Page 15 of One Hot Summer

It was peaceful, each of us content to share the other’s company without needing to fill the silence with mindless chatter.

Although, I did have questions. I wanted to ask if he was happy.

I wanted to ask what happened now, what this meant, but every time I tried to form the words, they got lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth.

I must have dozed off at some point, waking to find Griffin out on the deck, leaning against the rail with a glass of wine in his hand. The sky was deep blue with soft swishes of violet seemingly painted on by an artist’s brush, the last bit of sunlight sinking behind the far ridge.

He turned at the sound of the door sliding open and smiled. “Hey, sleepy head. You’re awake!”

I ducked my head, embarrassment heating my face. “Yeah, sorry about that. I guess I was more tired than I realized.”

When I glanced up, I found him staring at me, a heated look in his eyes and I wondered if he was remembering the night before, the reason for my exhaustion. He cleared his throat. “Would you care for some wine?”

“Please.” Griffin reached for a second glass that was sitting on the table and poured it half full before handing it to me. My fingers grazed his as I took it, the touch burning me, making me want more.

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He stared out at the mountains, hands wrapped around his glass, like he was working up to something.

I waited patiently, giving him space to organize his thoughts.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “I should probably say something about last night. About this morning. About… all of it.”

“Okay,” I said, and then immediately wanted to take it back. Panic seized me. Was this what he’d been doing while I slept? Rethinking everything that had happened and regretting it? Was this where he told me it could never happen again?

“I’m not very good at talking about feelings,” he continued. “It’s easier for me to just do things and hope that covers the bases. But you deserve more than that. I don’t want you to think last night was a mistake.”

My breath rushed out in a relieved sigh. “It wasn’t. Not for me.”

He turned to look at me, really look at me, and for a second, I thought he might cry.

“It wasn’t for me, either. I tried to convince myself it was, that it was just…

a fluke. But it isn’t. I can’t stop thinking about you, Adam.

Even when I know how complicated this is, even when I know I shouldn’t. ”

I set our drinks down on the railing and took his hand. His fingers were cold from the glass but strong, steady. “I don’t care if it’s complicated,” I said. “I only care if it’s real.”

He squeezed my hand. “It is. I don’t know what to do with that yet, but it’s real. We’ll have to figure things out eventually. We have Dalton to consider and our lives back home, but for now…”

“What do you want for now?” I whispered.

Blue eyes stared into mine as if he could see into my soul. “I want more of this. More of you, of us. I want a chance to truly explore what’s happening between us without the rest of the world butting in.”

“I want that too,” I admitted, grateful that he was willing to give us a chance.

We stood like that for a while, the wind picking up and making the leaves tremble.

The sun slipped behind the ridge, and I wanted to bottle the moment, to freeze it forever.

“I’m scared,” I admitted. “I don’t want to lose Dalton.

He’s the only family I’ve ever had. And I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to choose. ”

He shook his head. “I don’t think you’ll lose him, Adam.

I may be biased since he’s my son, but he’s truly one of the best people I know.

” He ran his thumb across the back of my hand, a gentle rhythm.

“But we’ll tell him when the time is right.

That is, if you aren’t sick of me by the end of this trip. ”

Feeling emboldened, I brushed the pad of my thumb over his bottom lip. “I will never be sick of you.”

He pulled me into a hug, arms wrapping around me, chin resting on the top of my head.

I melted into him, the world shrinking to the span of his chest and the scent of his skin and the thump of his heart under my ear.

When he kissed me, it was nothing like the desperate, frantic movements of the night before.

It was slow, careful, a question instead of a demand.

I answered it with everything I had, and when I tasted him—wine and wind and want—I knew I’d never get enough.

We moved inside without really discussing it.

I followed him up the stairs, both of us quiet, but the silence was different now.

Not a barrier, but a cocoon. In his room, he shut the door and turned to me, not saying anything.

He just cupped my face in his hands and kissed me again, lips lingering, then moved to my jaw, my throat, the hollow of my collarbone.

Every touch was deliberate, as if he was memorizing me with his mouth.

I let him undress me, piece by piece, until I was standing in the dim light, completely bare.

For the first time, I wasn’t shy. I wanted him to see everything. I wanted him to want it. To want me.

He took his own shirt off, then shorts, then boxers, and the air around us crackled with anticipation. I expected him to push me down, to take control, but instead he walked me backward to the bed and stood there, just looking at me for a long time.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and the words made my skin go hot. No one had ever said those words to me, but the honesty in his gaze made me believe them.

I kissed him, and he kissed me back, and then we were horizontal, our bodies tangled together, every inch of me pressed to every inch of him.

He took his time, kissing every part of me, trailing his fingers down my chest, my stomach, my thighs.

When he touched my cock, it was with reverence, as if it was something sacred.

He rolled me onto my back and hovered above me, his eyes searching mine. “Is this okay?”

“It’s more than okay,” I said, my voice shaking.

He reached for the lube in the nightstand, warming it in his hands before touching me, prepping me with slow, gentle motions.

I moaned, high and breathy, and he smiled against my shoulder.

When he finally pushed into me, it was different than before.

He was careful, going slow, watching my face for any sign of pain.

There was still heat, still hunger, but it was tempered by a kind of awe, a mutual recognition that this meant something.

That it wasn’t just bodies coming together, but a promise.

We moved together, sweat slicking our skin, breath mixing in the space between us. He kissed me through it, lips soft and desperate, and when I came, I cried out his name, clutching at his back. He came a minute later, burying his face in my neck, groaning so low and rough it made me tremble.

Afterward, he cleaned us both up with a damp towel, then climbed back into bed and pulled me to his chest, holding me so tight I almost couldn’t breathe.

I didn’t want him to let go. We lay there, tangled up, the moonlight painting the sheets silver.

He traced the line of my jaw with his fingertip, then pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth.

“I wish I could keep you here forever,” he whispered.

I smiled, sleepy and sated. “Maybe you can.”

He laughed, and the sound vibrated through me. “Dangerous words.”

I nestled closer, fitting myself to him. “Worth it.”

I fell asleep like that, wrapped up in his arms, listening to a storm rumble somewhere in the distance.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I felt wanted. I felt home. And I didn’t care if it was complicated, or messy, or terrifying.

As long as Griffin Price wanted me, I was exactly where I belonged.