Page 96 of The Play

“We are gonna do it again. But together, next time,” Grant promised. “I’ve cleared my evening. It’s yours.”

“You have no idea how much I love the sound of that,” Deacon said softly.

Grant had an idea.

“I want you. I love you,” Grant said, feeling soft and boneless as he came down from his orgasm. Not worrying so much about what he should and shouldn’t say.

Deacon chuckled like he knew exactly what Grant was thinking. “Yeah? Me too.”

“This is good, isn’t it?”

“Well, I sure don’t feel like it’s bad,” Deacon teased. “If it was, we might need to change things up. But I’d be okay with that.”

“I mean . . .us together. Isn’t it?” Grant wet his lips with his tongue, suddenly unsure even though he was sitting here in his living room, on a chair he’d probably never to be able to look at without getting hard again, with come drying on his stomach.

It sure as fuck seemed good.

But this wasn’t just sex. Grant didn’t want it to be.

He’d never have risked everything if that was all it was.

“It’s all I’ve wanted.”

Grant closed his eyes at the blunt honesty in Deacon’s voice—and in his words.

“Me too,” he agreed.

“I didn’t tell anyone except one guy, a friend, what happened last night. And he asked me if it was good, and I told him . . .” Deacon cleared his throat. “I told him it was the best night of my life.”

“Yeah?”

“The sex, yeah, but everything else, too.”

Grant understood. Felt the same. “You think we can top it? Make a new best night tomorrow?”

“I’m planning on it,” Deacon said. “Now go clean up and go to sleep, okay? I bet you’re dead on your feet.”

He was. But he still wanted to stay here, talking to Deacon. Just feeling his warm, deep voice wrap around him.

“A little,” Grant admitted. Then corrected. “Okay, a lot. But I like talking to you.”

“Could listen to you for hours, but you gotta get some rest, okay?” Deacon paused. “I love you, too.”

Chapter 14

Deacon wasn’t nervous exactly, but he still felt a frisson of anxiety wind up his spine as he entered the front door of Grant’s building.

No basement garage drop-offs this time—Grant had texted him an hour ago and said he’d be half an hour late, so Deacon should just meet him at his place.

Deacon didn’t normally feel unsure about anything, but as he approached the concierge desk, he had to wonder if Grant had informed them about his arrival.

“Oh, Mr. Harris,” the concierge said, glancing up and giving him a friendly, welcoming smile. “Mr. Green said you’d be arriving and to show you to his private elevator.”

“He did?” Deacon didn’t know why it surprised him. It shouldn’t have. Grant ran an entire tech empire, as well as the Condors. You couldn’t do that without a healthy attention to detail.

“He certainly did. Welcome to the Palmetto, Mr. Harris. This way, please.” The concierge waved his hand, gesturing towards a bank of elevators as he stepped out from behind the desk. “If it’s alright to say, we’re big fans here.”

“Thanks,” Deacon said.

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