Page 58 of A Much Younger Man
Chapter Fourteen
My alarm wentoff at the usual time. I blinked slowly awake only to discover I was alone in bed. My first emotional stop was confusion but, as if I were running bases in the worst sandlot game ever, I rounded the corner to disappointment and waved myself on to despair.
I rose and put on a robe before padding out to see if Beck might still be around. He’d made coffee, which was pretty handy. He sat on my redwood patio table watching Callie sniff around the bushes in the still damp, misty garden. He had on my boots, one of my best dress shirts, and my cashmere scarf. Nothing else. He held a mug of coffee. I got myself a cup and joined him.
He resembled an elven prince in the chill air. Cool and a little bit frightening. But maybe all I feared was how I felt about him. I kissed him on the neck and enjoyed the little shiver he gave when he turned to meet my lips. The kiss stirred my senses, and my cock thickened in anticipation.
“I just found another new kink,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“You wearing my clothes.”
“That’s good, because I like them.” He held the mug to the side to give me the full view. “I make them look good.”
“Aren’t you cold?”
“Little bit, but it’s so nice out here. You can hear the waves.”
“C’mon inside. I’ll make you breakfast, but then I have to get ready for work.”
“Okay. What can I do to help?” He followed me in and watched me start oatmeal. I kept hard-boiled eggs in the fridge and precut fruit. I opened the container, found the most delicious looking strawberry, and held it out for Beck.
He smiled and bit into it so juice dripped over his lush lower lip. He tilted his head toward me, inviting me to take the other half. Our lips met around the fruit, and when we pulled away, I was fully erect again.
He blushed. “That was hot.”
“Mm.” I kissed him again. “You’re going to kill me.”
I had to turn my attention to the oatmeal because I didn’t want to scrape it off the stove. “I don’t have food for Callie, but you can tide her over with a hard-boiled egg.”
“I fed her. I always keep enough kibble in my pack for emergencies.”
“But not a change of clothes?”
Flushing, he glanced away. “I wanted to wear something of yours.”
I wanted to say that he could, any time, but in the cold light of day, I wondered what the hell I thought I was doing here. I didn’t really date.
Last night, it seemed utterly impossible that someone like Beck could even want anything more than a night or two with someone like me. I put his lack of restraint down to the mutual scratching of a chemical itch.
But now…now I wondered what it all meant. I liked him. I wanted to feed him, fuck him, let him wear my clothes. I wanted what we had that morning—his smile when he turned and saw me—every morning.
“What are you thinking right now,” he asked.
“Me?” I startled guiltily.
He gave me a sarcastic slow blink of the eyes. “Yes, out of all the people here, I meant you.”
I turned my attention back to the oatmeal. “Do you like cinnamon and dried fruit?”
“Yes.” Beck moved across the room and uncovered Rico’s cage. “Hello, pretty bird.”
Rico chattered amiably.
“Does Rico need anything?”
“You can give him a bit of fruit if you want. He likes melon.”
