Page 6 of The Paternity Puzzle
Royce squelched the urge to flex and preen as he crossed the room to their dresser. He yanked out a pair of lounge pants from a drawer and pulled them on. Then he climbed onto the bed and accepted the mug Sawyer extended to him. Just that slight brush of fingers was enough to stir trouble below his waistband, but Royce could tamp it down one more time for a wonderful cause. He sipped the brown liquid and recognized it as chamomile. His Aunt Tipsy had sworn it cured anything, but she’d never convinced Royce. He got distracted by the action on the television and ended up taking another sip out of habit. Still not coffee and still not a fan. “When did your rug-cleaning fetish start?”
“I discovered this YouTube channel when I was trying to kill time at the conference. And it’s not a fetish,” Sawyer protested.
“That’s the spot. Oh yeah. Get in there, James.” Royce might’ve injected too much breathiness into his imitation because Sawyer bit his bottom lip and squirmed.
“I didn’t say any of that,” he protested.
“You did. Word for word.”
Sawyer snatched the mug back hard enough to make the liquid slosh over the side. He scowled at Royce like the brown spot on the duvet was his fault. “And I sure as hell didn’t sound like Marilyn Monroe when she serenaded JFK for his birthday.”
“I might’ve embellished, but only slightly.”
The sounds on the television shifted to running water, and Royce turned to see what was happening next. A new camera angle showed a masculine hand spraying the rug with a thickhose. Royce was going to comment on the suggestive nature of the imagery, but the view changed to the water running out of the rug. The screen went black, and Royce scowled at Sawyer, who looked smug as hell with the remote in his hand. Give a guy some power, and look out.
“Hey! You turned it off during the money shot,” Royce complained.
“Do you want to lounge in bed all day or eat breakfast and go make our baby?”
Royce perked up. “Real bacon or the fake stuff?” Sawyer’s commitment to healthier food options was admirable most of the time, but not when it came to breakfast meats. He’d tried to lure Royce over to the dark side, aka turkey bacon or chicken sausage, but Royce had remained faithful to pork.
“The real stuff.” Sawyer winked. “You’ll need the protein boost, and you deserve a special reward.”
Royce probably should’ve protested the bit where Sawyer treated him like a dog who performed a trick or a cat who remembered to bury his poop in the litter box. But the promise of real bacon kept his yap shut.
“I’ve got bacon duties, and you can make the eggs,” Royce said.
“Scrambled or fried?”
They’d had similar conversations many times over the past five years, an easy back-and-forth about food prep and who would do what. They were ordinary tasks, yet the morning felt extraordinary because their lives were about to change. There’d be a third person to consider when making the simplest decisions. A tiny person with big needs who’d rely on them for everything. Royce waited for panic to surge or doubt to surface, but a sense of calm washed over him, and confidence stiffened his resolve.
He reached for Sawyer’s hand and laced their fingers together. “Let’s go with scrambled.”
Sawyer’s lips parted, but no sound escaped. He cleared his throat and tried again. His voice was thick with emotion when he said, “Thank you.”
“For choosing scrambled?” Royce teased.
Sawyer’s brown eyes softened to melted chocolate. “For everything.”
Royce leaned in for a quick kiss and got out of there before he tackled his husband to the bed. He showered in the guest bathroom, where he kept the water cold and his hands moving. Lingering in specific places for too long was tempting fate. “Not long now, buddy.” Consoling his dick in a buck-up-little-camper voice was sinking to a new low, but at least no one was around to witness his shame.
“I heard that,” Sawyer said from the other side of the door.
“You can talk to him later.” When Sawyer didn’t answer, Royce rinsed himself and turned off the shower. “Preferably on your knees,” he murmured. Royce reached around the shower curtain to grab his towel off the rack, but his hand only found air. “What the hell?”
“Looking for this?” Sawyer’s teasing tone had Royce whisking the shower curtain back with more force than necessary. His husband held the fluffy towel in his hand and lifted it like a trophy. Challenge sparked in his dark eyes, daring Royce to come and get it. And oh, how he wanted to, but two could play this game.
Propping his elbow against the shower wall, Royce smirked at Sawyer. “You should’ve just said so if you wanted to see me naked. There was no need to sneak in here all ninja-like.”
Sawyer raked his teeth over his bottom lip as his gaze devoured Royce’s wet, naked body. Dark, hungry eyes snapped up to meet his. A brow arched high, and Sawyer’s expressionturned haughty. “Did you say you wanted me to talk to your dick?”
“Yeah, I did,” Royce said. “From your knees.”
Sawyer’s nostrils flared, and his chest expanded with a deep inhale. “We’ll be lucky to limp away from this weekend.”
“Yeah, but we’ll make it hurt so good,” Royce told him.
“I gotta get out of here.” Sawyer abruptly turned and left the bathroom. “Thirty minutes.”