Page 75 of The Play

He was . . .Grant realized, with shock, that he was . . .emotional. Close to tears?

Deacon had said it, of course. Had said the words, I love you.

But maybe Grant hadn’t really, truly believed them, not until now. Not until he was faced with the evidence of what his rejection could do to Deacon.

“No, no, no,” Grant said, suddenly ferocious. He grabbed Deacon’s jaw again, ignoring Deacon’s wince, and leaned in.

“You keep sayin’ that word, and it doesn’t exactly fill me with joy.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m gonna do this because of that stupid email. I want you to think I’m doing it ’cause . . .” And this was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Grant wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry with relief. “Because I love you, too. And the more this goes on, the more I believe this isn’t just us losing control or being stupid, but instead, the most fucking inevitable thing in the universe, you being with me.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Grant said and closed the final distance between them.

Their first kiss had been hesitant. Their second desperate.

This one was ravenous.

Deacon’s arms went around his waist and as they devoured each other, he hauled him up and over, onto his lap, like he weighed absolutely nothing.

“God,” Grant moaned as Deacon slid a confident hand right down his back, towards his ass, and hitched him even closer. Was that Deacon’s cock pressed hard against him? It might be. That sent another shot of dizzying lust through him.

Deacon’s head tipped back against the leather seat, and he was smiling in a way Grant had never seen before. He was happy. He was happy. Lighter, too, and more carefree than Grant could remember seeing him.

Except that wasn’t true. He recognized this Deacon, from back in college. He remembered when Deacon would smile at him, just like this, over his statistics textbook.

“Yeah,” Deacon agreed roughly. “We should . . .uh . . .”

But he didn’t get any more words out, because Grant kissed him again, his tongue brushing against Deacon’s as he forever wrecked the line separating them from each other.

It got intense fast, Grant groaning into Deacon’s mouth as they kissed and kissed and lost track of all time.

He’d never thought he could have this—Deacon under him, moaning, hips shifting, trying not to thrust up against Grant, but losing that battle the deeper they got—but he’d imagined it so many times.

It had never felt like this in any of his fantasies.

“We should . . .” Deacon gasped for air, as they finally broke apart. “Go . . .”

“What, you don’t want to have sex in the back of my car? Isn’t that what all good billionaires do?” Grant teased, running his hands up and down Deacon’s chest. It was so firm, the muscles taut underneath his fingertips. He couldn’t wait to touch without this shirt in the way.

He couldn’t wait to trace every muscle with his tongue.

“God, say that again,” Deacon groaned.

“Sex?” Grant’s tone was playful and he was rewarded with another fierce but quick kiss.

“I don’t want to have sex for the first time with you in the back seat of your car,” Deacon clarified. “Wanna spread you out on a bed. Take my time. Been wanting this too long to rush it, now.”

The lust in Deacon’s voice and the love in his eyes were nearly enough to undo Grant. To beg him to do it anyway. To take him now. To push them both and, finally, end this interminable waiting.

“But—”

“No,” Deacon said firmly. “I’m not like any of those boys you’ve probably slept with before. I can control myself.” He grinned wickedly. “Don’t want to, but I can do it.”

“Right, uh, yes,” Grant said, swallowing hard. He’d never been so hot in his whole life. He was sweaty and damp under his collar, and it felt like all it would take was a couple of hard, relentless thrusts of Deacon’s hips to send him right over the edge. Even then, Grant thought it might be the best orgasm of his life.

But Deacon was probably right.

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