Page 26 of Depths of Desire
OLIVER
The light wokeme before the alarm ever could.
It came in through the cabin window, soft and golden, dusting the wood-paneled walls and casting long stripes across the bed. I lay still for a moment, listening. The wind had died down, and the storm had passed. The world had righted itself, more or less.
Beside me, Lennox was still asleep.
He lay on his stomach, one arm flung over the pillow, the sheet low on his hips. His hair was a mess, flattened on one side. I had a vague memory of tugging my fingers through it in the dark and of him whispering something against my jaw that made my stomach clench. I shut my eyes for a second and let the image dissolve.
It had happened. That was all. A storm, a bed, and a kiss that turned into a night of raw passion. No regrets. No need to revisit it now.
I slipped out from under the comforter without waking him and found my clothes in the faint light, pulling them on quietly. The air was cool against my skin, a sharp reminder that we were still up in the mountains, still snowed in, still sharing a cabin that only had one bed.
I padded into the bathroom, washed my face, and avoided looking at myself in the mirror for too long.
By the time I emerged, Lennox was awake and sitting on the edge of the bed, stretching. He smiled when he saw me, sleepy and real. The kind of smile that wanted to drag me back to the mattress and tangle up again. His semi-hard cock out in the open tugged me toward him even more.
I didn’t let it.
“Morning,” he said, voice scratchy. He looked around and spotted his briefs.
“Morning,” I echoed.
That was it. No tension. No weirdness. Just two guys who had shared something and weren’t about to make it heavier than it needed to be.
“Want to hit the restaurant?” he asked as he got up and pulled the briefs up his legs. “They probably have one of those country-style buffets with sausages the size of your forearm.”
I shrugged. “Could eat.”
His grin widened. “That’s the spirit.”
He threw on sweatpants and a hoodie, combed his fingers through his hair like it was a full grooming routine, and we headed out into the cold together.
The resort had a long, lodge-style dining hall with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a field blanketed in snow. The air inside smelled like coffee and maple syrup and cinnamon rolls. Lennox led the way to a buffet that looked like it had been designed to feed an army of hungry tourists who had absolutely no plans to move for the rest of the day.
He grabbed two trays and handed me one.
“Truce?” he said, a little too lightly.
I gave him a look. “Was there a war?”
“No,” he said, loading up with eggs and bacon, “but I was kind of expecting you to vanish before I woke up.”
I ignored that. “The storm’s over. We’ll get back on the road after breakfast.”
“Sure,” he said, but there was something unreadable in the twist of his mouth.
We sat by the windows. He faced the view, I faced him. Not on purpose. It just happened that way.
It was quiet at first. We both ate. He was humming under his breath, some off-key tune I couldn’t place. I drank my coffee black and hot and tried not to think about the night before. His hands. His mouth. His heartbeat against my palm.
I failed.
“So,” he said after a while, “how weird would it be if we just stayed here through New Year’s?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Instead of going home?”
“Exactly. We build a pillow fort, burn firewood irresponsibly, and you teach me how to do that turny-flip thing you swimmers do. I’ll teach you how to skate backward without breaking a leg.”
