by Tinnean
“You don’t need to cook, babe. Why don’t I bring home some takeout?”
“That sounds good.”
“What do you—” He turned the corner into our street. “Goddammit.” The Mazda was parked in what he considered “his” spot again.
“It’s okay.” I laughed. He was so cute when he was frustrated.
“If I ever get my hands on that asshole,” he growled. He double-parked his Dodge.
“Pop the trunk.” I would have slid out, but he stopped me with a hand on my thigh.
“Hey. Don’t I get a kiss?”
I hadn’t been sure how he’d feel about a public display of affection. Some guys, no matter how free they were behind closed doors, became the epitome of uptight when other people could see them. It seemed Wills wasn’t one of them.
I smiled and kissed him. “Now pop the trunk before you get a ticket.”
“Theo.” His hand tightened on my arm. “Thank you for going to Key West with me. I had the best time.”
“You’re welcome. So did I. Let’s have Thai tonight, okay? I’m in the mood for something spicy.” He grinned at that. “I’ll see you later, babe. Drive carefully.”
“You bet.” He waited until I removed the suitcases from the trunk and slammed the lid down before giving a wave and driving off.
Chapter 30
WILLS’S BIRTHDAY was at the end of August, and I was making plans to celebrate it—dinner, a cake, presents, the whole ball of wax.
Cards began arriving, mostly from New York, where a good part of his family lived, but a couple were from Florida, and I was pleased to see that one of those was from my family.
A huge box had arrived from Cambridge earlier in the week, and he’d opened it and the cards in it, from his Dad and Jill, from Jar and Marti, from Alice, but refused to open the presents it contained until the thirty-first.
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Sure, but my family trusts me to wait until it’s actually my birthday to open the presents.”
His actual birthday. Which fell on a Saturday. And for a change, he had the weekend off. Shit. I wanted to have the apartment decorated and cook something special for him. How was I supposed to do that with him home?
I called Vince.
“What’s up, Theo? I’m in a rush here.”
“This won’t take long, Vince. I need a favor.”
“Oh?” His voice grew cool, and if this hadn’t been so important, I would have told him never mind.
“Saturday is Wills’s birthday.”
“He’s already got the weekend off, Bascopolis.”
“Yeah, I know, and that’s the problem. I need him out of the house for a few hours. Can you maybe arrange something?”
“Jesus. Is that all? Okay. I’ll talk to Matheson when I see him.”
“Thanks, Vince. Uh… just for a few hours, okay? Just until I bake the cake and put up the decorations. Then I want him home.”
“Cake. Decorations. Right. I gotta go.”
“Okay. Bye, Vince, and thanks again.” I hung up and then dialed the house in Cambridge. Jill was out, but Alice was there.
“Well, hello, Theo. How is everything in Washington?”
“Good, thanks. Everyone okay in Cambridge?”
“Yes, we’re all good… doing better. Now, what can I do for you?”
“You know Saturday is Wills’s birthday? I want to make him something special for dinner.”
“What a sweet idea. Hmm. I have his grandmother’s recipe for pot roast. It’s his father’s favorite, and Wills has always loved it too.”
“That sounds good.”
“Let me find it, and I’ll call you right back.”
“Okay, thanks.” While I waited I made a list of what I’d need to pick up: party hats, noisemakers, crepe paper, balloons, candles….
Before the list got too out of hand, the phone rang.
“Do you have a pen and paper?”
“Yes. Go ahead.” I wrote down the directions, my mouth starting to water. “This is great. Thanks so much, Alice. I can put it in a Crock-Pot and let it slow cook while I make his birthday cake.”
“I’m glad our boy found you, Theo.”
So was I. “Thanks, Alice.” I cleared my throat. “Bye for now.”
When Wills got in that night, he was scowling, and I was afraid he was pissed he had to work on his birthday.
“How was your day, Wills?” I played dumb.
“It was a day. Listen, babe. I hope you didn’t have anything planned for Saturday.”
“How come?”
“I have to work.”
“Bummer. But you’ll be home in time for dinner, won’t you?”
“Yeah. Just a few hours in the afternoon. Paperwork. I was sure I was caught up….” He frowned. “I really wanted to spend the day with you. Oh, well. It was a good thing my secretary let me know about it.”
“Your secretary? You have a secretary, babe? You never mentioned her before.”
“I didn’t? Ms. DiNois. She looks like a young Ingrid Bergman.”
I growled under my breath, and he smiled.
“There’s no need to be jealous, Theo.”
I wasn’t jealous. “I’m not jealous.”
“Right.”
“Are you ready for dinner? I made a roast chicken with garlic and rosemary leaves.”
“Your roast chicken tastes just as good cold.”
“Why would we have it cold?”
He took my arm and led me into the bedroom. “Because you’re gonna have me hot.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
The chicken did taste good cold.
FROM ABOUT nine on Saturday morning until just after eleven, the phone didn’t stop ringing as calls came in from Cambridge, various towns on Long Island, Los Angeles, Jacksonville in North Carolina, and from his grandparents in Naples.
“Wow, your ear must be sore,” I teased. My family had never called, because what Poppa said went, but maybe this holiday season? And maybe for my birthday?
He rubbed his ear and grinned. “You’d better believe it, babe.” He checked the time. “Damn, I’ve got to get myself together. If anyone else calls—”
“I’ll let ’em know you’ll call back when you get home?”
“My secretary.” He sauntered over to me and ran his palm over my ass. “My perfect secretary.” And he pulled me into his arms and kissed me until my eyes crossed.
I loved it when he did that. And of course I returned the favor.
AFTER HE left for work, wearing one of those nothing-special suits, I got his Grandma Elaine’s pot roast started, then tacked crepe paper streamers up from one corner of the dining room to the other, blew up balloons and tied them to the streamers, set out two party hats and horns, and baked the shortcake for his birthday cake. Once it cooled, I’d add the strawberries and whipped cream.
At the end of the table, I stacked the presents from his family and his gifts from me—silk boxers and lounging pajamas from Beau Brummel’s, the exclusive men’s shop, DVDs to expand his video library, some books of gay porn that I would read to him before we went to bed that night, and a lobby card from the 1954 version of Sabrina, since I’d learned “Isn’t It Romantic?” was featured in it.
I met him at the door with a kiss and a list of names. “They all wished you a very happy birthday, hoped you have a great year, and said there was no need to return the call.”
“Phew. That’s a relief.” There were nineteen names on the list. “Something smells good.”
“I made something special for dinner. Rough day, babe?”
He shook his head. “I don’t get it. Half those reports weren’t even for my jobs. They should have been done by… well, not by me. Oh, and Mr. Vincent had the day off. If that doesn’t take the cake…. Well, at least he left a message assuring me the rest of the weekend would be uninterrupted.” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “Why don’t I go slip into something more… com
fortable?”
“You do that. I’ll meet you in the dining room.”
I had everything on the table—the pot roast and gravy, mashed potatoes, stuffed artichokes, glazed baby carrots, and homemade biscuits—and I blocked the door when he strolled up.
I opened my mouth to carol, “Happy birthday,” but the surprise was on me.
He was wearing those 501 jeans and a snug-fitting, short-sleeved knit polo shirt of deep forest green that emphasized the fact that he wasn’t wearing an undershirt. Maybe he wasn’t wearing shorts either? I could barely bite back a moan.
The corner of his mouth was curled in that grin. He knew how those jeans affected me.
I cleared my throat and pulled myself together. “Happy birthday!” I had a towel draped over my arm, and I gave a slight bow and escorted him into the dining room. “If monsieur will ’ave a seat?” I used my best French accent.
“Oh, babe.” He took in the decorations, the Irish linen tablecloth, the good china and flatware, the centerpiece of blue and white carnations arranged to look like a birthday cake. “Oh babe. Thank you.”
“Do you want to open these now?” I pointed to his presents.
“No. I think I’ll wait until after dinner.”
“You do believe in delayed gratification, don’t you?”
“It got me you.”
What could I do? I kissed him.
We sat down and passed each other the various platters and dishes. The pot roast came out tender enough to cut with a fork, the potatoes were whipped light and fluffy, and the artichokes and carrots were perfect. Wills told me so.
By the time dinner was drawing to a close, I could see he was ready to open his gifts.
“Go ahead, babe. The dishes can wait. Delayed gratification is only good for so long.”
The first present he opened was from his father, a jigsaw with all kinds of attachments.
“Oh, man! It’s a DeWalt—6.5 amps. Heavy-duty, variable-speed, top-handle….” He took it from the box and actually petted it. “And the blades. Babe, look at them! T-shank, U-shank, nail-embedded wood cutting.”
“Nice.” I laughed, having no clue what he was talking about but charmed by his enthusiasm.
“Sorry.” His grin was abashed. “I’ve always had a thing for tools.”
“I can see. Open the next present.”
“This is from Jill and Alice.” He took out a binder and opened it to the first page. “Oh! My mom’s recipes.”
They had gotten together and created a binder of the recipes his mother had written out in a gorgeous copperplate hand. Each index card or sheet of paper was encased in plastic to protect it.
“I remember this.” He ran his fingertips over an index card that had a small thumbprint in red in one corner. “Mom was making Grandma Josie’s tomato sauce, and she let me help.” He smiled and shook his head. “As good a cook as Alice is, she just can’t match my mom’s cooking.”
Or his memory of it. I determined to give the sauce a try.
He closed the book and set it aside, and picked up a shirt box covered in black paper. “This is so Goth. It has to be from Jar.”
It was. JR’s gift was a sage green T-shirt with the saying, Mom, Dad, I’m Gaelic across the chest. Wills laughed, stripped off the shirt he wore, and pulled it on over his head. The material clung to his torso, emphasizing his muscles and the tight buds of his nipples.
They would look so good with a ring or a barbell, but for some reason he’d been adamant about not getting his nipples—or any other part of his body, for that matter, not even an ear—pierced. Since that was the only thing he’d ever said no to me about, I didn’t push him on it, but I often fantasized about him with nipple rings, thin silver chains dangling from them.
A glance at Wills showed he was unaware of where my thoughts had been wandering off to. I shifted unobtrusively and turned my attention to his next present.
Marti’s gift was a painting she had done herself, a surprisingly adult-quality oil of two of Jill’s Bobtail cats, Princess Kimba and Jad-bal-Ja, the parents of poor little Jasmine. It was in a simple frame. Wills ran his thumb over the smooth, highly polished grain of the wood. He looked up and grinned at me.
“Jill made the frame. She can’t cook, but she’s a wonder at crafts.”
“Where do you want to hang this, in your office or in the living room?”
“Is there room for it in the living room?”
“We’ll make room.”
Wills slid an arm around my waist and dropped a kiss on the corner of my mouth. “Thanks, Theo.”
I cleared my throat. “And these are from me.”
“You’ve given me so much already….” He opened the box from Beau Brummel’s, and his breath caught. “Oh, babe. These are….” The lounging pajamas were watered black silk, soft and sensuous to the touch, and I was looking forward to seeing them on my lover. “I’ll wear them tomorrow morning.”
“Cool. What do you think of the DVDs?” I’d gotten him Young Frankenstein, Blazing Saddles, and a widescreen version of The Big Chill.
“I love Mel Brooks, and The Big Chill was always one of my favorites. Thank you!” He tore off the wrapping of the lobby card, looking at first a little puzzled and then very pleased. He propped it up against a chair and pulled me into his arms. “You got me this because of the song, didn’t you? I’m so glad you’re my boyfriend.”
“The feeling is mutual.” I kissed his cheek, then turned his face so I could kiss his mouth. “I love kissing you,” I murmured against it.
“I must have done something awesome in a past life to be rewarded with you this time around.”
That was so sweet…. I sniffled. Damn. Wills was going to think I was a crybaby. Why was it I seemed to well up at the drop of a hat, but he never shed a tear?
I cleared my throat and stepped out of his embrace. “Check out your last present.” That was the books.
“Oh. Oh, my!” He held up one of the books, The Pearl. “I take it this isn’t the John Steinbeck book.”
“No.” I grinned. “It’s a collection of Victorian porn. Thumb through them.” I started collecting the dishes. “I’m going to clear off the table and make the coffee. Once that’s done, I’ll get the cake ready.”
I HAD put two numbered candles, a two and a seven, on the strawberry shortcake, plus two regular birthday candles, one for good luck and one for happiness, and was about to light them when Wills sauntered in.
“Babe—”
“Wait! Wait!” I hurried and lit the candles and then began to sing, “Happy birthday to you….”
He flushed with pleasure, folded his hands behind his back, and bounced on his toes, laughing when I got to the part that asked, “How old are you now….”
“Okay, now make a wish and blow out the candles.”
His brow furrowed in concentration, and then he leaned forward and blew out the candles.
“Your wish will come true.” I’d deliberately placed the candles so it would only take a single breath to extinguish them.
He smiled, sending a glance my way from the corner of his eye. “I hope so.”
I took the candles out of the cake, a little puzzled when Wills held out a hand.
“Humor me, babe.”
I gave him the seven, and he licked the whipped cream off the end, curling his tongue as if he were making love to the wax number. He put it on the plate I’d used for the other candles and then held up the book he’d been holding. It was The Pearl. I raised my eyebrows.
“This has some gay… erotica in it.” He looked so thrilled to have found it.
“Just a bit,” I murmured. Wait until he thumbed through the other books. “I thought you might get a kick out of it, compare it to some of the modern stuff.”
“Like Travis’s Exposed?”
“Yeah. You know it?”
“I’m familiar with it.” An innocent smile, but there was deviltry in his eyes. Color rose abruptly in his cheeks. “Maybe act out so
me of the scenarios?”
“Yeah. There’s one, a gal is bent over a dining room table and gets her ass fucked, but it could just as easily be a guy—”
“Me?” His tongue peeked out to moisten his lips. “We’re here in the kitchen. We don’t have a table here, but we’ve got a perfectly good island right at hand….”
“We do, don’t we?” I moved the cake to the counter that held the appliance garage and then reached for the button of my fly.
Wills had his jeans down around his ankles. “Dammit.” His Nikes kept him from getting them off.
“Don’t worry about them.”
“I won’t be able to get my legs spread wide enough.”
That image made me so hot my fingers fumbled, and I nearly caught my zipper in my shorts. “Get ’em off.”
Wills laughed, and without bothering to unlace them, he hopped up and down, pulling off first one Nike and then the other. In seconds his jeans were off. I’d been right. He had gone commando. Now all he wore was that T-shirt and his white socks.
“I’ve been saving this.” I showed him the gold condom, the last of the ones he’d bought in Seattle at the Rubber Rainbow Condom Company.
His gaze was on my hands as I rolled the condom on. He was flushed, and his breath came in short, sharp, excited puffs.
I spun him around, and he braced himself over the island, his legs spread wide. It didn’t take much lube to get him ready. I pushed into him, and he gasped and shivered.
I slid one hand under his shirt and scraped his nipples while I circled his cock and jerked him off with my other hand, and he groaned in pleasure and clamped down around me.
“That’s it. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”
“Always do. Love it when you fuck me. Can’t describe—” He bucked under me and groaned again.
“Then just let me hear it.”
And he did.