Page 23 of Loving You

Time passed funny that way—he had no idea how long he was out, but he guessed it wasn’t more than a minute from the way Bronx wasn’t completely panicked. He moved his jaw as he came back online.

“Monty,” Bronx said very softly.

He blinked, then groaned and sat up. His arms were weak, but it was a relatively mild spell. It happened when he got overexcited—or overly horny. He was both with Bronx, and he felt like an ass for not just explaining before.

“I’m sorry.”

Bronx sat down and pulled one leg up toward his chest, his other hand hovering in the air like he wanted to touch but was afraid to. “How often does that happen?”

Monty managed a light scoff. His tongue still felt a little odd in his mouth, but the sensation was fading back into something normal. “It’s not on a set schedule. When I get really, ah,excited, I tend to go down.”

“That’s why you wanted to get on the bed,” Bronx said, glancing over his shoulder. “Were you going to tell me?”

Monty shook his head. “No. I was hoping if I was laying down…”

“That I wouldn’t notice?”

Monty almost laughed. He wouldn’t fuck a man whowouldn’t notice if his partner went unconscious. “I was hoping my brain would be kind to me long enough to do all the things I wanted to do with you. But I should have known better.”

The tips of Bronx’s ears darkened, and a smile played at his lips. That was…surprising. It was nothing like the reactions Monty had gotten in the past. “I supposed that’s fair. Is it narcolepsy?”

Monty was surprised by the question. People tended to understand narcolepsy from what they saw on TV. Bumbling fools who slumped over and started snoring into their soup. No one realized it was complex.

“It’s something similar. The truth is, we’re still trying to figure it out. Along with this, I also faint quite often, especially when I’m stressed. My blood pressure is fickle.”

Bronx glanced down where Monty had gone soft.

“Ah, ouais,” he murmured. Now,thatwas embarrassing. He wanted to cover himself, but he also didn’t want to draw more attention to it. “It’s not every time. And it’s not all the time. I just really, really like you, and I wanted you a lot.”

“Wanted?”

Monty blinked at him. “Want, of course. But I get it if this is too weird for you.”

Bronx’s frown deepened, and then he pushed up to his feet and adjusted himself before taking a step back.Ah, Monty thought,here we go. The excuses. The discomfort. The fleeing.

“Here.” Bronx extended his hand, and after a second, Monty took it and hauled himself up. He was steady again, like nothing had happened apart from a little ringing in his ears. He started to pull back, but Bronx’s fingers tightened around his own. “Do you want me to go?”

“No!” Monty blurted. “I just assumed…I know it’s not sexy when your partner goes boneless.”

Bronx tugged him close and looked into his eyes with burning desire. “Well. Boneless, yes. Bonerless, no.”

Monty blinked, then burst into laughter, falling against Bronx’s chest. “You’re odd.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Monty looked up at him, then rose onto the balls of his feet to close the distance between them. “No,” he said, then kissed him once, twice, then a third time. “No. It’s a very good thing.”

Bronx grabbed him suddenly, lifting him by the waist and spinning him toward the bed. Monty clung to him tightly, his breath rushing from his chest as Bronx laid him out flat. He hovered above, one hand pressed to the mattress. With his other, he traced a line down Monty’s jaw.

“You’re really gorgeous.”

Monty flushed from the tips of his toes to the tops of his ears. He’d never doubted that he was conventionally attractive, but for him, beauty was so much more than that. It always had been. He’d been accused of having strange taste for his entire life, and it just made him sad for the superficial people around him who couldn’t look past the surface of the skin.

But the way Bronx said it, the way he looked at Monty, it was like he was peering straight into the core of his being. He found whatever Monty had inside him worthy of his time, and his attention, and his passion.

“Touch me,” he begged.

Bronx got to work, swift motions pulling his shirt off, his pants, his briefs, his socks. He was laid bare against the ruched top of the duvet, the fabric rough against hisback in sharp contrast to Bronx’s soft kisses laid over his throat.

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