Page 12 of Expensive

He grins. “Gothic novels. Well, specifically classical gothic novels. Although, I includeRebeccaby Daphne DuMaurier in that definition even though it was written much later than the heyday of the gothic genre. You have to include it because it’s so brilliant.” He speaks so quickly he almost stumbles over his words like he’s afraid I’ll stop listening if he doesn’t speak fast enough.

“Besides, it’s far more sophisticated than something likeCamille.Rebecca’s almost a nostalgic reflection of the genre. Of course, Jane Austen’sNorthanger Abbeyis my favorite because of its satirical value.”

I’m almost afraid to ask what he’s talking about. Before the breeding pits, I was raised in a red wolf shifter settlement. There, the only book we read was the Bible. Other than the occasional western novel, I haven’t read much fiction.

“What’s a gothic novel?” I ask.

His eyes light up like he’s been waiting his whole life for someone to ask. “Well, most of them take place in a big, mysterious castle on a bleak English moor. And there’s a brooding alpha who always has some secret. Like a mate hiding in the attic or dark past. The omega is usually a manny or an orphan or both. If you haven’t read one, you’re missing out. They’re so wonderfully dramatic!”

We walk along the beach as Andrew tells me about his favorite books. It feels like a window to a world I never had access to. I’ve never been particularly interested in the classics, but that’s mostly because they feel intimidating to me and maybe a little dry. The way Andrew describes them makes me wonder if I was wrong.

“Hey, baby boy?”

He stops his animated explanation ofJane Eyre. “Yeah?”

“Will you read me one of your books? Out loud?”

He smiles so big, I want to bottle up this moment and keep it forever.

“Yes, Daddy.”

How many boys have called me that? I don’t even know anymore. But it’s never sounded like that before.

Like happiness.

7

Andrew

Timber and I walk along the beach all afternoon, eating tacos and churros from street vendors and talking about books. Rixton has beautiful white sand and warm water that rushes at our feet with every swell of the tide. Timber listens to me patiently and asks lots of questions about the books I love.

If I believed in heaven—I’m not sure I do—I imagine it would be something like this. A beautiful man walking by my side in the sunshine. I wish Timber would let me pay him more for this weekend because it’s worth well over a million dollars to me.

As the sun sets in the distance, Timber wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close, whispering, “I’ve been waiting to be inside you all day. Let’s go back to the hotel.”

It sounds so genuine. It would be easy to pretend we’ve simply gone on vacation together as a couple, and after spending a day on the beach, we’re both eager to ravish each other.

And why shouldn’t I pretend? There are plenty of boyfriend porn videos, aren’t there? Other people enjoy that fantasy too. Why should I deny myself?

But I know the answer to that question. Timber and I never agreed to a boyfriend scene. Which means I shouldn’t allow my mind to stray in that direction.

He holds me close to him as we grab my bag and head back through the hotel lobby. His body is sweaty and warm, which is nice once we’re within the air-conditioned halls of the hotel. Timber guides me into the elevator and pushes the button for the roof.

“The roof is for events and stuff. You have to reserve it,” I tell him.

“I know. But a sign by the concierge desk said it’s under construction.”

A sweet thrill shoots through me. “Are we going to… Does that mean…”

Timber slides his hand down to cup my ass. “Yes. I’m going to fuck you on the roof.”

My mouth goes dry.

“I’m assuming you have condoms in that big bag of yours?” he teases.

I nod. Just in case.

His fingers push into my crack through the fabric of my swim trunks. “My sweet baby boy, always so prepared.”

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