Eleven

"Do you know how fuckin' hard itis to keep my hands off you?" Donovan asked Tate when they walked into the house shortly after dropping Reilly and Brady off.

"How hard?" Tate asked, opening the refrigerator.

Since an answer was impossible to put into words, Donovan changed the subject, coming to stand behind Tate, sliding his arms around him. "I know you can't possibly be hungry."

Tate leaned into him. "I'm a growin' boy, don't you know?"

Donovan leaned down and pressed his nose to the crook of Tate's neck. "Which part of you is growin' right this second?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Oh, yeah. This was where he wanted to be. Home, with Tate in his arms, feeling the warmth of his body against him. The only thing better would've been if they were both naked. Based on the banter, he knew it wouldn't be long before that became a reality.

Tate tilted his head back, looking at Donovan. "Do you know how much I hate tuna casserole?"

Donovan laughed, releasing him and stepping back. "Seriously?"

Tate's eyes rounded as though he couldn't believe he'd admitted it.

"She's made it at least once a week for—Shit. Since I was a kid. And you're just speakin' up now?"

Tate nodded, and the look on his face was priceless. "Don't tell your mom. Oh, please, Donovan. Don't tell her."

He wouldn't dream of it, but he figured Tate didn't need to know that. "You don't want her to know?"

He shook his head. "It's not her cookin'. She's a fabulous cook. Amazing, actually."

"Layin' it on a bit thick, don't you think?"

"I love almost everything she makes, but warm tuna is nasty."

Donovan grinned, looking at Tate as though seeing him for the first time. He'd done that many times over the past few weeks as he learned the little things. Like how Tate preferred to wear socks to bed because his feet got cold. Or how he brushed his teeth twice in the mornings—once when he woke up and again after he ate. Or how on Saturday afternoons, when he finally woke up after working all night, he would eat cereal and watch cartoons because that was something he'd always done with Reilly.

The man was fucking adorable, and Donovan found he couldn't get enough of him.

"You want me to make you somethin'?" Donovan offered, giving him space to peruse the refrigerator.

Tate sighed and closed the door. "No. I had enough cornbread to tide me over for a month." He turned around. "But dessert would be nice."

There wasn't a hint of suggestion in Tate's tone, but that was somehow all Donovan heard.

He waited until Tate rounded the kitchen island. "I can think of somethin' I want for dessert."

Tate's expression was still intent when he looked up at Donovan. "Do we have any—" His eyes widened. "Oh."

Donovan closed the gap between them, then lifted Tate onto the counter.

"It shouldn't be that easy for you to do that," Tate said with a huff.

"What's that? Make you stop thinkin' about food?"

"No. Liftin' me up like I'm a kid."

Donovan stepped between his legs. "Trust me when I say there's nothin' kid-like about you."

Tate hummed softly when Donovan kissed him.

Donovan slipped his hands beneath Tate's shirt, gripping his sides as he worked his way up his torso, lifting the shirt as he went. He loved touching this man, feeling his muscles flex and shift beneath his fingers. When he wasn't touching him, he was thinking about it. Enough that it disrupted his train of thought more often than not. He thought for sure that would've only lasted for a brief time, but they'd been living together for several weeks now, and with every passing minute, Tate plagued his thoughts even more. He figured one day he would be able to focus again, but for now, he was enjoying the distraction.

He managed to strip Tate's shirt off him, tossing it to the floor.

Tate shivered.

"Cold?"

"A little."

"Hmm. If there were only a way to fix that," he said as he leaned down and sucked one of Tate's nipples.

Tate gasped, planting his palms flat on the counter and leaning back, making it easier for Donovan to nibble and suck on the little brown disc.

He slid his hands up Tate's back and curled them over his shoulders, supplying him with a little body heat while he drew several ragged groans out of him. Donovan lifted his head, pulling Tate to the edge of the counter so he could seal his lips over Tate's. When Tate's fingers teased through his hair, he felt tingles dancing down his spine.

"I want to lick you from head to toe," he told Tate. "And then I want to start over and do it again."

"What's stoppin' you?"

"Someone said they were cold."

"And if I'm not mistaken, your body heat is more than enough to warm me up."

Tate talked a good game, but he shivered again, and Donovan was almost positive his teeth were chattering. Yeah, he kept it relatively cool in the house, but it wasn't that cold. Or maybe he was more worked up than Tate. He reached between Tate's legs, dragging his knuckles over the hard outline of his dick. No, that didn't seem to be the problem.

When Tate shivered again, Donovan stood up. He grabbed Tate's hand and urged him down from the counter, dragging him through the house to the sauna room. They'd used this room more in the past few weeks than Donovan had the entire time he'd lived in the house.

He'd had it custom-built at the back of the house so that it was accessible from inside as well as outside. The smallest part of the room was meant as a changing area for when he had guests who wanted to enjoy the pool. There was a vanity with a sink and mirror and a large closet on one wall where he kept towels and various pool items. Because he wasn't a small man, Donovan had designed the sauna large—a ten by twelve enclosed space—giving him plenty of room to lay down for those times when he wanted to relax fully.

Of course, relaxing wasn't really an option around Tate. Donovan was primed and ready damn near every minute of every day. He'd spent his entire life—all thirty-nine years so far—enjoying sex, but never to the point he craved it. With Tate, he couldn't think of much else.

"Get undressed," Donovan told Tate after opening the door to the sauna.

While Tate did that, Donovan went to the control panel to turn on the heater, letting it warm up. It wouldn't take long, and since they would be generating their own heat soon enough, it wouldn't matter.

After grabbing a couple of towels and stripping down to his birthday suit, Donovan joined Tate, pulling the door closed to seal in the warmth. The first few times they'd come in here, Donovan had kept his hands to himself, not wanting to overwhelm Tate. That had lasted about a week before Tate confronted him, revealing his equally desperate need to be with him. They were still playing catch-up and probably would for at least the next … oh, say, ten years or so. That might do it.

Tonight, Donovan offered no pretense that this was anything more than a seduction technique.

He joined Tate on the wooden bench that formed an oversized U, running the length of three walls. It was deep enough to lay down on comfortably, so he moved to sit behind Tate, leaning back and urging Tate to do the same.

Neither of them spoke as the space began to heat; they just sat there in silence, enjoying simply being. He progressed to massaging Tate's shoulders and back, turned on by the sight of his hands moving over Tate's skin.

When sweat began to form on his brow, Donovan tightened his arms around Tate. "Warming up?"

Tate nodded, relaxing against him.

Donovan kissed Tate's shoulder, then let his lips glide up the side of his neck. It only took a second before Tate was fully relaxed, his head tilted, allowing Donovan to lick and suck on his neck. Tate was so sensitive, so responsive. His soft moans grew heavier as the air warmed. Tate's hands began to slide over Donovan's legs, slowly at first but becoming more frantic as Donovan continued to heat him up.

"So what else do you pretend to like but secretly don't?"

Tate groaned. "Please don't tell your mom I—"

He reached around Tate's shoulder, pressing against his jaw to turn Tate's head toward him. "I won't," he said as he pressed a kiss to his lips, smiling as he did. "I just want to know your secrets."

"Mmm," Tate mumbled against his mouth before turning around completely and straddling Donovan's legs. "I can tell you, I definitely like the sauna."

"Yeah?" He slid his hands along Tate's thighs, moving to his hips. He dipped his thumbs into the crease at his torso, teasing him lightly as he pulled him closer.

"Mm-hmm." Tate sighed, resting his elbows on Donovan's shoulders and leaning forward, pressing his forehead to Donovan's.

Unable to keep his hands still, Donovan explored, letting his fingers glide gently along the contours of Tate's back and shoulders. The guy was small in stature, but he was built like a brick shithouse. More than once, Donovan had outlined those hard planes and rigid angles with his tongue.

"Besides tuna casserole, what else do you pretend to like?"

"Asparagus," Tate said, his fingertips brushing the head of Donovan's dick.

"Doesn't count. Everyone pretends to like that shit. What else?"

Tate chuckled. "Those war documentaries your dad likes."

Donovan grinned. He happened to find them interesting but to each his own.

"And…?" Donovan figured there had to be more.

"The scent of those laundry beads that Reilly likes. On her clothes, it smells fine. On mine, it smells like cheap perfume."

Donovan gritted his teeth as Tate continued to tease his cock, using his thumbs to massage the head.

"What else?" he grunted.

Tate lifted his head, meeting Donovan's gaze in the dimly lit room. "I promise, I don't make a habit of pretending to like things."

"No?" Donovan slid his hands up Tate's back, hooking his fingers over his shoulders, pulling him even closer.

Tate shook his head.

"Then tell me why you won't marry me."

Tate swallowed hard. Donovan felt his muscles tense, but he didn't let him go. They'd had this conversation only a couple of times since Donavan first asked. He accepted that it had been fast, but he didn't regret asking. He wanted to marry Tate. Hell, he would do it tomorrow if the guy was willing to go to the Justice of the Peace. Since the man had yet to give him an answer—positive or negative—he suspected there was a deeper issue.

"I'm not—"

"Don't lie."

Tate frowned.

"Answer me this. Do you want to get married one day?"

"Yes."

"To me?"

"Yes."

"That was easy."

"You're not the problem," Tate said with a sigh.

Donovan hugged him tighter, wanting Tate to know he wasn't pressuring him. He was genuinely trying to understand. "Is the problem somethin' I can fix?"

Tate held his stare for what felt like an eternity. When he finally spoke, his words dripped with despondency. "I don't want a wedding."

Donovan frowned. "Okay. Who said you had to have one?"

He shrugged. "Your family's all excited that Reilly's gettin' married. They're pickin' out dresses and napkins and shit."

"And you don't want dresses and napkins and shit?"

Tate laughed, just as Donovan hoped he would.

"I don't want to stand up in front of a bunch of people."

"Then we won't."

"But what about you?" Tate's eyes were warm. "Don't you want that?"

Donovan pulled back enough that he could look Tate in the eye. "I want you. Forever. However, I can get you."

"You say it like it's been months, not weeks."

"Do you need me to set a timer? I will. How long should I set it for? A month? Two? Ten? At what point will you know you want to spend the rest of your life with me?" He tilted his head. "Because I'm already there, Tate. If I could tell you how it happened, I would. I just know that bein' with you … it makes me happy in ways I've never felt before."

"When you say shit like that, it seems so simple."

"I love you," Donovan whispered. "If you need me to wait six months or a year, I will. If you wanna wait five years, we'll keep doin' what we're doin'. But marriage is important to me. For the sole fact that I want the world to know who you belong to."

Tate's eyes were misty, and Donovan's chest clenched.

"I want that, too."

"We don't have to have a big wedding. We can go to the Justice of the Peace, find someone to stand in as a witness. Or we can take Reilly and Brady with us. Or hell, we can go to Vegas." Donovan laughed. "Reilly'll be pissed, but I'm sure she'll get over it."

"Can we take Reilly and Brady with us to Vegas?"

Donovan could tell he was teasing but answered with a heartfelt "Yes."

Tate laughed. "She really would be pissed."

"Knowin' Reilly, she'll finagle a double wedding so the two of you can share the same anniversary," Donovan told him.

"She would."

Donovan cupped his face, still holding his gaze. "I don't need a wedding, either. But there is one thing I want."

Tate's eyebrows lifted. "Anything."

"I want you to take my name."

Donovan gave Tate a moment for that to sink in before he explained. No, it wasn't common for same-sex couples to take one name or the other. Some hyphenated, others merely kept their own. But Donovan didn't care what other people did. He wanted what he wanted, and this was important to him.

"You've been an honorary member of our family for as long as either of us can remember. Let's make it official."

This time, tears formed, and he worried he'd overstepped. But then Tate lurched forward, crushing his mouth to Donovan's.

"Yes," Tate whispered against his lips.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I'll marry you."

Donovan's entire chest expanded, and suddenly, the room seemed brighter and the air fresher.

"Really?"

Tate nodded. "I love you."

"Jesus," he rasped and pulled Tate into him, holding him tight as he kissed him hard and deep. They were both panting hard by the time they pulled apart, and the temperature was soaring, not entirely because of the steam.

"Anything else you only pretend to like?"

Tate shook his head.

"So you do like havin' my cock inside you?"

Tate's lips parted in a silent sigh, his eyes glassy. "Definitely."

Thank God for that because Donovan couldn't spend another minute without being buried balls deep inside this man.

"Fuckin' you deep and slow?"

Tate nodded.

"Prove it." Donovan grabbed the bottle of lube he'd brought with him. He placed it in Tate's hand. There was a desperation to his movements, although he was attempting to rein himself in. He wanted to be inside this man. He wanted to be joined as one so Tate could feel everything Donovan was feeling.

Tate continued to hold his stare as he opened the bottle and poured the liquid into his hand. He used both hands to slick Donovan's cock, going slow, his eyes still glistening. The moment certainly hadn't passed, but Donovan wanted to be one with him. And he couldn't wait another second.

"Do you prefer bein' on me or under me?" Donovan asked, simply because he liked knowing Tate's preferences.

"Both."

Donovan smiled. "Good answer."

"Which position do you like the least?"

Tate smiled, leaning forward. "The one when you're not inside me."

Donovan laughed, the sound echoing around the enclosure.

"Come here, then," he said, holding onto Tate as he turned to stretch his legs out on the bench. He released Tate so he could extend his arms out behind him, putting his palms flat on the bench.

Tate shifted one leg out from under him, stretching it out forward.

"Put me inside you, Tate," Donovan growled. "Now."

Propping himself on his knee, Tate guided Donovan's cock between his legs, pressing the head firmly against his anus. He lowered himself slowly, Donovan's cock sliding in slowly, filling Tate inch by inch. As he sank down on him, Tate pulled his other leg out from under him and stretched it out until they were in a see-saw position, facing one another.

Donovan's stomach muscles clenched as the pleasure tore through him. It wasn't simply being inside Tate that did it for him. It was looking at him, seeing the way his eyes glazed and his lips parted as the pleasure consumed him, too.

Tate planted his hands behind him on Donovan's knees for leverage and began to rock forward and back, fucking himself on Donovan's cock.

"God, Tate," Donovan hissed. "I love watchin' you fuck me."

So he did, admiring the flex and shift of Tate's muscles as he took his pleasure from him. The way his cock bobbed proudly, untouched by either of them. He took his time, never rushing, as the ecstasy simmered and glowed hot.

Thankfully, the timer ran out on the heater, and it clicked off. The room was a thousand degrees, and they were only creating more heat as Tate fucked him.

"Stop," Donovan said, sitting up straight and grabbing Tate's hips.

When Tate's arms went around his neck, Donovan grabbed his ass and turned, putting his feet on the floor. He stood, still lodged deep inside Tate. As soon as they stepped outside the sauna, they were blasted with cooler air. Donovan didn't make it farther than the vanity counter. He propped Tate on it, grabbing under his knees, pushing his legs back to change the angle. He began pumping his hips, fucking in deep and slow.

When the pleasure became too much, he stopped again, this time carrying Tate into their bedroom. His cock dislodged when he set Tate on the bed. He didn't waste time joining him. He paused briefly to kiss him, to taste the man's sweet surrender.

"Please," Tate groaned against his mouth. "I need you inside me."

Donovan rolled to his back and reached for the pump bottle on the nightstand, needing more lube for what he had in store for Tate next. He tucked a pillow under his head, then drizzled more lube over his cock, hissing at the chill.

"Ride my cock," he growled roughly as he tossed the bottle aside.

When Tate started to straddle him again, Donovan shook his head. "Turn around."

Tate's eyebrows popped, and a smile contorted his mouth. He liked this position, and Donovan knew it.

Tate faced away from him, straddling his hips and sitting on his dick. Donovan grabbed Tate's ass, spreading his cheeks wide, easing him down, watching as his cock slowly sank into the heated bliss of Tate's body.

"Oh, fuck yes," he hissed. "Take all of me, Tate."

Donovan guided Tate up and down, unable to look away from the erotic sight of his cock disappearing inside Tate. When the lightning storm erupted in his spine, he drove himself deep inside Tate and pulled him down, his chest to Tate's back. In this position, Donovan's lips were near Tate's ear. He curled his arms around him, flattening his palms on Tate's chest and slowly running them down, over his stomach, his hips.

"You're so tight," he whispered, holding Tate's hips and thrusting up into him. "So fuckin' hot."

They'd stopped using condoms, and Donovan found the sensation damn near addictive.

Tate gripped Donovan's forearms to keep from rocking off of him.

"I can't get enough of you," Donovan told him.

"I love you," Tate hissed, trying to impale himself on Donovan's cock.

"Say it again. Tell me you'll marry me."

"I'll marry … oh … fuck … yes, I'll marry you."

It wasn't enough.

Donovan wrapped one arm around his waist and rolled until Tate was face down on the mattress. He covered the smaller man, planting his hands on the bed to hold himself up. He fucked into him, deeper than before. He tried to go slow, but it felt too good. He fucked him into the mattress, reveling in the sensations that wracked his entire body.

"Donovan … oh, fuck. I'm gonna come."

He took that as his cue, driving into him faster, harder, deeper. He drove himself right to that mind-bending precipice.

Donovan leaned down and pressed his lips to Tate's ear. His words came out in a rough growl. "Come for me, little boy. Come so I can fill this tight little ass."

"Oh, fuck … yes!" Tate cried out, his ass milking Donovan's dick as he surged headlong into ecstasy.

Tate cried out his name as Donovan exploded inside him, Tate's ass clenching as he bucked and trembled beneath him.

***

Completely sated and gasping for air, Tatefought to catch his breath.

"It's your turn to wash the comforter," he told Donovan, his words slurred from exhaustion.

Donovan laughed. "Why bother? I'm just gonna make you come again in a little while."

Did it make him a sex addict because he was hoping that was true? Tate would swear that each encounter was hotter than the last.

As happened almost every time, Donovan threw an arm over him and pulled Tate close so they were touching from knee to chest, with Donovan spooning behind him.

"Were you serious about Vegas?" Tate asked when he could string more than a couple of words together.

"Do you wanna get married in Vegas?"

Did he?"Yes," he said confidently. "But can I talk to Reilly and get back to you?"

Although he was pretty sure Reilly had been teasing about eloping in Vegas, he needed to make sure that was the case before Tate went and made plans to do it. Plus, she would be upset if he didn't tell her he'd finally agreed to marry Donovan. She knew the reason, but she promised not to mention anything to Donovan. She'd kept her word, but that was Reilly for you.

"Sure." Donovan kissed him on the cheek before pulling away. "But keep in mind, if she decides she wants a double wedding in Vegas, my parents will insist on bein' there."

Tate rolled to his back, watching as Donovan walked toward the bathroom. The man was sin on a freaking stick. Literally, he was the hottest thing on two legs. It still shocked him to know that Donovan Jameson wanted him. No, he didn't just want him, he loved him. Although Tate was having issues reconciling the timeline, he believed Donovan when he said the words. He would have to be crazy not to want to marry the guy.

"Shower with me," Donovan called from the bathroom. "Then you can call Reilly while I make you a cherry turnover."

His favorite.

Tate squeezed his eyes shut and smiled so wide it was a wonder his face didn't split.

He wouldn't be merely crazy not to marry the guy, he would be a flipping idiot.