Epilogue

EPILOGUE

GIBSON

N o one in New York looks better in a tuxedo than Christian Hayes. The man in black tie is lethal. He’s photographed constantly, and he hates every second of it—both being in a tux and having his picture taken—unless I’m the one holding the camera.

We can’t be late to Jericho’s long-awaited wedding, but blow jobs don’t take that long.

“Baby,” I try to warn him, as he’s fastening his cufflinks.

He flips his hair out of his face and widens his sexy lined eyes when he sees me coming. “No.”

“Please.” I’ve got my hand on his crotch, fondling him already. “Don’t make me hold you down.”

That perks him up. His cock gives a palpable throb. “If you get a single drop of cum on these pants…”

I kiss him while I keep rubbing, working to firm him up. When he starts pressing into my palm, I drop to my knees. “Don’t fuck up my hair, and I’ll make sure you’re nice and clean. ”

“You’re the fucking devil.”

“Forgive me, baby. I married my worst temptation.”

I get to him through the zipper, leaving his cummerbund in place. He grips the edge of the closet dresser where he keeps his watches, cufflinks, pocket squares, and whatever else makes him stylish and insanely photogenic in public. Since he bought his first property, he’s slowly come to embrace the finer things in life—like unsolicited blow jobs just for looking hot as fuck.

My partner in every sense of the word groans as I swallow his dick whole. “ Oh, God… ”

I eye his white-knuckle grip on the dresser then shoot a look up at him. He’s staring down at me, his lips wet and parted, cheeks already flushed. Bobbing my head, I genuinely try to make this quick, but he’s all vanilla spice and salty precum. Better now though than dragging him off somewhere at the wedding, right?

I try to convey my apologies with my forehead and eyes as I slow down to savor the feel of him on my tongue.

“Damnit, babe…that’s perfect. Don’t stop.”

I taste and tease him, edge him so hard he has to squeeze his balls, and then finally let him come in warm gushes on the back of my tongue. I hold him in my mouth, licking him as clean as I can until I’m sure he’s emptied everything, and his knees soften. I catch the backs of his thighs and slowly slide my mouth off him, sucking as I go, keeping my promise.

“Do you need…”

“It’ll take five seconds.” I whip out my erection as I stand, and he kneels for me. The instant my crown hits the flat of his tongue, he wraps his lips around me, and I come with a punched out groan.

I tremble as he returns the favor of making sure nothing spills. It’s not that we don’t have more clothes, it’s more that we’re now running late. We share a quick kiss before heading in separate directions to finish getting ready .

Ten minutes later, we’re walking through the lobby, hand in hand, nodding our good nights to Stone, the doorman on duty. He’s an MMA fighter, which he didn’t have to tell me when I hired him—it was obvious after one look at his ears.

I’ve always liked having muscle on the door. Drew asked me after I hired Stone if I really had no idea I was into men before Christian because I have the best looking doormen.

I told him I’d think about it.

Now that I have, the answer is I do enjoy a good looking man, but I never wanted one to touch me until Christian presented me with the world’s most irresistible package. Looks, wit, wisdom, depth, sex appeal, and eyeliner.

And the truth is, good looking men are a dime a dozen in this town. Christian is one in a million.

Jericho and Joe’s wedding is at a venue downtown near Wall Street. With some of the sexual tension gone, Christian and I talk about the hotel chain idea we’ve been tossing around and which neighborhood would best suit the flagship location since we’re driving through nearly every single one in Manhattan.

I twirl his wedding ring around his finger as we take turns shooting down each other’s ideas. It’s how we work best. Like the blow job earlier. He said no, but I talked him into it. It’s the dynamic we settled on, and I love it. If I’m not mistaken, so does he.

I straighten his tie in the elevator—not because it’s crooked, but because it’s what I do. He “fixes” my hair for the same reason. When the doors slide open on the reception area, we’re side by side, holding hands and perfectly polished.

I spot Jeremy immediately as he’s recently dyed his hair platinum blond. He waves at us, and we approach, but we’re stopped—or I am, by a hand on my chest. “What are you doing here?”

I stare at Fischer. “Same to you.”

“Jericho’s my editor. ”

“No shit?”

He laughs. “Small world.”

Christian and Matthew are already hugging in greeting, huge smiles on both their faces. Now that the two aren’t legally brothers, but are legally wed, Fischer and Matthew are as out as Christian and I are. Although, they don’t technically go out nearly as much, which makes this an even more pleasant surprise. It turns out however, that the world is only as small as the Upper East Side. Matthew knows Christian’s entire friend group, which I suppose belongs to me now, too.

Elodie is the first degree by which most of us are separated. Socialites.

It’s not until after the beautiful ceremony that I see someone I’m not as happy to see.

I tug Christian’s sleeve to get his attention while he listens to Olivier explain what he’s about to eat.

I nod my head in the direction of the darkly handsome man at the next table. “Is that…?”

Christian snaps his fingers at Drew and points. Subtle. They share a look, then they both look back over at Silas who gives them a passing glance and resumes his conversation with the woman on his left whose hand he’s holding on top of the table.

“I thought he was gay gay.” I say thoughtlessly.

“He is,” Christian says. “She must be?—”

He shuts up when Silas presses a kiss to the woman’s mouth, and she smiles up at him adoringly. I recognize her. The daughter of an investment banker I’ve done business with in the past. Christian puts this together at the same time I do. But that’s not what has him confused.

“He’s gonna pretend like he doesn’t know me? That’s rude. I got him his job.”

The fallout from Marianne’s release of the senator’s sex life caught on camera ultimately resulted in Silas losing his job for sleeping with one of the residents in the building where he worked.

He works part-time nights at The Eastmoor now, but none of that explains how he’s at this wedding at that particular table. Or acting like his best friends don’t exist.

“Are you going to speak with him?” I ask Chris.

He watches the pair thoughtfully for a long moment. “I’ll hold off.”

“He looks nice,” I offer.

“You just have a thing for men in tuxes. Eyes on me, babe. Now what the hell is on my plate, and how do I eat it?”

“Just go for it,” I tell him. “When in doubt, spit it out.”

He laughs.

“I hate weddings,” Drew says. “You barely get to see the person you came to see—and if you’re the one getting married, you get about two seconds to talk to everyone before you have to go make a toast or smile for a picture or shake someone else’s hand.”

“Our wedding had like thirty people,” Olivier says.

“And do you remember any of it?”

“I remember the important parts.”

“We didn’t even get to eat,” Drew complains.

“How many people were at your wedding?” Olivier asks us. “Two, three thousand?”

I laugh. “Four hundred.”

“Give or take.” Christian adds.

“How many of them felt like they got to talk to you?” Drew asks.

“Twenty maybe,” I say. “But they were the important ones. And I loved that day.”

Christian abandons trying to figure out the crab leg creation on his plate and slings an arm around my shoulders. “I get what you mean, though,” he says to Drew. “Like where’s JeriJoe?”

“Hopefully eating.” Drew says .

“I don’t see how,” Christian grumbles.

“Would you like me to feed you?”

He gives me a look that might as well be a hand down my pants. “I’d love that.”

It’s like the entire world disappears sometimes. When I look into those bright blue eyes filled with unshakeable devotion, sometimes I can barely remember to breathe. His fingers brush the back of my neck.

His grin is amused. “You okay?”

“You’re beyond perfect,” I say.

I love the way those eyes soften when I turn into a mess for him. It still gets me right in the gut—the man I was when we traveled together to Rome—emotionally abandoned, chained to a life I hated, loyal to a fault to a woman who wanted me for the security I was able to provide but not the love I was dying to give.

So much has changed for both of us since that trip, but I still find Christian to be the most interesting person in any room. He still makes me laugh and maintains the ability to make me tell him things I’ve never told anyone. The keeper of my secrets, the owner of my heart. The safe space no amount of money could have bought.

“Are you always like this at weddings?” he asks.

“I can’t recall ever being happy at a wedding other than ours.”

“Let me take you for a walk. I swear I won’t do anything to ruin your hair.”

“I don’t think I’d mind if you did.”

Christian rises. “We’re going to the bar. Anyone need anything?”

“Wine,” Larry says. “Bottles of it.”

“You got it.” Christian takes my hand and leads me away. I notice Silas watching us, but when he sees we’re not coming for him, he turns back to the banker’s daughter with a bright smile—the opposite of his cautious stare.

Christian passes the bar, and we walk through a set of open doors onto a landscaped terrace with a view of both bridges that cross the East River. The spring air is crisp and cool, and the sun has nearly set.

“Breathe,” he says as he turns to face me and take my other hand.

I take a long, deep breath for him. “I’m fine.”

Sinatra comes on the sound system, and Christian gives me a grin. “Perfect. I was ready to skip to the dancing anyway. May I?”

“Of course,” I tell him, pulling him into a dance frame. He let me teach him how to dance during the run up to our wedding, and he’s naturally graceful, so it’s always a pleasure, and we do it more often than most normal couples probably do.

Tonight, we fall into a simple foxtrot and get a few glances from other wayward guests, but I’m assuming it’s because we’re so smooth together and look amazing in our tuxedos.

“What’s the first thing you think of when you think of our wedding?” he asks.

There were so many memorable moments. Fischer’s toast. Jericho’s open weeping. My mom and dad’s ridiculous Greek line dance. Our first dance to Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah which meant more to both of us than we could explain to anyone who questioned the choice. I’ll grant it was unconventional.

What I actually remember first, though, when I think of that night, was the kiss, which of all our kisses, I remember with perfect clarity.

He’d reached for me. He’d slid his left hand with my ring on it over my cheek, gripped my head and met my parted lips with his. When I felt the smooth glide of his tongue, he effectively erased all my fears that I’d let my heart lead me down another wrong path.

He was right there with me—wanting me exactly as much as I wanted him.

“You kissed me with tongue in front of four hundred people.”

“You kissed me with tongue. ”

We change directions, and I shake my head. “Why do you ask?”

“I remember how scared I was Fischer was gonna try to talk you out of it.”

I laugh. “He was pushing me down the aisle. Seriously. What do you remember?”

“I am being serious. I was terrified I’d be standing there in front of all those people, and you’d call it off. There was a part of me that thought—he couldn’t possibly want to do this again. Honestly, everything after I saw your face was a blur.”

“Had I given you some reason to doubt?” I ask.

“No, of course not. But I don’t know that I could have gone through what you went through and ever want to willingly put myself in that position again.”

“What can I say? I’m an optimist.”

“Don’t minimize.”

“What do you want me to say?” I ask.

“That you were as scared as I was.”

“I was,” I say honestly. “Not that you wouldn’t be there because Matty texted me every five minutes to tell me you were, but that I’d rushed you into it or hadn’t stopped to consider whether it was what you really wanted.”

“That you somehow dominated me into marrying you?”

“Something like that.”

“I like doing what you want,” he reminds me with a small, sexy smile.

“I love being what you need.” I lean in, slowing our steps and caressing his cheek with the hand that was on his waist. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I think in all this life that keeps churning along we get these little moments—like this one—that shine as bright as the fifteen stars we can see from this city. But love is like the galaxy holding them all together. Like you can’t always see it, but you know it’s there. And it goes on forever. ”

He’s never quite as articulate as the poetry he writes, but that was damn close. And I know exactly what he means. “In case I haven’t told you lately, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The song comes to an end, and he presses his lips to mine. “I’ll let you know if I ever get sick of hearing it, but spoiler alert: it won’t be anytime soon.”