Page 13 of Rescuing the Writer

I sat back down. “Why not?”

He lowered himself to the floor, right at my feet, leaning against my legs. For some reason, I put my hand on his head and gently scratched his scalp. My mom used to do that to me, and it was such a sweet, intimate feeling. He immediately leaned into my touch. “I have ADHD. I wasn’t diagnosed until two years ago. I’m on meds, and they do help, but I still struggle with executive functioning, like completing household tasks. I want to do them and love when things are neat and clean, but I can’t seem to keep them that way.”

Things were starting to make sense. I’d chalked it up to his creative, chaotic nature, but it had a deeper underlying cause. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“It is.” He closed his eyes and made a purring sound, almost like a cat. I smiled as I continued to scratch his head. “I can be so jealous of someone like you. You’re so much younger than me, yet you have your shit together. Your house looks pristine, you excel at your job, and you’re just so fucking competent at everything.”

“Except sex.” The words rolled right out of my mouth.

Melbourne opened one eye to look at me. “That’s not verified. At least, not by me. I’d have to do more testing for that.”

“Would you be willing to?” My timing was awful, right on the heels of our more serious conversation, but now that I’d made the decision, it was burning inside me, waiting to be released.

Melbourne opened his other eye as well and tilted his head. “You wanna have sex with me?”

A deep breath. “Yes. If you’re still interested.”

“If I’m still…” He flashed a grin, all devil-may-care charm. “Darling, you have no idea how interested I am.”

“Doesn’t need to be now. I know you’re feeling sad and all.”

“I’m feeling much better, suddenly.”

How did he do it? How was he so good at rolling with the punches? “I don’t want to interrupt your writing.”

“Now you’re just making excuses.” He rose to his feet and then sat on my lap, straddling me. “I’m here, Deputy, fully at your disposal.”

I swallowed, my mouth as dry as a desert. “You want me to take charge?”

“Yep.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “It’s your rodeo, cowboy. I’m just here to enjoy the ride.”

His words, full of innuendo, sent a shiver down my spine. Did he mean I’d be riding him? Or he, me? Did it matter? Maybe in the sense that being a confident gay man meant being able to discuss sex responsibly. If I couldn’t even ask those kinds of questions, I had no right to engage in more.

“Which role do you prefer? In bed, I mean.” Had I worded that correctly? At least I’d managed to say something, even if it hadn’t been perfect.

“I’m vers, darling, so whichever you prefer is fine by me.”

And he’d put the ball back in my court. Smart. But maybe he had a deeper reason. Maybe by letting me lead, he was ensuring I truly wanted this, and I couldn’t blame him for that.

Carefully, I reached out, my fingertips tracing the lines of ink on his forearm. Melbourne’s skin was warm under my touch, and I watched, fascinated, as goosebumps rose along his flesh. He wasn’t as muscled as me, but for someone who, by his own admission, hated working out, he was in good shape, especially considering his age.

With a fluid move, Melbourne whipped his T-shirt over his head. “There. Easier access.”

Encouraged, I let my hand travel upward, mapping the contours of his arm before venturing across the expanse of his chest. I had no chest hair, but he did, neatly trimmed and incredibly sexy with the silver hairs mixed in with the dark.

His breathing hitched as my fingers brushed over a nipple, and the sound was sweeter than any music. This was real, tangible—no longer an abstract concept but flesh and desire beneath my hands.

“Good?” I asked, needing his affirmation.

“Very.” His eyelids fluttered closed for a moment.

My heart swelled with newfound confidence. “May I kiss you?” I whispered, craving the taste of him.

“God, yes,” Melbourne replied. The hunger in his voice matched the growing need coiling low in my belly.

Our lips met in a hesitant brush—a whisper of contact that promised so much more. Then, as if pulled by some magnetic force, we collided again, this time with urgency. He took the lead now, and my mouth opened under his as he boldly entered. I reveled in the sensation, the give and take, the ebb and flow of tongues and breath and heat.

I’d never kissed like this, had never been kissed like this. This was not a fumbling teenage kiss, the tentative exploration of two people without experience. This was a wildfire spreading rapidly, an invasion of the best kind, an erotic war I was willing to lose if he was the prize.

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