Page 21 of September’s Tide (Island Tales #2)

Chapter Fifteen

“So…” Taylor’s soft voice was husky with sleep. “Are you going to tell me what else was eating at you yesterday morning?”

David turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at Taylor, who lay beside him, the morning light casting a golden hue over him.

The sheet was draped low across Taylor’s hips, modest enough to be maddening.

David took in the sight of smooth, sun-kissed skin, long limbs sprawled across the rumpled bed, and his cock twitched beneath the covers.

God, he’s beautiful like this. But then Taylor always was first thing in the morning, when he was warm, sleepy, and unguarded, at his most real.

The scent of him was even worse. David detected salt from the ocean, a trace of soap, and that deep, earthy spice that was just him , a smell that never failed to get under David’s skin. It made him want to taste, to take, to lose himself.

Not now. Focus.

“It’s nothing,” he said, a little too quickly.

Taylor’s gaze didn’t waver. “You sure?”

David sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. “Let’s just say I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” Taylor’s fingers traced a lazy path down David’s chest, circling a nipple, teasing it before gliding lower over his stomach. David closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose as Taylor’s touch stirred memories of the night before.

Never knew I could let go like that .

The way he’d opened up as he never had before. The way Taylor had felt inside him, slow and sure, filling him.

Have I ever felt that… whole? God, who knew bottoming could be that good?

David hadn’t planned on saying anything more, but Taylor’s concern lingered in the way he watched him, his expression gentle and open, the same look he’d worn last night on the porch.

Let him in.

David lifted an arm, and Taylor tucked into his side without hesitation, resting his head on David’s shoulder, his warm breath ghosting across David’s collarbone.

He stared up at the ceiling, his gaze tracing the ornate plasterwork. “About five months ago, I broke up with someone. His name was Clark, and we were living together, until the day I came home and found him in our bed—with someone else.”

Taylor stiffened. “Jesus, David. That’s awful.”

He let out a sigh. “Yeah, well. It was what it was.” He paused. “The thing is, I thought I was past it. And then yesterday happened.” He told Taylor about the texts, the conversation with Michael, and how a wound he’d believed had long since scabbed over had suddenly cracked open, bleeding.

Had it really healed, though? Or was that nothing more than wishful thinking?

“I know I did the right thing kicking him out,” David said. “But hearing Michael bring it up again… then seeing those messages…” His voice trailed off. He didn’t need to finish. He knew Taylor would understand.

“How long were you together?” Taylor asked quietly.

“Two years.” David kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his jaw tight. “We were happy, or so I thought. But after we split, the stories started coming in.”

“What kind of stories?”

David’s chest tightened. “How he’d been cheating on me the whole time. How I was just his ticket to something better.” He huffed. “I don’t even know what’s true anymore.”

He didn’t add the rest. How foolish it had made him feel. How blind. How used.

That wasn’t something he wanted to lay bare, not yet.

Taylor didn’t comment, but lay there, his fingers lightly brushing David’s ribs.

There was comfort in the silence.

Eventually, Taylor pulled away. He sat up and stretched, the sheet sliding down his back to reveal the lean lines of his body, and the insistent rise of morning wood.

David raised his brows, drinking in the sight. “And where exactly do you think you’re going?”

Taylor smirked. “Getting you coffee. You’ve earned it.”

David reached under the sheet and gave himself a lazy stroke, mimicking Taylor’s smirk, watching as Taylor’s gaze flickered down. “You sure you wouldn’t rather ride me until the caffeine kicks in?”

Taylor chuckled and stood, naked and gloriously unashamed. “You’re insatiable.”

“I have needs,” David said with mock seriousness. “And right now, they involve your ass. Preferably on my face.”

Taylor flipped him the bird as he walked toward the door. “Coffee first, sex later. I’ve learned how to set boundaries since you showed up.”

David laughed. “I’m a terrible influence.”

Taylor looked over his shoulder, his eyes twinkling. “And that’s the best kind.”

As he disappeared from view, David lay back, his hands folded behind his head, smiling. Whatever ghosts Clark had left behind, they didn’t belong in this room. Not in this bed.

Taylor’s bed was a place for something else entirely: heat, comfort, peace. A new rhythm. A new beginning.

And right now, that beginning smelled like coffee and sex.

“Oh my God. You’re nervous .”

Taylor sounded halfway between amused and genuinely shocked, and David hated that he couldn’t deny it.

“No, I’m not,” he muttered, staring through the windshield as though he was preparing to face a firing squad and not, as was actually the case, Taylor’s family.

Taylor grinned, obnoxiously chipper in the passenger seat of the Nissan. “Yes, you are. You’re doing that weird thing with your hands.”

“What weird thing?”

“ You know. The clenching. Like you’re either about to punch someone or propose marriage.”

David scowled and forcibly flattened his palms against his thighs. “I don’t clench.”

“Sure,” Taylor said, his grin still evident. “You also don’t mutter under your breath in that growly voice, you know, the one that sounds like Batman with low blood sugar.”

David shot him a sideways glare. “They’re going to interrogate me.”

Taylor snorted. “It’s Sunday lunch, not a courtroom drama.”

“Says the guy whose family sounds like a cast reunion.” David nodded toward the house. “You listed half a football team.”

Taylor shrugged. “It’s just Mum and Dad, Brian and Deb, Bev and Ciaran, possibly Auntie Pauline and Uncle Raymond if they remember it’s not next weekend. That’s hardly?—”

David held up a hand. “Stop. Seriously. That’s not ‘just.’ That’s a gathering .”

Taylor reached across and laced their fingers together. His hand was warm and steady. “As far as they know, you’re simply a friend I met on the beach. I haven’t told them anything else.”

David quirked an eyebrow. “So… they don’t know I’ve been bending you over various pieces of furniture for the past two weeks?”

Taylor smirked. “Not unless my mother has developed psychic powers. And if she has , we’re both in trouble.”

David exhaled slowly. “Okay. Okay, I can do this. I’m a grown-ass man.”

Taylor’s eyes sparkled. “A very grown-ass man, if this morning was anything to go by.”

David yanked his hand away and fixed him with a glare. “Behave.”

“I make no promises.”

David tried to ignore the coil of anxiety still twisting in his gut. It was irrational—he knew that—but the idea of walking into a stranger’s house and pretending to be casually platonic with the guy whose dick had been in him less than twelve hours ago…

Yeah. That did things to a man’s blood pressure.

“You will restrain yourself, right? No weird jokes, no innuendo, no trying to make me say ‘trousers’ or ‘bog roll’ just to laugh at my accent.”

Taylor put on his best angelic expression. “I’ll be delightful . You’ll see. Besides, you’re the one who keeps saying pants when you mean trousers.”

“They are pants,” David grumbled.

“They are not . Pants are underwear. You’ve been warned.”

Just then, the front door creaked open. A tall, elegant woman with silver hair poked her head out, spotted them, and lit up like a lamp. She stepped fully onto the porch and waved enthusiastically.

David’s stomach did a small somersault. “Well. I guess that’s our cue.”

He opened the door and stepped out onto the gravel drive, forcing himself to smile. It’s fine. It’s lunch. It’s a family. It’s not a trap.

Taylor bounced out of the car and slung an arm around his shoulder. “Ready?”

“Absolutely not.”

Taylor leaned in, his lips brushing David’s ear. “You’ll be great. Just don’t say anything too American, and don’t mention sex in front of Aunt Pauline, if she’s around.”

“Noted.”

As they walked toward the house, David took a deep breath and reminded himself for the umpteenth time that this was supposed to be fun .

It felt marginally less terrifying than root canal work.

But only just.

“More roast potatoes, David?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.” David accepted the dish from Taylor’s dad, who’d insisted on not being called Mr. Monroe, but plain Dennis.

The guy had a firm handshake, friendly eyes, and a suspicious resemblance to the kind of man who could fix absolutely anything with duct tape and a well-aimed screwdriver.

David scooped a few more golden potatoes onto his plate and glanced around the table. “I’m not stealing the last of these, am I?”

Brian chuckled. “Not at all. It’s nice to see someone around here actually eat lunch.” He jabbed a thumb toward Taylor. “Little brother usually picks at it like it’s poison.”

Taylor retaliated instantly with a smack to Brian’s arm. “That’s because grabbing food with you is like feeding time at the shark tank.”

David had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing through a bite of beef.

The energy around the table was chaotic and warm, like a sitcom that had been running long enough to hit its stride.

In under ten minutes, he’d been welcomed, teased, handed a full plate, and practically folded into the family like an honorary cousin.

Valerie—Taylor’s mum—was the embodiment of every cozy British fantasy David had grown up with in PBS reruns.

She was sweet, elegant, and effortlessly in charge of everything that mattered.

She’d greeted David as if she’d known him for years, pressed a warm hand to his arm, and introduced him to the extended cast with all the efficiency of a seasoned diplomat.