Chapter 12

Lee

“Where are you going?” Mom asked as I fished my car keys out of the bowl. At her feet, Willow fixed big green eyes on me.

“Just out,” I said because I wasn’t ready to have Mom up in my love life. If there was going to be a love life, which I wasn’t positive about. A date didn’t commit me to anything. “Going to a movie with a friend. Don’t wait up.”

She checked me over, seeming brighter-eyed than she had in a while. “I like that shirt.”

I resisted the urge to tug at the hem. I usually wore my clothes loose, and spent half my life in scrubs, but tonight I’d opted for a snug polo in a heather-green that contrasted with the color of my hair. It also hugged the shape of my chest and stomach. At least, that way, Griffin would have no illusions of how much I was not still the twink of our younger days.

“Remember to feed Willow,” I said, heading for the hall.

Mom actually laughed. “Like she would let me forget. Have a good time, honey.”

Griffin had suggested an Indian restaurant I’d never been to, and I swung by to pick him up. If we crashed and burned, having to give him a lift home would be awkward. Although there were always taxis, if it came to that.

I’d felt a bit lightheaded ever since I woke up, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t an oncoming virus. Griffin’s going to stop touring. Of course, that didn’t mean he was ready to settle down here in Iowa. Probably he had a place out in LA and he’d move back there to ogle the surfer boys and write songs. Still, I couldn’t resist the buzz of hope under my skin.

Griffin was waiting for me on the walkway when I pulled over to the curb, and he slid in beside me. I noticed he’d clipped his beard back to just stubble and he wore a silky blue shirt even snugger than mine. Of course, the fabric showed off more taut muscle and fewer curves than mine. He looked damned fine. “Like the shirt,” I said as I merged into traffic.

“Yours too.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw him grin. “You sure you want dinner and a movie?”

That was reassuring but I returned, “Yes, of course. You promised me a real date, mister.”

“I did.” He settled back in his seat. “It’s been a long time since I sat in a restaurant hiding a stiffy, and hoping my date doesn’t want a refill of their coffee.”

“I don’t drink much coffee after five. But you also promised me a movie.”

“How bad do I get to be in a dark theater?”

I thwapped his thigh with the back of my hand. “Control, Mr. Rock Star. I’m a licensed health professional and I can’t afford to get arrested.”

He sobered and muttered, “Sure, of course,” with his gaze fixed on the road.

I turned my hand over and squeezed his knee lightly. “Sorry. But let’s not overthink it. See what happens.”

“Okay. I like that idea. We were always pretty good together.”

Images filled my mind of just how good we’d been. Griffin was wearing a new cologne tonight, but under that I detected the familiar scent of his skin. I pulled my hand back and focused on my driving.

The restaurant had a middle-of-the-road ambiance with paper tablecloths but real napkins, murals on the walls picked out in gold paint, and a wonderful aroma of toasted coriander and cumin in the air. We were shown to a table in one corner, passing a dozen customers along the way. A middle-aged man did a double take at Griffin and lifted a hand as if to wave, but didn’t speak up. Griffin nodded in his direction as we passed.

The server handed us menus and hurried off to help a beckoning elderly man. Griffin turned to me. “I have no idea what’s good, personally. I picked it off an online review site. They liked the spicy Malabar lamb curry.”

“Sounds good. Are you getting that?”

“Not this time.” He gave a small shrug. “My throat’s still recovering from last night. I’ll have… fire-roasted eggplant raita and chapati.”

“I guess those growls you do come at a price.” And yes, I have listened to those songs of yours. Occasionally.

“Some. You have to know the right technique and develop the diaphragmatic breathing to support it. And I do try to rest my voice for a few days after a performance.”

“I wouldn’t want you to strain your throat.”

Griffin met my eyes and poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “I don’t mind for the right reasons.”

I blinked. “Down, boy.” That might’ve been aimed at Griffin or my dick. Speaking of being half-hard under the table. “We’re going to have a nice meal and a movie before we think about throats.”

“Yes, sir.” Griffin smothered his grin with a sip of water.

Any hope I had of resisting him was fading fast.

The server coming to take our orders at least gave me a moment to take my eyes off that man and his mouth. Although debating spice levels did nothing to defuse the teasing look on Griffin’s face.

When we’d ordered, I straightened my shoulders. “Hey, did you hear Kerry’s heading home?” The young woman had been with us for four weeks after a spinal fusion surgery with complications, getting the rest she needed before starting her real physical therapy.

“She must be thrilled,” Griffin suggested. “She was bored out of her skull.”

“She’ll probably miss her personal Griffin Marsh concerts.”

“Hah. She’ll have a lot of better things to do.”

I leaned his way. “In case I haven’t said, I really appreciate how you’re not just half-assing your hours but working hard to make life better for our residents. It’s not always easy to live in a nursing home, and you brighten their days. Especially for people like Harvey and Owen.”

“I feel so bad for them. Like, all those years together, committed but forbidden by law to marry, and it counts for nothing.” He paused as the server came to take our orders, then when she walked off, continued, “I have to say, I don’t get why they don’t just do the wedding, now it’s legal. I mean, it sucks to have that forced down your throat by the straights, but at the same time, they’re clearly in it till death do you part . Why not use the law on their side?”

“They have good reasons,” I told him. “It’s not my place to explain their decision, but they’re pretty firm about it.”

“Sucks.” He rotated his water glass between his palms. “Let me know if I can help. I got ordained in California online one time, for this friend who thought they were going to have to do a quickie wedding. They didn’t, but it’s not that difficult, if Harvey and Owen don’t want to deal with pastors and judges.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, thanks.” I didn’t mention that wouldn’t help.

The server set plates of steaming food on the table, setting my mouth watering.

Griffin thanked her, then said, “I don’t suppose the next time a room opens up you can just sneak Owen and Harvey in as roommates? I haven’t seen that Mr. Zhukov around since the day Harvey arrived. Would he even know?”

“Phoebe does the room assignments, so no I can’t.” I didn’t want to think about work right now, especially the crap I couldn’t fix. I took a big bite of curry and hummed my pleasure. “Oh, fuck, that’s good. Tell me about your show yesterday. Who all was there?” I’d ditched the local music scene for the last twenty years, but I wanted to hear Griffin talk about doing the thing he loved.

He described his night performing on the Rock— a local venue I’d only vaguely heard of— sometimes setting down his fork to gesture, his eyes bright and smile wide. I felt a pang I hadn’t been there to see him. And to share the drive, because when I asked how he got a ride there and back, he said only, “Grabbed a Lyft. The driver was a fan. That was cool,” with something in his eyes that didn’t look happy.

I wanted to know what created that shadow across his face. He’d tell me if he wanted to, though, so I segued into favorite movie scores and movies. I insisted you couldn’t beat the combo of music and Johnny Depp’s cheekbones in Pirates, while Griffin had a bunch of favorites I’d not only never seen, but never heard of.

“You can admire the same cheekbones in Dead Man and it has a score by Neil Young,” Griffin told me. “I have a bunch of streaming services at my place. We could try to find it.”

“Instead of going out?” I had to admit, sitting in a dark theater next to Griffin without being able to really touch him had been steadily losing its appeal.

“I promised you a date.”

“Netflix and chill is a date. It’s a classic.”

“Hmm.” He nodded. “I am old enough to appreciate the classics.”

“Quit that. You’re the guy who got home past midnight last night after playing a rock concert. You’re not fucking old.”

Griffin lowered his voice. “Not too old to fuck, anyhow.”

“Couch and movie first,” I told him, totally lying through my teeth because that low tone did naughty things to my dick. “Then we’ll see.”

I let him pay for the meal because he stealthed the check while I went to the john. Anyhow, I was paying for gas. I drove in silence on the way back to his place, but the air between us crackled with electricity. Griffin shifted in his seat, and the rustle of his motions felt loud in that confined space. When we arrived, he directed me around to visitor parking and we got out.

Griffin led the way toward the lobby, keying us inside. I was a bit surprised by how utilitarian the building was— not low rent, but no doorman, just one camera up over the inner door. With the media coverage he’d dealt with, I’d expected Griffin to live somewhere fancier, or at least better protected.

We passed out of the lobby and twenty feet down the hall to the elevator. As we waited side by side, the heat of Griffin’s body warmed the inch of gap between us. A little shift of my weight and my arm would’ve brushed his. I didn’t move and nor did he.

In the elevator, he pushed the button for the fourth floor. The doors closed. The mirrored surfaces showed repeating views of us, my bulk bigger than Griffin’s now, though he was only a couple of inches shorter and his shoulders and arms almost matched mine. His silver hair beneath the signature beret caught the light of the overheads, but his eyes were shadowed. Didn’t matter. I knew their exact shade of blue.

Griffin took a short breath and I echoed it. Heat in my groin turned my favorite jeans tight. I shifted my hand just far enough to bump the back of his, and he gave a soft sound, then looked up. “Cameras.”

“Ah. Pity.” I bumped his hand again and he chuckled under his breath.

After a lot of forever, the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. Griffin headed off down the carpeted hallway at a brisk clip, and I was right on his heels. At the second apartment, he fumbled with his key, then swung the door open. We tumbled through, laughing, and Griffin slammed the door with a hip bump. A quick flip of the deadbolt and he reached for me, then pulled back. “Sorry. Netflix.”

“Fuck that.” I framed his face, his stubble rough under my palms. His mustache prickled my lips as I moved in but his mouth was eager and hot when he opened for my kiss. He groaned deep in his throat and grabbed me tight. I muscled him backward into the door. A hollow thump echoed as his shoulders hit the wood under my weight.

So long. So damned long. Kissing Griffin didn’t feel the same as it had— we’d both changed— but there was a rightness to having his mouth under mine and his leg caught between my thighs, his body pinned by mine. He clamped his hands on my ass and hauled me closer. One moan, one thrust of his groin against my trapped cock, and I was ready to blow in my underwear.

I leaned back, panting. “I don’t want to wear sticky briefs home.”

“I can loan you some.” But he let go of me.

I took a small, necessary step and tugged at my shirt that had ridden up to my chest. “I guess we still go together well.”

“Like peanut butter and chocolate.”

“Who’s the nut?”

Griffin laughed and bent to pick up the hat my eager hands had dislodged, setting it on a side table. His hair was still thick, silver on the sides but salt and pepper on the top. He ran a hand to smooth it and kicked off his shoes. “Couch? Bed?”

My aching dick voted for bed, but I’d sworn to myself I’d go slow. “Couch?” I set my shoes next to his.

“Okay. This way.” He led me past the kitchen into a small living room with little more than a TV on the wall and a deep plushy couch. No rugs, no pictures. I spotted a pair of stacked milk-crates at one end of the couch.

“Going for American minimalism?” I realized I didn’t know Griffin’s tastes. Back when we were together, he’d been dead broke, saving every penny for his music, and his apartment vibe had been fell-off-the-Goodwill-truck. I’d expected more now.

“I didn’t plan to stay.” He dropped onto the couch and patted the seat beside him. “I was supposed to be in town for three weeks, tops. Clear out Mom’s storage locker, figure out what to do with her ashes, and head back to LA. Then shit happened. I’d sub-let this place for a month, and once I was staying, I was lucky enough to extend it to a year.”

That was a good reminder. He hadn’t planned to stay. And while his plans had clearly changed, I shouldn’t get too complacent. I sat, leaving a foot between us. “Do you have a house in LA?”

“Just a rental. My friends out there put my stuff into storage for me.”

“That was nice of them.” I wasn’t sure how we’d gone from wanting to rip each other’s clothes off to “nice.”

Griffin must’ve been thinking the same thing, because he asked, “Can we go back to kissing, or would you like me to find a movie?”

A movie would be smart, but my dick was still rock-hard and I’d never been smart about Griffin. I turned toward him, reaching out.

This kiss was slower, soft motions of lips and tongue, relearning a landscape I’d once known by heart. Griffin tilted his head to fit our mouths together, then wrapped an arm around me and leaned back, pulling me on top of him as he went.

“I’ll squash you,” I protested, catching myself on one arm.

“I can handle you.” He hugged me close.

I kissed his cheekbone and his temple and pressed my face into the warm curve of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent. He nuzzled my ear and worked a leg under me so he could clamp his calf across the back of my knees. With a hand behind my head, he pulled me down, found my mouth again, and kissed me breathless, his hold on me so tight I had no room to worry. All I could do was kiss him back. I found myself humping him and he slid his hands to my ass, encouraging the motion. Through our jeans, the hard rod of his cock rubbed alongside mine.

“Can I blow you?” he asked when our kiss ended.

To hell with slow. “Would you fuck me?” I wanted everything, no more waiting.

“Fuck, yes.” He hesitated. “Not sure I have condoms in the apartment. This wasn’t that kind of trip.”

I nipped his chin, laughing at the rasp of his stubble under my teeth. “Nurse, gay, single. I put fresh condoms in my pocket.”

“I do like a man who comes prepared, or, y’know, a man who comes.” He kissed me fast. “Even though this couch is the best thing about my apartment, I still want the bed so I can treat you right.”

“Good idea.” I worked my way free of his embrace and stood, then held a hand down and hauled him up against me.

He kissed me again, clinging to my fingers. “It’s a long way to the bedroom, though.”

“We’ll manage. Lead on.”

Griffin’s room was a mere twenty feet away. I followed as he tugged me in his wake across the room and in at the first door. Enough evening light came through the half-drawn curtains to show me another bare space with a dresser, a nightstand, and— thank goodness— what looked like a king-sized bed. Griffin released my hand and crossed the room to turn on a bedside light and close the curtains. When we were safely private in the lamplit space, he tugged off his shirt and turned to face me.

Back in the day, Griffin had worked out a lot. The big arms and tight chest had helped with his construction job and won him fans at his concerts. At fifty-six, his skin had a little slack here and there, but he clearly still stayed fit. A mix of silver and brown hair dusted his chest and belly, while the hair on his arms was still dark over curved biceps. His waist wasn’t as trim, but I was the last person to be throwing stones. “Looking damned good,” I told him.

“Thanks.” He stripped off his jeans, revealing black briefs and very edible thighs, then gestured at me. “You?”

For the last ten years, hell, the last fifteen, I’d always hesitated in this moment. A lot of the time, I stuck to fast anonymous blow jobs where most of the clothes stayed on. I trusted Griffin not to be cruel, as some guys had been, but still I was reluctant to bare myself to his scrutiny.

“Let me?” Griffin came to me and set his hands on my chest, cupping the roundness of my tits that a couple of guys had mocked. He pinched my nipples through the shirt, making me gasp. “Can I unwrap the present I’ve wanted for the last twenty years?”

“I’m not the same—”

“Shh.” He kissed me, then rubbed his cheek on mine, his stubble tugging at my freshly trimmed beard, and ran his hands down to the hem of my shirt. “I’ve been hard for an hour, looking at you. Let me see.”

“All right.” I stood still, cooperating as he worked my shirt upward, raising my arms so he could pull it over my head. As the fabric skimmed my face, I closed my eyes, then kept them closed as my body was bared to him.

“Hell, yeah.” There was no mistaking the appreciation in his tone. “Big hunk of man. God, I’m going to love fucking you. Just look at you.”

“I don’t work out enough.” I gathered the courage to open my eyes.

“You’re busy. Anyhow, I don’t want a muscle queen. This?” He ran his hands down my arms, then back up and down my chest. “This is the sexy bear I’ve been imagining under your scrubs. And I get to eat you up.” He gave me a light shove. “Get on the bed. I want to get those very flattering jeans off you and go to town.”

“Oh.” I had no chance to protest as he smothered me with kisses, mouth and neck, arms and chest, even hands, then bore me three steps back until I sat down on the bed. It creaked under my weight, but Griffin just pushed me farther onto the mattress, squatted, and popped the buttons of my jeans.

“Fuck, yeah.” He spread my fly open, ran his palm up the straining length of my dick under my boxer-briefs, then began working the jeans off my legs.

I had to help, lifting my ass and shimmying, then shoving the denim down my thighs while he pulled. “Fuck, been a couple of years since I wore those,” I muttered.

“They looked great on you but I want them off. There.” Griffin found a condom in my pocket and set it on the nightstand, then tossed my jeans aside. “Now socks.” When I’d toed them off, he added, “And those boxers. I mean, yes, dark green against your pale skin is sexy, but your naked dick will be even hotter.” He knelt in front of me. I propped myself up on my elbows and watched as he kneaded and nipped my hairy thighs. When he grabbed my waistband, I raised my butt again and let him strip the last vestige of cover off me and down over my feet. He tossed the boxer-briefs aside and stood. “Scoot up.”

With Griffin staring down at me like he wanted to eat me alive, I felt ridiculously desirable. I swung my feet around and slid up the bed toward the pillows. My cock bounced against my stomach, leaving shiny smears on my skin.

Griffin whipped off his briefs and crawled up the bed between my legs. I let my knees fall sideways to give him room. He knelt there, pushing my thighs wider. Obediently, I opened myself up to him.

“There you are.” Griffin leaned over me and snagged my dick in a one-handed, hot, callused grip, raising the head to his mouth.

“So good.” I moaned as he sucked me. “But I want to come on your cock.”

He slurped back off me. “You will. Let me taste you first.”

“No fucking let about it.” I bucked up toward his mouth, all eager heat and need. There was no room for worrying about how my belly lay or the shape of my thighs when Griffin Marsh was blowing me like he wanted to suck my brains out my dick.

Griffin brought me to the brink twice, till I squirmed and squeezed myself around the base to avoid going off like a rocket. Then he sat back on his heels and grinned. “What do you want? Front, back, knees, I’m easy.”

Nothing about you is easy. But I let the thought slide with Griffin’s laser-heated gaze boring holes in my skin. My breath came short and my dick was so hard I ached. “On my back. I want to see you.” I want to know this is real.

“Lube’s in the drawer to your right.”

I fished out the bottle and passed it to him. Griffin poured out a generous glop and breathed on it to warm it, not taking his eyes off mine. I grabbed my knees and hauled them up and out.

His pupils dilated. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“I’m not shy, and not fragile.”

“No. So strong. I remember that.”

I hadn’t felt strong when he left, two decades ago, but under his hands I did now. He pressed a lube-slick finger to my hole. I breathed out and bore down, and he slipped in with minimal resistance. After a couple of pumps, he pulled out for more lube and came back with two fingers. “Taking me so great. Do you play with toys?”

“A boy’s got to have— nghh— fun. Yeah, right there, like that.” His fingertips nudged my prostate, making me light up inside.

Reading my reactions, he found my sweet spot unerringly, spreading his fingers, rubbing and tapping until I shivered and grunted, clutching my knees. “Any time now.”

“A bit more slick.” He eased his fingers out, squeezed the bottle, and came back with a wet slurp and what felt like three. Nice and tight, but I wanted more.

“Fucking fuck me now.”

Griffin reached over me for the condom, snagging it off the nightstand, and tore the wrapper. He fumbled it over the fat, reddened head of his cock and I teased, “Forgotten how it goes?”

“Lubey fingers,” he muttered. “There.” He rolled the latex all the way down his shaft, then smeared more lube on the outside. When he raised his gaze to meet mine, I thought I might combust from the bare-naked want in his eyes.

I let go of one knee to grab a pillow and stuff it under my ass, then pulled myself wide for him.

“Shit,” he murmured. “Like some fucking fantasy.” Griffin shuffled forward on his knees and brought the tip of his sheathed cock against my hole. Then he braced one hand on my thigh and held his dick steady as he leaned into me. I cursed that I couldn’t pretzel myself the way I used to, to look down and watch the head of his cock breach me. But nothing beat that sensation, the push and stretch, sizzle of pain and electric heat.

I’d forgotten what it was like to be fucked by someone who knew me, who could read me. Griffin gave me the slow, deep pressure I wanted but stopped the instant it became too much. He held still, moving his hand from my thigh to stroke my softened cock. The shivery intense clench of my muscles gave way under that light touch. “Harder,” I grunted. “More.”

He gripped my dick firmly in his lube-slick hand and by the third stroke, tip to root, I began bucking up with my hips, trying to seat Griffin deeper inside me.

“Ready?” He let go of my dick and pushed my thighs up, changing the angle. Fireworks sparked inside me as his cock dragged across my prostate.

“Yeah, there, go.”

Griffin answered me with a hard drive that brought his hips against my ass and forced a grunt from my chest.

“That. More.” My eyelids had drifted shut and I opened them to see him, Griffin, all azure eyes and beard-shadowed jaw and broad shoulders and callused hands, fucking me in his bed. He stared down and I knew he was watching his cock slide in and out of me as he pumped, slowly at first, then faster. I imagined it, his shiny rigid shaft and my clinging asshole stretching to take him.

Griffin picked up the pace, fucking me in earnest now. My world was sweat and lube, stretch and spark, gasp and groan. In, and in, again and again. His hands braced my thighs and I let go of one knee to grab my cock. My fuck-scattered brain didn’t have the coordination to jerk off, but I closed my fist and let Griffin’s pounding rhythm drive my straining dick through my fingers.

Bits of me lit up like a pinball machine, rim and balls, ass and cock, prostate and slit, his touch and mine together in a maelstrom that drove me trembling higher and higher… I tipped off the cliff, shouting without words, spilling pulses of spunk between my fingers. Jizz hit my chest, my beard, my nose. My hands jittered like I’d grasped a live wire.

Griffin began chanting, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” under his breath as he slammed into me. Aftershocks made me writhe and clench. He groaned long and hard and stilled, drilled so deep I almost felt him in my throat. His hips stuttered against my ass and his fingers whitened on my thighs. A drop of sweat rolled off his forehead and landed on my belly as he shuddered.

“Holy shit.” Slowly, Griffin unclenched his hands from my legs. He reached down to hold the condom and eased free of me. I flinched as he left my sensitive asshole, and he reached between us and rubbed the pad of his thumb over my stretched rim in firm circles.

I’d forgotten how he used to do that, easing the twitch and strain that came with being empty. For no good reason, tears prickled in my eyes but I blinked them away. “That was so fucking good.”

He kept rubbing my ass with a comforting touch, his gaze fixed on my face. “I’d forgotten what real sex can feel like.”

“Real? You can’t tell me you haven’t done anal in twenty years.”

“Not real like anal, real like when it means something.”

“Oh.” My brain short-circuited on that.

Griffin grabbed a handful of tissues, wrapped and ditched the condom and wiped us up a bit, then helped me ease my twitching legs down the bed and curled up, tucked in tight to my side.

“I think you broke me,” I murmured. “I still can’t feel my toes.”

“But what a way to go.” Griffin brushed a kiss on my shoulder.

I turned away and let him pull me into the little spoon. It’d been so long since I felt someone was taking care of me, my ridiculous eyes welled up again. Luckily Griffin couldn’t see from behind my back. I pressed his arm to my chest. He set his other hand on my stomach and for once I didn’t worry about what he was noticing, just let the warmth of his palm soak into my skin.

We drifted. Griffin’s breath slowed and coarsened, then he shook his head, his chin rasping the back of my neck. “I’m going to fall asleep if we don’t get up.”

Would that be so bad?

“I’d ask you to stay, but I assume you have to get up for work tomorrow.”

“Yeah, fuck.” I needed clean scrubs and half a dozen other things from home.

Griffin sat up and leaned over to kiss me. “Let’s clean up and watch a movie. Something short. And then maybe there’ll be time for me to blow you before you have to leave.”

So we did that.

When I got home, my body still humming from watching Griffin wrap his lips around my dick, I found Mom in the living room. At least, she wasn’t up doomscrolling or drinking her fifth cup of coffee. This time she’d fallen asleep, looking peaceful slumped in the corner of the couch with Willow on her lap.

I’d have left her there, but she was going to get a horrific crick in her neck. I went and knelt beside her. “Hey, Mom.” I touched her arm gently, then a little harder. “Bedtime, Mom.”

She woke with a start, a hand flailing. Willow meowed and jumped down. Mom immediately sat up, reaching for her. “Willow, sweetheart, sorry.”

The cat paced off toward the kitchen and her food bowl, twitching her tail.

“Oh dear,” Mom said. “I’ve offended her.”

“Don’t worry, food will fix that.” I straightened. “Come on, it’s past our bedtimes.”

Mom let me give her a boost to her feet, then peered up at me. “Did you have a nice date?”

“Yeah, it was good,” I replied before realizing I hadn’t refuted the word date . With the wide smile stretching my cheeks, it was probably too late anyway.

Mom patted my arm. “I’m glad. You deserve to have fun.” She headed toward her bedroom, calling back from the doorway, “By the way, you have something in your beard.”

I flinched, realizing my quick cleanup had clearly not been enough. “Mom! Ew! You didn’t have to say so.”

Her cackle of laughter as she disappeared down the hall was a sound I’d almost forgotten she could make.

Willow reappeared by the kitchen, meowing louder and rubbing against the doorframe.

“What, Your Majesty?” I asked, heading her way. “Is there a square centimeter of empty bowl showing under your kibble?” But as I reached her, and bent to pet her head, I told her, “Thanks for keeping Mom company. You deserve the best tuna treats tonight.”

Willow butted my hand, then turned to lead me to where that travesty of a fractionally empty bowl was waiting.

Once I’d topped up her food and added a tuna treat on top, I headed for the shower and washed the jizz out of my beard and off my thighs. A mental loop of Griffin’s smile and his eyes, the rumble of his voice and his face when he came, kept me grinning despite my wet hair, as I climbed into bed and turned out the light.