by Amy Lane
Lachlan reached for the light switch, and Bartholomew stopped him with a kiss, and then another, and another.
“Gotta stop that,” Lachlan murmured. “We were in the guest bed last time. I want to take you up to the loft.”
“Guest bed?” Something occurred to Bartholomew. “But you had lube and… and… implements in the end table.”
Gah! Lachlan’s laugh was so delicious, it should have been illegal. He finished chuckling into the sensitive hollow of Bartholomew’s neck and then licked the shell of his ear. “I move those when I have real guests,” he whispered. “I want you to see where I sleep every night; is that so bad?”
He sucked on Bartholomew’s earlobe, and Bartholomew gave a low moan.
“Does that have anything to do with that thing you want me to do?” he asked breathlessly.
“Well, yeah.” Lachlan moved his attentions to Bartholomew’s neck. “I’ve got a bigger ‘implement’ in the upstairs drawer.”
Bartholomew pulled back and regarded Lachlan with a deep suspicion. “You were very sexually active for a while, weren’t you?”
Lachlan grinned, the light from the moon and the stars making him look like a god of mischief in his own kitchen. “Until I met you, Tolly. Is that a problem?”
Bartholomew’s own grin snuck out, and to his surprise, it grew until it was probably as wicked as Lachlan’s. “No.”
Lachlan threw back his head and let out that delicious, decadent laugh again. “Good. Now go up to the loft and get ready. I’m going to lock up.”
Bartholomew frowned and said, “Let me do a thing here with some salt first, then lock up.” He didn’t trust that the magic that set the neighborhood cattywampus wouldn’t somehow seep here, where he felt safe. He used Lachlan’s salt to make a pentagram inside the door and to bless the threshold before washing his hands and dashing up the loft stairs while Lachlan was double-checking the mudroom and the alarm.
The loft itself was spacious and bright from the skylight, and Bartholomew had no problem at all seeing the handsome Queen Anne style chair by what was apparently a hand-carved armoire, where he could set his duffel bag and put his folded clothes. By the time he was done, Lachlan had joined him, stripping his own clothes off with impunity and leaving them on the floor.
As Bartholomew stood, wondering what to do next, Lachlan set his warm hand on Bartholomew’s hip. Just like that, the moment changed, became electric, sent all of the hair on Bartholomew’s arms upright and sent crackles of power down his spine.
This man was his.
He turned in Lachlan’s arms and kissed him, letting his hunger off its leash. Lachlan had shown him, again and again, that he was safe here, that he was cared for. Feeling safe meant he could show Lachlan what he wanted; it meant he could care for Lachlan the same way Lachlan cared for him.
“Mm, Tolly,” Lachlan murmured. “I like where this is going.”
Bartholomew pulled away for a moment and went to drop his head to take one of Lachlan’s nipples, but Lachlan stopped him with gentle fingers on his chin. “Quick,” he said softly. “Hard. Now. I haven’t seen you in a week. I need to know you missed me.”
Bartholomew lunged up and took his mouth again, even more aggressively, and Lachlan met him savage kiss for savage kiss.
Missed him? Sleeping in the house alone had killed him. It was like his heart knew where he belonged, and if he wasn’t by Lachlan’s side, a part of him was missing!
Their kisses grew hard, breathless, Bartholomew learning more with every kiss about what he could do to make his lover happy versus what he thought he should do just to get along.
Their hands roamed, each touch like rough and needy sorcery, until Lachlan grasped his cock and stroked. Bartholomew gasped and Lachlan whispered, “I’m going to reach for the lube, Tolly. You decide where we go from there.”
Lachlan bent over slightly, pulling the drawer out, and as soon as he straightened, Bartholomew pressed his slender body against Lachlan’s muscular one and whispered, “Give me.”
Lachlan practically purred, handing the bottle behind his back before bending over the mattress and giving Bartholomew complete access.
“We did this face-to-face when you were doing me,” Bartholomew murmured, already kissing his way down Lachlan’s spine. God, even his back was muscular, and Bartholomew couldn’t get enough of touching it.
“This way, you can’t get shy,” Lachlan told him. “Not this time. This way, you only need to worry about one thing.”
Fucking.
The thought of the word alone made Bartholomew want to rut up against Lachlan’s hip until he came. Instead he kept kissing, caressing Lachlan’s backside until he licked the little dimple right above Lachlan’s right cheek. Bartholomew stifled a giggle.
“Fingers to stretch,” Lachlan begged hoarsely, and Bartholomew drizzled some of the lube on his first two fingers.
One first, finding that little indentation. He pushed gently, surprised when Lachlan took him in.
Lachlan chuckled, the sound strained. “Not my first time, Tolly. Two, and stretch.”
Bartholomew did as he asked, finding sensuality and power in the sounds Lachlan made as Bartholomew prepared his body for sex. Topping was amazing—to give your lover this kind of pleasure, to know what you liked, to try to give someone you cared about the same thing in return. He scissored his fingers gently, his own groin throbbing as Lachlan groaned into the mattress.
“Good, Tolly,” he whispered. “Now. Just… now!”
Lachlan fumbled a cloth from behind his back, and Bartholomew used it before lubing his own cock and positioning himself. He paused before thrusting in, trying hard to be gentle and firm in the moonlight—thought-magic was a weak thing to this. He might never feel closer to being a god.
He thrust carefully but with confidence, remembering what Lachlan had said about being bold but not cruel. Lachlan moaned again, making encouraging noises into the quilt, and Bartholomew kept going, making a little “Oh!” sound when his head popped in.
Lachlan’s sound was much deeper, much more carnal.
Much more demanding.
Bartholomew followed his sound, canting his hips forward, pushing all the way in until he bottomed out. Lachlan’s moan this time was both gratified and hungry, and Bartholomew could deal with that.
“More?” he asked, begging in his head.
“God, yes.”
More. Slow at first, but more, and more, he found a rhythm, something hard and powerful but not too fast, Lachlan’s cries music to his ears. Oh wow, he was giving and giving to Lachlan, and he’d loved receiving. This was amazing! This was fantastic! This was—oh fuck! It was rapidly coming to an end!
“Lachlan, baby, come!” he begged, because he wasn’t sure he had the self-control to wait.
Lachlan dropped his hand to the front of his body, and he started to vibrate to his own rhythm. Oh wow, he was stroking himself, hard and fast, and Bartholomew was fucking him, and oh damn, this was happening! This was happening! And—
“Yes!” Lachlan screamed into the mattress, and his body clenched so violently Bartholomew had no choice but to climax himself.
Yes! Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes!
Breathless, Bartholomew collapsed across his back, head swimming, dizzy with sex and orgasm.
Later—possibly moments, but possibly years—Bartholomew assessed their position, his sprawl over Lachlan’s body, Lachlan’s increasingly steady breaths. Bartholomew’s come was running from Lachlan’s backside, and Bartholomew couldn’t find a single inhibition about sex left in his own damned head.
“Did I do it?” he asked, because he needed to hear it. “Did I make you happy?”
“Yeah.” Lachlan pushed up, and with some rustling, they positioned themselves under the covers.
“Did I really make you happy?” Bartholomew asked, nuzzling his chest. He did like Lachlan’s nipples. He would have to get to them again this weekend.
“Every day, Tolly,�
� Lachlan murmured, stroking his hair back from his eyes. “You make me happy every day. You’re even better than cookies.”
Now Available
Warm Heart
By Amy Lane
Search and Rescue: Book One
Survive the adventure. Live to love.
Following a family emergency, snowboarder Tevyn Moore and financier Mallory Armstrong leave Donner Pass in a blizzard… and barely survive the helicopter crash that follows. Stranded with few supplies and no shelter, Tevyn and Mallory—and their injured pilot—are forced to rely on each other.
The mountain leaves no room for evasion, and Tevyn and Mal must confront the feelings that have been brewing between them for the past five years. Mallory has seen Tevyn through injury and victory. Can Tevyn see that Mallory’s love is real?
Mallory’s job is risk assessment. Tevyn’s job is full-on risk. But to stay alive, Mallory needs to take some gambles and Tevyn needs to have faith in someone besides himself. Can the bond they discover on the mountain see them to rescue and beyond?
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
AMY LANE lives in a crumbling crapmansion with a couple of growing children, a passel of furbabies, and a bemused spouse. She’s been a finalist in the RITAs™ twice, has won honorable mention for an Indiefab, and has a couple of Rainbow Awards to her name. She also has too damned much yarn, a penchant for action-adventure movies, and a need to know that somewhere in all the pain is a story of Wuv, Twu Wuv, which she continues to believe in to this day! She writes fantasy, urban fantasy, and gay romance—and if you accidentally make eye contact, she’ll bore you to tears with why those three genres go together. She’ll also tell you that sacrifices, large and small, are worth the urge to write.
Website: www.greenshill.com
Blog: www.writerslane.blogspot.com
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: www.facebook.com/amy.lane.167
Twitter: @amymaclane
By Amy Lane
Shortbread and Shadows
DREAMSPUN DESIRES
THE MANNIES
The Virgin Manny
Manny Get Your Guy
Stand by Your Manny
A Fool and His Manny
SEARCH AND RESCUE
Warm Heart
Silent Heart
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Shortbread and Shadows
© 2020 Amy Lane
Cover Art
© 2020 L.C. Chase
http://www.lcchase.com/
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-64108-246-4
Digital ISBN: 978-1-64405-859-6
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019951628
Digital published July 2020
v. 1.0
Printed in the United States of America