Strings Attached

“Did he think it would be a memory from your childhood?”

“Ha-ha.”

“I’m giving you shit.”

“I know, but shut up.” I nudged him. “Anyway, we’ve gone out a few times, and…I don’t know. It’s fun. I’m really getting into photography.”

What I didn’t tell him was that the first night I got it, I took really sexy photos of Zander. That was between us. I’d bought the equipment and made a darkroom in the large walk-in closet in one of my spare bedrooms. It was a process, figuring out how to develop your own photos and doing it well. I’d ruined a few from that first time, but one night, we’d looked at the others together before he’d fucked me. It got us both off spectacularly. Now they were tucked away in my safe so they never fell into the wrong hands.

“That’s good,” Warren was saying. “I’m glad you’re finding more things you enjoy. He’s good for you, Harrison. And you’re good for him too, I think. I tease you about him, but really, I’m happy for you and wish you the best.”

“I know. Tell George hi for me.” We hugged and went our separate ways.

Zander’s car was in the driveway when I got home. I smiled seeing it there, which was absolutely juvenile and ridiculous. Pretty soon I would be scribbling Harrison loves Zander all over my notebooks, and—oh. Warren had said earlier that I loved Zander, hadn’t he? And I hadn’t told him he was wrong.

I thought about Halloween. The pure joy on Zander’s face over something as simple as giving out candy. His shy grin when he’d accepted the key. The way he talked about his students, and how he made me read Percy Jackson along with him and his sixth-grade class, and the energy that pulsed off him contagiously.

Warren was right.

I was a hundred percent in love with the man in my home right now. The one who had somehow changed my world without even realizing it.

This was really fucking bad, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care. I adored him, and I wanted to continue adoring him.

I just needed him to get his ass on board with the plan.

I went inside, but he wasn’t in the living room or kitchen. “Zander?” I called out, but he didn’t reply.

I made my way to the bedroom, and there he was. He was facing away from me, lying on the bed in a pair of boxer briefs. He was on his stomach, books and papers laid out beside him, laptop in front of him, busily tapping away at the keys. He didn’t have headphones on, but I knew him well enough to know he was lost in his work, so deep in concentration that he didn’t notice I’d called his name. He got like that sometimes. He worked so hard to focus on the topic at hand that everything else drifted to the background.

I stepped out of my shoes. He didn’t turn around.

Walked to the foot of the bed. He didn’t turn around.

It wasn’t until I climbed on the mattress, straddling him, that he jerked in surprise. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. Why didn’t you say something?”

I didn’t tell him I had. Instead, I kissed the back of his neck. His hair was wet, and he smelled like my soap. I loved that he made himself at home, showering while I wasn’t there. “What are you doing?”

“Researching some things for school.” I kissed him again, and he cocked his head to the side to give me better access. “How was racquetball with Warren?”

“Okay, but not as good as this.” My lips pressed against his shoulder. My cock began to plump up, so I rubbed it against his ass. “How was your day?”

“Good,” he said breathlessly. “Really, really good…but not as good as this.”

I chuckled, let my lips ghost over to the other shoulder, kissed him. I hoped to keep my mouth busy so I didn’t ask the question that was pounding at my skull, trying to get out, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to know. “Warren asked about Thanksgiving. You haven’t mentioned it since Halloween. No obligation, but…I really want you to be there.” I tried to hold back the raw emotion in that last part, but I heard it there, an extra rasping plea in my voice. I kissed over to his spine, then began licking each of the knobs there.

“I want to be there too…and you don’t play fair.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Is that really a question?” he replied, thrusting against the bed as my mouth worked its way down his body. I just got to the edge of his underwear when he said, “Yes.”

I paused. “Excuse me, can you repeat that? I’m not sure I heard.”

“You heard me just fine.”

“I still want you to say it again.”