Page 140 of Broken Breath
Petitgoes rigid, his body stiffening like I just threatened to tattoo my name across his chest.
“Luc,” he mutters, pulling back just enough to glare up at me, his brows furrowed hard. “I’m not your… boyfriend.”
I smirk, not even fazed, squeezing him close. “Non,but you’remon Petit.” I feel him huff and know he wants to argue, but I steamroll right through it. “And it’s France,Les Gets. My home mountain. I grew up there. I can’t wait to show you everything. The food’s amazing, the people are sweet, oh, and my birthday’s Friday.” I grin, nuzzling into his hair again. “We’re gonna celebrate, and you’ll love it. We still have to celebrate your win, so we can do both at the same time.”
He tilts his head back, eyeing me. “This Friday? August second?”
“Oui.”
His lips twitch, one brow lifting. “How old are you turning?”
I lean back just enough to flash him my full grin. “Twenty-four. How old are you?”
“Twentyf…” He stops, winces, then mutters, “Twenty.”
“So young.” I grin, nipping at his earlobe just to feel that shiver run through him. Then I grin even wider. “Can I legally adopt you?”
He lets out a breathy laugh, smacking my face away with his palm, but it only makes me grin harder.
I love it when he does that.
“You can sleep,” I murmur, brushing my thumb in slow circles along his shoulder. “I’ve got you. Close your eyes, and before you know it, we’ll be in France.” I pause, not satisfied with the strain of his muscles against me, so I keep going, gentler now. “Or…” I offer, letting my hand trail lower, smoothing over the curve of his back. “If you’d rather stretch out in the back, I’ll take a turn driving and let you get some proper rest.”
“Stay,” he whispers brokenly, so soft it’s barely a whisper.
Merde.
I breathe deep, clenching my jaw against the way my cock stirs hard in response again.Dammit. That sound shouldn’t make mewildwith the need to protect him, hold him,havehim.
But it does.
God help me, it does.
“I’ll stay,” I say hoarsely. “I’ll hold you all the way there.”
The sound he makes then, a soft, contented hum, barelya breath, is pure fucking devastation. It slides straight down my spine and settles low in my gut, pouring gasoline on the fire already burning there.
And all I can think is,what would he sound like then?
Naked beneath me, flushed and writhing, my name catching on his lips between gasps. I want to hear every sound, every sharp inhale, every moan, every desperate little noise he makes when I touch him just right, when I kiss him slow and deep, when I push him to the edge and guide him back, trembling.
I want tolearn,memorize, andworshiphim.
But instead, I just hold him tighter, my arms wrapped around something far more fragile than he pretends to be, because he asked me to, and I’d burn the whole world down just to be the one he asks again.
My thoughts are still tangled up in all the things I want to do to him whenPetit’s breath evens out, his body sagging heavier into mine, sleep finally pulling him under.
My lower back protests the position and the weight on me, but I wouldn’t move for anything right now.
Toulouse stirs and crawls out from my hood. He stretches, then pads down to curl up inPetit’s lap. He yawns, tiny teeth flashing, and curls tighter into a ball, tail flicking once before he dozes off again.
“Like father, like son,” I murmur under my breath.
Neither of us is good at giving space, and neither of us knows how to back off when someone needs us.
Petitclaims Toulouse is gross. He says we’re not friends.
But that’s the thing about my son and me, we’ll keep showing up, inching closer, and refusing to back off.
