our drive. I could have been any random customer instead of the guy who’d blown him in the shower this morning.

This was what hiding in plain sight looked like, and I hated it.

* * *

Jean-Claude textedme with instructions to leave the key in the plant next to my kitchen door and stole into my house sometime in the middle of the night. I heard his footsteps on the stairs and the creak of the pipes. His hair was damp when he slipped into my bed naked, pulling me into his arms like a little spoon.

Christ, I was hot for him. I woke up in a hurry, pressing my ass against his crotch in a search for friction. Jean-Claude tugged my briefs down, kissing my neck as he reached around me, teasing featherlight touches along my shaft. In a matter of minutes, he was inside me, moving slowly and pushing me to the edge. I wiggled under him, growling for more. He ignored me. He moved slower than ever, dragging out my pleasure until I was begging.

“Please, please, please. Fuck me.”

He pulled out and turned on the bedside lamp. “Let me see you.”

“What are you—ow, my eyes.” I flipped over, draping an arm over my face.

Jean-Claude pushed inside me, caging me as he hovered close as if to shield me from the light. He nibbled my bottom lip and smoothed his thumbs at my temple. “You want it off?”

“No, it’s okay.” I lifted my legs higher and clutched his ass cheeks. “Mm. Just…keep doing that. You feel so good.”

He lowered one of his hands to my cock. “I missed you today. I couldn’t stop thinking about you—this tight ass, perfect cock, and this mouth. I love this mouth.”

He kissed me dirty, sucking my tongue as he stroked me and fucked me. It would have been sensory overload at any time of day, but it hit different in the middle of the night. Or maybe it was that word.

Love. I love your ass, I love your cock, I love your mouth.

It was the kind of throwaway sweet and nasty line that was hot in the moment but meant nothing at all. It sounded different on his lips. Or maybe I needed it to sound different. Maybe I needed—

“I’m gonna come,” I grunted, roaring as my release slammed into me.

“Good boy. Very good.”

He was moving again. A little faster, a little harder. The bed shook as he gained momentum, literally fucking me into the mattress. He bucked and thrust, growling savagely in my ear as his orgasm struck.

We’d done this almost daily for weeks on end. On the evenings he worked late, I either stayed up waiting for him or he came to me like he had tonight, slipping under the covers and curling up close. We didn’t always have sex. That was a nice perk, but it was too easy to claim it was the main draw anymore. I just liked being with him.

I liked how I felt when he was near—a little stronger, a little more confident, and infinitely more certain of who I was…a bisexual man who’d met someone pretty fucking special at exactly the right time.

I kissed his chest and rested my head on his shoulder. “Late night?”

“Not too bad. It’s only midnight.” Jean-Claude captured my wrist and kissed my fingers.

“Seems later.”

“You had a busy day. How was Burlington?”

“Fine.” I didn’t want to go into any details now. That shit could wait till morning. “How was your day?”

“Normal day. Nothing exciting till you came by the diner,” he said sleepily.

I buried my face in his neck and smiled. “Mmm. When I was a kid, we had this dinnertime tradition where we’d go around the table and share your favorite and least favorite part of your day. Something good was usually food oriented, like ‘Grandpa took us out for ice cream after school.’ Or ‘Grandma made chocolate chip cookies.’ The worst was always school. Dunno why ’cause school was fine.”

“I bet you were a cute kid—un enfant mignon,”Jean-Claude purred indulgently. “Play your game for me now. What are your best and worst highlights?”

“The doctor says I’ve improved.”

“That’s a good one,” he hummed softly. “And the not so favorite highlight?”