Things were going to get interesting the next time Malcolm saw the crew, that was for sure. He’d lit out of The Over Under without even bothering to change his clothes. And that realization sent a creaky-sounding laugh through him as he pulled off his jacket.
“What’s funny?” Stuart asked.
“Just fully realizing what kind of picture you and I must have made on the way back here tonight.” Malcolm snickered again. “I’m in a tuxedo and a biker jacket, for crying out loud, bow tie and all. Plus you in your leathers, and the both of us on that beast of a bike? We probably looked like extras in an action movie.”
Stuart belted out a laugh. “We might have if you hadn’t fucking dozed off. I still can’t believe that happened!”
“I can’t either.” Malcolm ran a hand over his head, realizing only then that it was mussed from wearing the helmet. Jeez. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, you’re tired and I get that. I’ve heard of passengers falling asleep, but it’s never happened when I’ve been driving before tonight.” Stuart carried his wine and a platter heaped with food to the bed, then set the glass on the nightstand. “I thought you were just chilling at first, and then you went sort of heavy against my back—I knew something was off.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.” He sat across from Malcolm, lips pursed, and placed the platter on the bed between them. “I should have known better than to let you climb on before we ate. Not sure I trust you to make it home in a Lyft without passing out.” He didn’t smile when Malcolm barked out a laugh.
“I’m not sure I trust myself, either.”
“So stay. For a while or the night, whatever you need.” Stuart shrugged and picked up a profiterole, then held it to Malcolm’s lips. “Eat.” His eyes didn’t leave Malcolm’s until the food was in Malcolm’s mouth.
The air between them crackled with unspoken words, though the silence wasn’t heavy. As Malcolm chewed, Stuart wiped his hands on a napkin, then busied himself with Malcolm’s tie, his fingers nimble. He set the tie on the mattress by the platter and unbuttoned Malcolm’s collar, then scooped up an oyster after Malcolm had swallowed.
“Ideally, these would be warm,” he said, voice low, “and served with one of Kyle’s cocktails. I think we’re both hungry enough not to care either way.”
Malcolm battled back a groan as the taste of sea and butter and charred herbs exploded over his tongue. “Tastes amazing,” he mumbled, too close to blissed-out to care about talking with his mouth full. He didn’t hesitate to pluck a piece of bruschetta from the platter and hold it up for Stuart, and the gleam in Stuart’s eyes as he took the bread with his teeth made Malcolm shiver.
They fed each other bite by bite, stopping often for wine and to talk about what they were tasting or just hold hands. The more they touched, the stronger the energy between them buzzed, settling warm and low in Malcolm’s belly. He felt dizzy with it by the time they stood to clean up their feast. His nerves kicked up when Stuart mentioned wanting a shower, though, and Malcolm retreated to the bathroom with his garment bag.
Eyes on his reflection in the mirror, he listened to the muffled hiss of the shower. What the heck was he doing? Better yet, why was he hiding?
Stuart had said he didn’t expect anything physical tonight and Malcolm knew he’d meant it. Except…now Malcolm wanted to do more than hold hands. He was ready for that. But what exactly? Malcolm was out of practice dating in the first place, much less dating a man, so how would he know if anything he did was right?
Those fretful thoughts raced around his head as he changed into the T-shirt and joggers he’d worn prior to the party. Leaving now would be so easy. Stuart wouldn’t stop him, not if Malcolm made an excuse that he was too tired for more talking. They could touch base tomorrow and maybe make plans for another hike, provided Stuart had time for Malcolm now that the fundraiser was over.
Ugh.
Malcolm stopped himself in the act of reaching for his running shoes. He hated feeling uncertain. He hated hiding even more and he really was so tired. He and Stuart deserved some much-needed rest and that meant Malcolm had to make a choice—did he stay or did he go?
The sound of the shower cut off.
Everything in Malcolm told him to stay. He owed Stuart more than a brush-off. He owed it to himself to stop looking for answers here in this tiny bathroom, too, because they weren’t coming, no matter how hard Malcolm stared at himself in the mirror. So he hung the garment bag on a hook, counted backward from thirty, then opened the bathroom door.
He could smell the woody notes of Stuart’s shower gel clear across the room, and the gladness in his expression eased Malcolm’s nerves at once. Stuart’s hair was damp and surprisingly curly, and he wore a pair of black-framed eyeglasses Malcolm hadn’t seen before. Stuart had also donned a threadbare white tank with a pair of gray jersey shorts, both of which looked wonderfully soft. They showcased his tattoos, too, and for the first time, Malcolm understood that trails of ink snaked around the muscles of Stuart’s right thigh and covered his left leg from ankle to knee.
“Oh,” Malcolm said, his voice barely a breath. “I had no idea.”
Stuart glanced down at himself. “Not sure I mentioned the…southern ink when we were hiking in Jersey.” Despite his chuckle, a flush colored the tips of his ears. That rosy glow made Malcolm’s insides wobble, as did the sight of Stuart’s bare toes.
The tough guy chef was feeling exposed. Maybe uncertain, too, as Malcolm had only moments before. Knowing that made Malcolm brave. He crossed the room and took hold of Stuart’s hand.
“No, you didn’t tell me. You did say that you don’t mind people touching your ink.”
Stuart lips curved in a smile. “I certainly don’t mind if you do.”
Malcolm was glad to take the hint. He started at Stuart’s wrists, tracing the designs with care before he ran his fingers up those muscled forearms, stroking the inky shades like he’d wanted to the first time he’d seen them. Stuart’s olive-toned skin was as warm and smooth as Malcolm had imagined, and as usual, he smelled delicious. His skin was infinitely softer over those hard planes of muscle than Malcolm would have guessed. He slid his palms over Stuart’s upper arms and shoulders. Now that he was touching, he didn’t want to stop.
“This is okay, right?” he asked, eyes flicking to meet Stuart’s.
“Yeah.” Stuart’s voice sounded gravelly. “I like the way your hands feel on me. Want me to take off my shirt?”
Malcolm could only nod. He helped Stuart pull off the tank and Stuart sighed when Malcolm’s palms met his pecs. That soft sound sent a shockwave of awareness through Malcolm’s whole person.
“I like this, too,” he whispered, and hot damn, he did like it. Malcolm watched in wonder as Stuart’s chest hitched under his hand.
They stood like that for God knew how long—Malcolm petting and exploring, Stuart’s quiet breaths hushed between them. Slowly, Malcolm circled him, breathing Stuart in, lavishing attention on the beautiful designs that adorned his back, the muscles sometimes jumping under Malcolm’s fingertips. He bit back a gasp as a shiver ran through Stuart’s frame, and when he stepped back around to see Stuart’s face, the intensity he glimpsed in those eyes made his mouth go dry.
Holy shit.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered.
“Nothing at all.” Stuart swallowed. “I’d like to sit down.”
“Of course.”
Stuart stepped away long enough to turn off the overhead lights, then was at Malcolm’s side again, both of them moving toward the bed in the glow of a single nightstand lamp. They sat, but as soon as his ass hit the mattress, a craving for contact stronger than any Malcolm had ever known came over him. He shifted backward on the bed, lifting his feet as he moved, his eyes on Stuart to gauge his reaction.
Stuart had been so careful with Malcolm. He’d followed Malcolm’s lead to the letter and asked for permission before he touched, either with words or his glanc
e. Stuart didn’t ask for permission this time, though. He crawled into the bed with an impish grin that made Malcolm smile back.
That was also the moment he noticed the bulge in Stuart’s shorts.
Is that because of me?
Heart in his throat, he watched Stuart stretch out beside him, hands at Malcolm’s waist. The longer Malcolm stared, the more he noticed, even in the low light. The flush on Stuart’s cheeks, neck, and chest. His dilated pupils behind the glass lenses, so wide they made his brown eyes shine almost black. The goosebumps on his chest, practically begging to be touched.
Stuart uttered a quiet moan when Malcolm did just that and oh, my God. That sound!
“Sorry,” Stuart murmured. “Don’t mean to make you feel weird.”
Malcolm couldn’t get over Stuart’s voice right now—deeper and lower than usual, and nearly breathless. “You’re not. I like this. I’d tell you if I didn’t.”
“Good.” Stuart’s eyelids fluttered shut. “I should tell you, then, that you’re kind of driving me out of my mind.”
A sense of power flooded through Malcolm. He had done this. Made this big man shiver and groan. Made him hard.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“I hate to say it but…I think that might be a good idea.” Stuart peeled an eyelid open. “I might embarrass myself otherwise.” He aimed a sleepy smile at Malcolm. “Okay if I touch you, instead? It’s okay if you want to say no. I’d love to make you feel good, too.”
Malcolm bit his lip. “I’d like that.”
Stuart plucked off his glasses and shifted so he could lay them on the nightstand. “Don’t hesitate to say stop if you need to, okay?”
“Okay.” Malcolm closed his eyes. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
“I don’t usually,” Stuart replied. He eased his arms around Malcolm so their chests met. “I only need them when I’m beyond tired, like tonight.”
With the perfect mix of firm and gentle, he rubbed circles into Malcolm’s muscles through his T-shirt, pushing heat into Malcolm’s skin. The buzz in Malcolm mellowed with each movement, going deeper, like the Suzuki’s engine when it idled.
Mmm. Nice.
Malcolm sank into the mattress. “I think you wanted an excuse to cuddle,” he said without really thinking, then smiled as a rumbling laugh rolled through Stuart’s chest.
“Hah, maybe I do.”
Maybe Malcolm had also wanted that excuse with this big, sleepy bear, a side of Stuart he hadn’t expected. He’d come to understand Stuart was far more complex than one might think at first glance. Tattooed biker. Perfectionist chef. Carpenter and ex-Mormon. Emancipated gay man. They were all sides of Stuart that Malcolm had come to know. And as he laid his head against Stuart’s shoulder for the second time that night, Malcolm looked forward to understanding the sides of this intriguing man that he had yet to see.
* * * *
The sky outside Stuart’s windows was still dark when Malcolm woke. He studied the man beside him in the lamplight, waiting for his brain to freak out. Waking up beside a man in bed was out of the ordinary in Malcolm’s experience, after all. He’d bunked in the same bed with his brother often in the past and sometimes with Kyle during trips out to Long Island with the speakeasy guys. Sharing a bed with Stuart was nothing like bunking with a brother or friend, however. Especially seeing as Malcolm had a hand splayed over the man’s bare chest.
Even so, his freak-out didn’t come.
Stuart lay on his side facing Malcolm, one arm under his pillow and the other looped around Malcolm’s waist. There was enough light to illuminate his strong features, all heavy eyebrows and bold lines. Nothing about Stuart’s face was delicate. Sleep made him softer and erased the crease between his eyebrows that was so quick to form. His thick lashes fanned out over the delicate skin under his eyes, and his lips were slightly parted beneath his lush mustache and beard.
Awareness hummed inside Malcolm. Stuart’s mouth was full and red, far more so than Malcolm had ever noticed before. His lips looked beautifully soft. Tender. Kissable. Malcolm was drawn to touch them. The hum inside him increased in strength.
Movements slow and careful, Malcolm raised his hand from Stuart’s chest and laid it against the side of his neck. He bit his lip as Stuart’s next breath thrummed beneath his fingertips, then stretched forward and brushed the softest of kisses against Stuart’s mouth.
Oh, wow.
That brief touch went all through Malcolm. Delight spread under his skin and everything around him seemed to melt away. He pressed another kiss to Stuart’s lips, this one firmer, and a hum escaped him before he could stop it.
Malcolm had kissed people before. Most times he’d wanted to stop, but kissing Stuart was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. These kisses Malcolm felt right down to the soles of his feet. The whisper of beard against his own face, the soft exhalation of air on his lips, the way Stuart’s lashes trembled as he dreamed—it was all so, so good. Malcolm wanted more. And he kissed Stuart gently again and again, his skin prickling as Stuart stirred.
“Mmm.”
Malcolm had to close his eyes at that sleepy sound. Then Stuart cupped Malcolm’s jaw with one hand and Malcolm thought for sure his bones turned to water. He couldn’t stop his groan.
“Mal.” Wonder was plain in Stuart’s whisper. Outside of the hand on Malcolm’s jaw, he didn’t move. Malcolm still recognized the tension in Stuart’s body and heard the question he didn’t voice.
“I’m okay,” Malcolm murmured, then swallowed a gasp as Stuart rolled just enough that his weight pressed Malcolm into the mattress.
God.
Yeah. Malcolm really hadn’t known anything like this. Had never been held by someone as strong—maybe stronger—as himself. Or been kissed the way Stuart kissed him, deep and slow, almost drugging, so Malcolm’s head spun. All he could do was grab Stuart’s shoulders, his fingers tingling at the heat in that soft, inked skin, and hold on, his heart thundering in his ears as the kisses went on and on.
Malcolm felt alive. Like every nerve ending inside him was heightened and firing all at once. Even a simple action like Stuart raking his fingers through Malcolm’s hair sent sparkles of sensation through him. He sighed as Stuart’s chest pressed against his own, that weight practically melting him on the spot.
Malcolm’s heart squeezed. He’d never felt so safe with anyone. Like he could really let go, secure in the knowledge that he’d be okay. He knew Stuart wouldn’t push or go too far. Even now, Stuart started backing off, before Malcolm needed to ask to slow things down. Their kisses changed, becoming languorous and sleepy, more like nuzzles as Malcolm and Stuart rearranged themselves against the pillows.
“You’re full of surprises tonight,” Stuart said at last, his lips at Malcolm’s temple and a smile in his voice.
Malcolm wanted to look up at him, but he simply could not get his eyelids to function. He settled for running a hand over Stuart’s chest instead. “I’m jus’ as surprised as anyone,” he said, words slurred.
“And that’s good?”
“Yeah, it is. ’M glad about that.”
“Me too.” Stuart dropped another kiss against Malcolm’s hair. “Feel free to surprise me anytime you want, okay?”
Malcolm smiled to himself. He could manage that. He looked forward to the challenge, too, more so than anything in recent memory.
Chapter Ten
Stuart’s head was still buzzing from the feel of Malcolm’s lips against his as he walked into King’s the following morning. He didn’t know what had shifted for Malcolm at the fundraiser. It was clear something had. Some wall between them had come down and a whole new side of Malcolm was venturing out. Stuart felt like they were both tumbling into something deep and wonderful. He’d never had a relationship that fostered so much raw, honest communication. What he was building now with Malcolm was new and wonderful and it fed a part of him he hadn’t known hungered for more.
Falling asleep together in his bed and waki
ng up to Malcolm’s kisses had started Stuart’s day off right. It had been difficult saying goodbye this morning on the sidewalk in front of his building and Stuart knew he’d float through his day as he counted down the time until he’d see Malcolm again.
For now, it was time to try to focus on his duties as chef.
The kitchen he surveyed was quiet. Everything was neat and tidy, from the gleaming steel pots and pans to the columns of pristine white dishes stacked and ready for the day.
Stuart dropped his messenger bag in the office, changed into his uniform, then prepared an espresso and drank it as he checked to be sure there were no callouts for the day. Finding none, he reviewed his list of orders to place, people to call, emails to send, menus to create… It was endless. After he’d checked the most urgent off his list, he went back into the kitchen.
“Morning, Seth, Vera,” Stuart said to the baker and the morning prep cook, and Ronnie and Emilio, the dishwashers who had just arrived. The kitchen had begun to hum as the ovens, fryers, flat tops and hoods were fired up.
As Stuart went through his usual routine of inspecting the storage fridges and their contents, he thought again of Malcolm. His skin still tingled with the memory of Malcolm’s touch and an echo of the ache that had settled low in his groin as he’d fallen asleep. The slow pace was both wonderful and excruciating. He’d wanted so much more. To strip Malcolm’s clothes off and taste his skin, to wrap his lips around Malcolm’s cock and to slide inside him. He definitely missed sex and he’d been masturbating more. It didn’t diminish his enjoyment in the slow exploration, however.
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