Page 103 of Game On

Whereas he’d had about a hundred and twenty subscribers for his inaugural box, he now had more than four hundred. Mark, his former boss, had even featured Dorian on a behind-the-scenes, meet-the-staff social media post, and his subscriber count had shot way up.

“But now you won’t get special access to the arena.” Jamie tugged him flush against his body and dipped down to kiss his neck. “And I won’t get to see you before the pre-game warm-up.”

Dorian shivered and bit back a groan. “But you’ll get to wake up to me in our bed every morning,” he murmured in Jamie’s ear. His own words sent pleasure streaking through his body.

“Hm. That’s true. And we won’t have to worry about Archie’s kids catching us in our birthday suits.”

Chuckling, Dorian’s smiling mouth met Jamie’s as he remembered Archie’s youngest letting himself into the guesthouse using the spare key one morning because he wanted to ask Jamie to kick a ball around with him. Dorian and Jamie had been mid... well, nothing a four-year-old should see. They’d quickly ducked under the covers when they’d heard Claude’s soft voice calling out for Jamie, horrified and darkly amused and very, very sweaty.

Archie had hidden the spare keys after that.

Jamie’s living arrangements on Archie’s property had been incredibly convenient. Being only a ten-minute walk away, they frequently met up to walk their dog—or later, their dogs. Jamie slept over often. Dorian slept over at Jamie’s often. More than one person had told them they might as well live together considering they spent most of their nights together, anyway. But as they’d been building their relationship, it had been nice—at least for Dorian—to retreat to his own space when he’d needed to.

But Jamie moving in today... the timing felt right. Dorian couldn’t explain it. Hadn’t been able to explain it when he’d uttered a sleepy “Just stay” one morning when Jamie had crawled out of bed at oh-god-why o’clock for practice near the start of the playoffs.

To which Jamie had responded with an equally sleepy, “Got morning skate.”

And Dorian had replied with, “No, I mean forever.”

That had woken Jamie up faster than a cold shower.

Dorian had stared at him calmly—it had been too damn early to second-guess himself or just generally have a coherent thought, never mind do anything like worry—and he’d known that he hadn’t wanted Jamie to return to his own place after practice. He’d wanted him to come back here, to Dorian’s, and just...

Stay.

Jamie had stared at him for a moment, his eyes as wide as dinner plates, before he’d smiled goofily and pounced on Dorian. “I’m not letting you take that back once you’re properly awake.”

Then he’d ravished Dorian. Thoroughly. He’d barely made it to practice on time.

And Dorian had never taken it back. The timing was right. He felt it in his bones.

Of course, Jamie had to get through playoffs first, but now here they were. Moving day.

Jamie’s tongue swept into his mouth and Dorian clutched at him, afraid he’d fall if he didn’t. Two years later and this man still had the power to make him forget about everything except the feel of Jamie’s lips on his and his thickening erection against?—

“Oh, hell no.”

They jerked apart guiltily. Dorian blinked at Charlie.

“You don’t get to hang out in the kitchen and make out while the rest of us do all the work.” Charlie placed another random kitchen stuff box on the island—seriously, Jamie?—planted his hands on his hips, and shot them a dirty look. “You.” He jabbed a finger at Jamie. “You were going to order lunch. And you.” Another finger jab, this time at Dorian. “Stop kissing him so he can actually order the lunch. Those of us doing the work are starving.”

“Hey,” Dorian protested. “I did work.”

“You brought in a throw pillow.”

“It was a beaded throw pillow. It scratched my knuckle. See?” He thrust out a hand, showing Charlie the scratch on his thumb.

Charlie’s lips twitched.

“Aw.” Jamie brought Dorian’s hand up to his mouth and kissed his thumb. “Was my pillow mean?”

“Oh, shut up,” Dorian grumbled, elbowing him away.

His eyes dancing, Charlie stabbed a finger at Jamie again, barked out a simple, “Lunch,” and headed back outside.

Leaning against the island, Jamie took his phone out. “What should we order for my first official meal in our place?”

Our place. Dorian swallowed hard. Damn, that had a nice ring to it. “Whatever’s fastest. Otherwise we’ll have an angry mob on our hands.”

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