Chapter Thirteen

I watched as Wyatt shifted in his sleep, his mussed hair and soft murmurs making me smile. He was so damn adorable.

But then his brow pinched and his indecipherable noises turned fretful. His hand stretched out across the bed as if searching for someone. Macario, the man we'd encountered in the park?

"Jiron," he mumbled sleepily, and I was across the room in a heartbeat, stroking his forehead and murmuring reassurances.

Wyatt's eyes opened, their mellow green catching the rays of sun that trickled into the room despite my best efforts to block the window with his thin drapes, and he smiled up at me.

"Come here," he ordered, snagging my hand and tugging me closer.

Bossy.

I obligingly sank down onto the bed next to him, careful not to land on any of his willowy limbs, which was made all the more difficult by the way the boy tried to curl up into the curve my body made before I'd fully settled.

"Mmm," he hummed, drawing one of my arms over him like a blanket. I supposed it was nearly big enough. "I could get used to lazy afternoons like these."

I chuckled. "It's morning, little one."

Wyatt blinked up at me, strands of blonde hair catching on his eyelashes. I stroked them free. "Morning? That's...my plants!"

My arm tightened around him as he tried to leap from the bed like someone had lit a keg of black powder beneath him. "Steady. You had quite the ordeal yesterday. You need to rest."

"I...need..." he protested, struggling to get free, and I rather enjoyed the feeling of his small body writhing against me. "...to...water..."

"Let me do it," I offered, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Wyatt fell still and eyed me dubiously.

"Look after my plants?" he asked. My normally chipper, impossibly optimistic boy had something that sounded like scepticism in his voice.

My heart twisted. "Forget I offered," I said quickly. "They probably require a delicate touch, not my heavy-handed..."

I released him, but Wyatt stayed where he was.

"They do need carefully careful care," he agreed, and then grinned up at me. A glittering spark of infectious good humour danced in his gaze. "Which you'd be perfect for, daddy. I've just never...no one has ever offered to do that for me before. There's a lot of them – or did you miss the ones in the kitchen?"

I had not missed the veritable greenhouse of plants living in the kitchen. I'd had to move three of them just to find a bowl I could use to draw water from outside in case my boy woke up thirsty.

"I would be honoured," I told him, bowing my head as I would to my king. "Will you tell me what to do?"

Wyatt beamed, stretching luxuriously out on the bed as I rose from it. The thing was huge: clearly it had been built with his ex-lover in mind, as it would fit even my bulk if I cared to lay on it properly. If I was invited to do so.

"There's a well down the street," he said, and then must have noticed the full bowl of water resting on the bedside table, for he added, "as you seem to have worked out for yourself. You'll need one bucket... uno , Jiron," he corrected gently as I pulled two from the cupboard he'd been gesturing to.

"One for the plants," I clarified, holding it up in my left hand, "and one for you." I raised the second bucket in my right. "Daddy wants to make sure his boy is all clean so he can dirty him up again later. Is that alright?"

Wyatt blushed and squirmed gratifyingly on the bed. A thin sheet still covered his lower half, but my imagination was more than willing to supply the filthy, enticing image of what lay beneath.

"More than alright," I heard him say as I closed the door behind me, and wasn't sure if it was to me or himself. It didn't matter. He sounded happy , and that was all I cared about.

If I made that happen...I would do anything it took to keep him that way. It was difficult to believe that I could be wanted like that, especially by someone who was as gorgeous and sweet as Wyatt. Wanted, not just accepted. Desired. Preferred?

That wasn't what people normally thought of me, I knew that, but I'd heard what my boy had told me yesterday and I wasn't going to insult him by accusing him of delusions. No matter how impossible it seemed, this perfect, adorable man wanted me in his life – not just as a friend, as I'd been careful to keep us for the last few months – but as something more. Something that compelled him to strip for me to make those intentions clear, and Dios, now I was thinking of the lines of his body and the way his hair fell against his bare shoulders and...and getting hard while waiting in line for the public well was not wise at all.

"Se?or?" a woman asked, gesturing me in front of her despite her having been already waiting when I arrived. Her eyes were wide as she took in the way I towered above her, and her hands trembled on the handle of her own bucket when I shifted my grip on mine.

But as eager as I was to return to my boy, I shook my head. I refused to let my size earn me things I wasn't entitled to.

"No thank you," I said politely, and set my buckets on the ground. "But perhaps I can assist you with drawing the water for yours?"

Her gaze softened and then sharpened again in an instant.

"Not necessary, se?or," she said, and I nodded to respect her decision. She showed no signs of frailty, and I didn't wish to imply otherwise by pressing my assistance. "But perhaps..."

The woman gestured at the man who had reached the front of the queue. A lifetime of training to identify even the slightest of threats to my royal charge helped me instinctively pick out the way he favoured one arm over the other, and despite doing his best to appear stoic against the injury, he accepted my offer of help with good grace.

It was nice to be able to help someone without needing to do it with a blade in my hand, and the thickness of my arms served me well as others clamoured for assistance with their own buckets and bowls. Ten minutes later, smiling, I filled my own and went to find the man waiting for me.

*