35. Gibson

35

GIBSON

I ’m not reassured that Christian wants me here, but since I made the trip, and we’re off to a rocky start for reasons I haven’t figured out, I want to be open with him about where I’m at and let him decide how he wants to deal with our situation. I’m clear on what I want—I want to stay, to keep seeing him, to go even deeper with him. But I’m well aware he didn’t sign up for that.

However, we are different. Closer. Bordering on inseparable. Still, I don’t want to suffocate him. “At the risk of saying something that might make you want to call this quits, I’m developing feelings for you.”

“That doesn’t make me want to call it off,” he says quickly. “At all.”

“It seemed like it might, given what you’ve said about not wanting anything serious.”

“Your feelings are serious?”

I want to look at him, but I’m too nervous to see his face. “They’re developing. And to be honest, sometimes they feel serious and sometimes they feel stupid.”

“How do they feel right now? ”

“Good, honestly,” I tell him. “I feel good about you.”

“Seriously?” Christian almost laughs.

The sound pulls a smile from me. “Yeah. I like you like this. When your walls are down.”

“Do I have walls?”

“Of steel,” I say.

“I wish,” he replies. “And you’re a fucking battering ram anyway, so they don’t help much around you.”

“Admittedly, I can be persistent. But you are, too.”

In my peripheral vision, I notice he’s facing me. If I turned my head, I’d be looking into his eyes.

“I was just thinking this feels sort of real here,” he says. “Like couple real.”

“I’m perfectly fine with plus one status,” I say. “But when it comes to you, I…” The sudden softness in my knees feels like I’m staring down from an extreme height and contemplating falling. Not jumping, necessarily, but slipping. “I’m not always rational. I know I’ve crossed countless lines.”

“I waved you over,” he says.

“And I came running.”

“I’m not complaining, Gibson.”

“You’re not thinking of seeing other people are you?” I ask.

When it takes him longer than two seconds to respond, I finally look at him, registering the confusion on his face.

“Where did that come from?” he asks.

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“No. Where—why would you ask that? And when would I have time?”

I feel a piece of my soul chipping away when I respond, “If you asked for time, you’d have it.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to feel trapped,” I admit.

“You want me to see other people?”

An involuntary grunt escapes me at the thought of someone else touching him. Man or woman. Someone else kissing him or hearing his sighs. “No,” I say quickly. “I don’t.”

“I’m not, and I don’t want to either, so I don’t get why you would ask that.”

“Because it keeps me up at night, Christian,” I more or less snap. “When I wake up with you not where you’re supposed to be, I wish I’d taken the time to put a fucking tracker on your phone.”

His eyes widen.

“Does that answer your question?”

“It answers a lot of my questions.”

“I pay you, I house you, I do my best to satisfy you—you’re mine . At least…now. This weekend. Today .”

“No argument here,” he says.

His compliance is suspect. “No?”

“You wanna keep me in a cage, too?”

“It’s occurred to me,” I admit.

A small smile brightens his features, and I relax a fraction. “I feel like I’m more useful to you without bars between us,” he says.

“I don’t disagree.”

“I think about us a lot. When we’re together and when we’re not,” he tells me.

“And?”

“I like what’s happening here. I get what you mean, in terms of feelings. I really like you, and for what it’s worth, I’m not worried about more feelings. Like I’m not trying not to have any—they’re here, and like you said, it feels good and different, and fun, honestly. I look forward to you.”

His words get me in the chest. It’s the nicest thing I’ve heard in years, and from someone I’m as intimate with as I have been with him, it means everything .

“But I worry about you, too,” he adds.

That pulls me up short. “Why? About what? ”

“Like when we’re not together, are you okay? Because if you hadn’t come with me, I’d be a mess.”

I try to dismiss that with a shake of my head. “You’re never a mess.”

“I beg to differ. I know I drool.”

“That’s fucking gorgeous, though.”

“Jesus. Look, it might not seem like it, because I do better writing my thoughts than speaking them, but I’m not looking to worm my way out of this if that’s what you’re worried about. Fuck what Drew says, or even what I told you before—I’m into you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure?”

He smirks. “Today, yeah.”

I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I grab him by the arm and pull him toward me. He climbs onto my lap and kisses me hard enough to lay me out on the bed.

I grip his head and open my mouth, letting his tongue sweep in. He moans softly and shoves his hands into my hair. Before I get hard, I turn my head slightly and hold him in place. “You sure you want to get into this with your friends waiting for you?”

“It can wait—I just wanted to kiss you. I liked what you said.”

“I liked what you said, too.” Granted, we’re not masters of communication, but I do think we got somewhere. That we’re getting somewhere. It remains a mystery to both of us, I guess, where our relationship is heading, but at least I know we’re both happy with where it’s at. “So…sex or sangria?”

He sighs. “Sangria. But I reserve the right to change my mind.”

“Come here, baby.” I wrap my arms around him more affectionately and draw him back to my mouth. We share another kiss and a long embrace. “Don’t leave my sight,” I tell him.

Christian buries his face in my neck and murmurs, “Why would I ever want to do that?”

The weather couldn’t be better in the lively outdoor kitchen. A nice breeze makes the eighty-seven degrees tolerable while the sun beats down on the sparkling pool. I have Christian next to me on one of the sofas, which are clustered in a seating area where Drew is still shirtless in those obscene swim shorts with his legs stretched out across from me. He’s sipping sangria and keeping an amused eye on Olivier.

For his part, Olivier is being patient as Elodie Lafayette twists and tugs his dark curls into a hairdo that looks like it will end up being an elaborate bun, which, no coincidence is how her hair is styled.

“Should I keep going?” she asks, turning Olivier’s head so he’s facing Drew, whose eyes light up with a grin.

“Yeah,” he says. “Love that angel face.”

“It’s giving me a headache,” Olivier says.

“Drink,” Elodie commands, and he does.

The container of sangria is gigantic, and it’s probably the best I’ve ever had. I’m on my second glass, and it’s doing the trick of giving me that lazy summer day feeling I haven’t felt in I don’t know how long.

People think rich people have it so great, and we do, I guess, in terms of the trappings of the good life. But feelings like this are as fleeting as they are for anyone else, I imagine. Perfect little moments where everything feels as right as it can possibly be—maybe better.

Christian leans against my side, and I put my arm around him. His hand rests on my abdomen, and I catch the look Drew gives us. There’s no judgment in it, only a careful assessment, a little of me, but mostly his friend. When our eyes meet again, I smile at him, and he nods, but there’s a question there, too.

Something along the lines of what are you doing, dude?

I wish I knew. I wish it were as simple as having fun, or getting away, or even falling in love, but it may be everything and nothing all at once .

Jericho and Mallory are playing volleyball in the pool with Joe and Jeremy. Larry, who’s closest to my age at forty, is in a loud Hawaiian shirt and white linen pants behind the outdoor kitchen island where I get the feeling he’s managing some work crisis with his attention on his phone and aggressive texting.

“If they ever finish, I’d love to get in the pool,” Christian says.

Drew looks over his shoulder as Mallory squeals when the volleyball lands, causing a big splash to her face.

Joe fist pumps the air in honor of his scoring spike. From what I can tell, the men are crushing the women.

“You about done getting your asses handed to you?” Drew calls out, and Elodie laughs.

Her bikini isn’t much more than a series of tiny triangles covering her lady bits, and there’s almost no chance that we won’t be seeing most of her once she’s in the water.

“Come help us out if you can move in those shorty shorts,” Jericho replies from the pool.

“They were a gift.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

Olivier laughs, and Drew glares at him. “It’s fashion!” he tries to defend himself. “And they look amazing.”

“They’re not comfortable,” Drew says.

“Neither is having a string up your ass,” Elodie says.

“Is it worth it, though?”

“If you’re asking about the swimsuit, the answer is a hundred percent yes,” she says, winking at him.

They go on.

Christian’s been quiet since we came down to join the others, and I assume this is why. The easy banter the others share—the inside jokes, the familiarity. It’s interesting that without several shots of tequila powering him, he’s more reserved in their presence.

“Are you wishing you hadn’t chosen sangria?” I ask him quietly .

He glances up at me. “Is it that obvious?”

“Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“It’s not really that dirty,” he says. “I just wanna make out and see what happens.”

“I can tell you what would happen. Or I could show you.”

“Go hide, then. I’ll come looking for you.”

“That’s how you wanna do this? We’re all adults.”

“That’s how I wanna do it. But don’t actually hide.”

“I won’t, but you’re welcome to find me.” I give him a quick kiss before rising from the sofa and excusing myself to make a call.

“Why’re you being so quiet?” I hear Elodie ask as I’m going into the house.

“Am I?” Christian asks.

I’m inside before I hear the rest, but at least I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

When he gets to the bedroom ten or so minutes later, I can’t keep myself from asking about it even as he’s climbing onto the bed to get to me. “You sure you’re okay?”

He buries his face in my neck again, inhaling deeply before kissing it. “Fine,” he says as he straddles my body. “Just wanted to be closer.”

It does diabolical things to me when he’s sweet. This is how I always thought of him before. Sweet. Polite. Deferential. Poised.

“Much closer,” he sighs just before his mouth connects with mine. He tastes of spiced wine and fresh air. So delicious. I flip him over immediately and kiss him harder. Deeper. Christ, I want him.

I move my mouth down his throat and lower, pushing up his t-shirt and exposing his nipples. I lick one and tug at it with my lips before sucking hard.

“God, yeah.” He strips off his shirt as I kiss my way down his abs.

The tip of his cock meets my chin, trying to fight its way out of his shorts. Those are the next things to go. I want to taste every hidden inch of him. He unleashes a shuddering moan as I suck his cock to my throat, wetting his length with swirls of my tongue.

“Inside me,” he whispers urgently. “Inside me. Please.”

Pained because I want to take my time, but also primed to please him, I slide my mouth off him and rise to kiss his lips. One arm at a time, I move them over his head and pin his wrists together. With my other hand, I reach for the nightstand where we put the condoms and lube only to discover it was already stocked. Such thoughtful hosts.

“No condom,” Christian says. “Please?”

“Are you sure?”

He locks eyes with me and nods. “I want all of you.”