Page 174 of Bad for Me

"Honestly? I'm not sure yet. I don't really want to work for a big firm like Mike, but it's not realistic for me to only live off my art." I sigh and give him the whole truth. "Half the reason I came home with Mike was because I was feeling a bit aimless. I'm pretty sure he knows it and invited me to stay just to help me out, and doesn’t actually even need my help."

"Sounds like something he'd do," Henry says. "But I do think you're helping. He has a girlfriend because of you. You helped him open up, and I'm appreciative of that." He's silent for a moment, before he speaks so low I almost miss it. "I was afraid he'd end up like me."

I turn my body so I'm lying on my side next to him, while he lies on his back, looking up at the ceiling. "What's so wrong with ending up like you?"

Henry cringes. After a long while, I give up on waiting for him to answer me, but he sighs, filling his lungs with air and expelling a deep, slow breath.

"I'm almost fifty years old and I've spent every day, save this time with you, alone. I didn't even know I was missing anything. I just buried myself in work, my routine, fatherhood." He looks at me, and I can just make out the way he narrows his eyes. "I blamed you for taking Michael away from me, for him not coming home every weekend, for invading the little time I had with him. It was unfair and immature of me."

"I didn't exactly make it easy for you to like me," I say with a chuckle.

"You're nothing but yourself, all the time, no matter what. I think that's commendable. Fuck anyone that doesn't like it."

I smirk, but I'm not sure he can see it. "Oh, I did," I say pointedly.

Henry growls in response, yanking me against him and rolling his big body over me. "You better watch your mouth, young man, or I'll wash it out with my cock."

"Ooh, yes Daddy."

* * *

Mike is coming home today.I feel guilty for wishing the weekend would last longer. Sneaking around with Henry has its moments of fun, but living in the bubble of perfection we've been in for the last three days has been amazing.

I woke up to my cock being sucked before Henry made me go for a long, slow jog with him. We walked along the golf course for a while, laughing and talking about nothing of consequence. He's been asking me a lot more questions about my personal life, like what I want to be when I grow up. I keep the words I want to say locked up inside. More than once, I notice him looking sad and pensive.

When we got home, we took a shower together, lathering each other up and touching each other. I fucked him against the wall, slowly and tenderly, letting the water wash away the evidence of my turbulent emotions. I’m still a bit raw from it.

I think it’s probably best to back off from each other for the rest of the day. When we have to fuck around in secret again, when we return to those quick and dirty hookups, it’ll be easier to wrap my head around the reality of being short-term, secret fuck buddies.

But we dance around it all morning. His eyes burn into me, and I can feel his presence on a cellular level. It's like there are tiny magnets all over my skin that prickle when he's near, and pull me to his side. While we're cleaning up the house and putting everything back to normal, folding all the extra sheets we went through this weekend, the tension is palpable.

Every time I pass him in the hall, I can feel the heat of his body too close to mine. There are constant little touches, brushes of his hand over my arm or my waist. Without thinking about it, I reach up and brush his hair back or scratch the beard growing in. Then we pull back. The realization of what we’re doing, and the impending fact that we have to go back to behaving like normal, breaking the moment.

It happens again when Henry makes us lunch. We're putzing around the pool, fully clothed by some unspoken agreement, because if either of us so much as takes a sock off, we both know it'll be on.

"Do you want to get out of here, go get something to eat?" I ask, thinking that maybe spending some time in public might help cool us down.

"What do you want to have?"

You.

"I'm a simple man, Henry. I'll eat anything, but there are bonus points if anything involves bread and cheese."

A grin spreads across his face. "Let me take you to a place I know that has the absolute best grilled cheese sandwich you've ever eaten."

"That sounds perfect," I say, my stomach growling at the prospect.

Henry takes me by the hand and leads me into the kitchen, where he starts pulling out all kinds of ingredients.

"Uh…What's happening?"

"Has Michael never told you about my famous grilled cheese?" I shake my head, and he gasps. "For shame."

Leaning against the kitchen island, I watch Chef Perfect Man prepare the fanciest grilled cheese I've ever experienced. He swats me with a hand towel when I steal a piece of bacon, and so many slices of apple that he has to cut up another. I even make a joke about coconut oil being a great lube.

I'm getting a kick out of bothering him while he's being all domestic, but if the heart-eyes and his laughter are any indicators, I don't think he really minds. As much as we've tried to back off to prepare for Mike being home this afternoon, we're still surrounded by a heady bubble of lust. It's like humidity, sticking to us like a second skin.

Instead of sitting down at the table, Henry takes the sandwiches off the pan and puts them directly on a cutting board. He halves one and lifts it up to my mouth to taste. The cheese stretches from my mouth when I take a bite, and Henry catches it in his own mouth, licking my bottom lip as he does. We both step back and stare at each other for a beat, because it's clear he didn't mean for it to happen. My chest heaves with need, and his eyes are burning into me, several shades darker than usual.

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