Page 92 of Role Model

Troy took his time, slowing sliding his lips off Harris’s cock and kissing his way up his stomach, his chest, past the scars that guarded his resilient heart.

Their mouths crashed together and Harris wrapped his hand around Troy’s erection. It didn’t take long at all for Harris to take him to the brink of orgasm, and then over, pleasure exploding throughout Troy’s body as his release splattered Harris’s stomach.

Even as he was catching his breath, Troy kept kissing him. He couldn’t get enough of him. It wasn’t good.

“So,” Harris said, pressing his forehead to Troy’s, “did I taste like apples?”

Troy snorted. “Shut up.”

Harris laughed, and Troy couldn’t stop himself from joining him. Being able to laugh effortlessly like this was a different kind of release, one that was possibly more exhilarating than the orgasm he’d just thoroughly enjoyed.

Eventually they got clean, then left the shower and dressed. Troy was starving by the time they went into the kitchen.

“Do you like oatmeal?” Harris asked. “That’s what I normally have for breakfast. I’ll make coffee too, of course.”

Panic started to claw its way into Troy’s unusually happy brain. Maybe it was Harris’s mention of what he normally had for breakfast, the reminder that Troy had managed to insert himself into his morning routine. Maybe it was the sudden realization that Troy was standing in Harris’s kitchen, in his home. Maybe it was the more frightening realization that he didn’t want to leave. Whatever it was, Troy reverted to his usual, cagey self.

“I should go, probably. You don’t have to feed me.”

“But you haven’t eaten,” Harris protested. Then he smiled. “Well, you’ve barely eaten.”

“Gross.”

“It’s just as easy to make two servings of oatmeal as one. Have a seat. Stay for breakfast at least. Or, if you’d rather, there’s a diner not far from here that—”

“I’ll stay. Oatmeal is fine.” The only thing that would be worse right now than staying here with Harris would be spending time in public with him. Anyone who saw them together would know that Troy was crushing hard on the guy, and he wasn’t ready for that.

Troy didn’t sit. He wandered around the small kitchen, probably getting in Harris’s way. He was full of nervous energy and should probably go for a run or head to the gym as soon as he was out of here.

“If you’re going to bounce around like that, maybe you can make coffee,” Harris suggested.

“Okay.”

Harris pointed to a cupboard and then to the coffee maker on the counter. Troy got to work. When the coffeemaker was gurgling and coffee began trickling into the pot, he leaned back against the counter, watching Harris stir the oatmeal. He was wearing jeans and a blue plaid shirt and his hair was still damp. Troy wanted to pull him into his arms, back to bed, and never leave.

Two months ago, he couldn’t imagine ever feeling happy again, much less finding a man who he could be himself with. He’d thought Adrian had been his one chance at happiness, but now, in Harris’s kitchen, Troy realized that he’d never felt this comfortable with Adrian. Their relationship had been hot and exciting, but it had been held together by fear and anxiety. They’d both been so scared of being caught, and their stolen times alone together had been full of desperation and relief. Troy had been so thrilled to have someone to fall in love with that he’d clung to Adrian with both hands, not daring to look at other options. Adrian, meanwhile, had been reaching his hands in two different directions. Until he’d let go of Troy completely.

It hadn’t all been sex. They’d shared parts of themselves with each other, but Troy had never gotten the impression that Adrian had ever been particularly interested in Troy’s life. Adrian had never been overly interested in anyone who wasn’t Adrian. He doubted he was even very interested in his new fiancé.

In short, Troy was experiencing all sorts of new feelings with Harris, and it was fucking him up.

Harris spooned oatmeal into two bowls. “You want maple syrup on it?”

“Sure.” Troy pointed to the corner of Harris’s kitchen counter. “Is that the slow cooker you told me not to worry about?”

Harris laughed. “I swear there’s nothing going on between me and the slow cooker.”

“Hm.”

“But,” Harris said cautiously, “if the slow cooker asks about you, what should I tell him?”

Troy’s heart skipped. “I don’t know. What do you want to tell him?”

Harris glanced at him quickly, then returned his focus to the bowls of oatmeal. “I’d like to tell him that I met someone, and I really like him. And I think he likes me too. And I’d like to see where things go with him, if he also wants that.”

Troy didn’t reply. He couldn’t. It wasn’t shocking, what Harris was saying. Obviously they were both into each other, but Troy still couldn’t believe what was being offered. And he wasn’t sure if he could allow himself to accept it.

“Um,” Harris said, his cheeks darkening. “Maybe I’m assuming too much. With this guy. That I like.”

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