Page 59 of Hot Doggin'
It’s thrilling to know that we’re going to be living together permanently. No lease, no verbal agreement, or temporary situation. One mortgage, two names. We’re building a future together that belongs to the both of us.
After four years, it’s about fucking time.
We turn left down a quiet street and leave the neighborhood behind us as we continue through a wooded area that stretches at least three miles. The house that comes into view isn’t impressive at first glance. It doesn’t have charming curb appealor massive square footage. It wasn’t designed by a famous architect, or featured in any magazine. The simple, one-story ranch style home is part brick, part white siding, and about as plain as you could get, but I can see the potential.
A chill dances along my shoulders, making the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention. Something about this house grabs me and is holding on tight with both hands.
This is it. This is our home.
Stiles removes his helmet and climbs off his bike. “It's quiet out here.” His bearded face breaks out in a grin. “I like quiet.”
“We could add some shutters to the windows and paint the front door. Maybe add some landscaping to spruce it up.” A covered porch runs along the entire length of the front of the house, and I can just picture us sitting out here in rocking chairs, watching for deer and squirrels and rabbits.
Stiles turns in a circle, taking it all in. “The yard is big enough to park everyone’s trucks or bikes, if the Bitches or the ALR came to party.”
Fuck that. “They better not tear up my fucking lawn. They can park down the hill and walk.”
Stiles laughs. “Oh my God. You’re him. You’re the old grumpy man who yells at the kids to get off his lawn.”
Is he mocking me? “Depends what they’re doing on it! Why do you need to do anything on the lawn when you can do it on the sidewalk?”
“I don’t see a sidewalk,” he smirks, turning left and right. “Just grass.”
“Well, while I’m painting the front door, you can lay the concrete for a sidewalk.”
“Should we call the listing agent? I’m dying to see inside.”
“Yeah, sure. I don’t much care what it looks like inside. We can fix whatever’s wrong. This place just feels right.”
Stiles closes the distance between us and grabs hold of my hips. His voice is rough, just a whisper, and the way he’s looking at me has my dick half-hard.
“Is this the one, Mac?”
“You’re the fucking one.You, Stiles. I would live in a goddamn tent with you, as long as we were together.”
His eyes flare. He wasn’t expecting such an honest declaration. But I’m not in the mood to flirt and play games. This is our house and he’s my man. I’m laying claim to both of them.
He crushes his mouth to mine, licking between my lips to get inside. The kiss feels urgent, needy, and tells me exactly how badly he wants me. Shit, could we get away with fucking right here on the front lawn?
Boldly, Stiles reaches for my dick, cupping me in his hand with a little squeeze. “I know what you’re thinking,” he chuckles.
“That we could do it right here on the grass?”
His chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh from deep within his chest. “People can’t walk on it, but we can fuck on it?”
“It has to do with even weight distribution. Feet make a bigger impact than an entire body rolling.”
“Mac, quit,” he wheezes, “you’re killing my hard-on.”
“You should know better than to ask.”
Stiles shakes his head. “Let’s peek in the windows. Then I’ll buy you lunch.”
“Deal. Then you can take me home and finish what we started.”
“Deal.”
But after we finish lunch at the tavern, we only stop at home long enough to switch out the bikes for my truck before heading to Stiles’s place to begin the long process of cleaning his apartment and packing up his stuff.
