Page 51 of A Much Younger Man
My spine melted. “What were we doing again?”
He tried unsuccessfully to hide his smile while I played and played. I’m sure actual stars went supernova during the length of time it took to get marginally better, but eventually I earned his approval.
“That was…adequate.” He seemed pleased, though.
He wrested the guitar from my cramped, nerveless fingers and leaned back against me to play a bluesy chord progression. Not a song, specifically—he played thefeelingof sitting with a beautiful boy in my arms, listening to rain on the roof. He played the wind in the evergreens. The sound of our breaths. Our hearts beating in time.
His head dropped onto my shoulder, and I automatically lifted my hand to stroke the wild mop of hair off his forehead. It felt softer than I expected. When he lived on the beach with Tug, his hair had always looked salt-stiffened and a little dirty.
As he nuzzled into my neck now, it felt soft and smelled like coconuts. I’d never smell coconuts again without thinking of this perfect moment with him.
“Are you comfortable?” I asked.
“Perfectly.” He pressed a kiss against my neck. “You?”
“Never better.”
He finished by playing the seventh chord he’d tried to teach me. It hung in the air like a question.Do you want me? Are we going to do this? Is this real or are we dreaming?
I already had my answer, but it turned out I had some questions of my own. I didn’t know how to ask.What if this is all we have? What if I’m not enough, or too much, or wrong?
How will I ever let you go?
He rose and put my guitar back in its case. When he came back, he straddled my lap, facing me. I made the sort of sound a vinyl cushion makes. He deflated me, in more ways than one.
“You are something.” His bits-and-bobs bracelets creaked and jingled when he brought his hand up to thumb the arch of my eyebrow. “You look very kind. If PBS needed someone to play a veterinarian, you’d be perfect.”
“Thank you.”
“What about me? What am I like?”
“Trouble.” I kissed his forehead. “And light. Lots of both.”
“I’m no trouble.”
“I thought you wanted to be a brat.”
“I want to beyourbrat.” He lowered his lashes coyly. “What would you do with me?”
“Hmm.” I pretended to think about it. “Probably the same thing I’d do with a misbehaving dog. I’d try to catch you doing something I wanted you to do and reward that.”
“I see.” He bit his lip. “But what would you do when I’m naughty?”
“I give naughty dogs, especially puppies, the best possible chance to be good.”
“How?” His lips trailed from my neck to the skin under my jaw, making me shiver with need.
“I…um…make their environment safe, for one thing. T-take away any attractive nuisances and replace them with things a puppy can have. Reward, reward, reward.”
“I’ve been pretty good. How would you reward me?”
“I’d reward you very well and with alarming frequency.”
“Okay, then.” He smiled and it lit his whole face. “Let the rewarding begin.”
I trailed my hand up his arm. Just that touch was exquisite. His pale skin was soft and cool as I drew my fingers up and over the sleeve of his T-shirt and around his shoulder to rest at the back of his neck.
Our lips met for a kiss as sensual and slow as the music he’d been playing.
