Bishop: A True Lover's Story

“I was bored so I made some honey oatmeal cookies.” Edison set the warm sheet on the counter. “They’re still cooling. Should be ready soon.”

“Wow.” Bishop came around the wide surface and stood as close as he dared. He liked their height difference, enjoyed when Edison had to lift his head to see him. He wasn’t short by any means; Bishop was just tall as hell. “You said you liked to cook, but I didn’t know you meant like this. It smells like a gourmet bakery in here, handsome.”

Edison smiled, his soft cheeks pinking. “Well what’d you think I meant?”

Bishop foolishly kept talking, needing to see more of that reaction. Wanting Edison to eat up his every word and compliment. “I thought you meant that you made a good grilled cheese and Campbell’s soup, or a non-mushy Hamburger Helper, something like that. But these smell really good.” Bishop said as he inched closer, realizing that the honey cookies weren’t the only thing smelling delicious.

Edison waved him off as if it were nothing, but Bishop could see what his words were doing, and he thanked the lord again for his people-reading skills. Edison tilted his head back a bit to meet his eyes, and when he did Bishop made sure to hold him there. Edison swallowed a couple of times before he said breathily, “You’ll have to try some.”

“I’d love to.” Bishop answered without thought. His mouth was moving faster than his brain. All he wanted was for this unique man to keep staring at him as if he was the king of the universe… until he found out who he really was.

“Good.” Edison looked away, his chuckle lacking all humor. “I sure don’t need to have them here as a temptation. Big as I am.”

“Mmmm.” Bishop nodded slowly then began to take in Edison’s thick build and beauty. Letting his eyes roam, since Edison had made a point to bring it to his attention. He didn’t believe Edison was fishing for a compliment, no, by the unsure, almost uncomfortable expression, he seemed as if he wanted to know how Bishop felt about his weight. Was this man insane? How could he not see how sexy he was? With his kind spirit, those radiant eyes, super-soft skin, his distinctively calming voice, and those fucking sharp-ass suits covering a body that was no doubt warm and satisfying. Bishop had been confined with men with rock hard, jacked-up chests, granite thighs, and washboard stomachs for years. Now gazing down at Edison’s softness made him want all that supple flesh. Bishop cleared his throat before he dared speak, but his voice was still raw. “Yeah, well, I don’t mind a man with little meat on his bones.”

~

Edison

Hot dang. That’s one thing Edison had for sure, some meat on him. Bishop hadn’t known him two years ago, and he was happy about that. He was glad he liked the man who stood in front of him now. A man who, while young in actual age, had more control and discipline than most forty-year olds. Not only in his personal life, but in business as well.

Edison couldn’t stop what Bishop’s words were doing to him. He’d been half hard ever since he’d first spotted Bishop kneeling in his yard, but now his shorts were a lot tighter. He wondered if Bishop even knew the effect he was having on him. Did he have any clue how hot he was? And intimidating. So broad, and muscular and tall. No doubt he got his shape from years of hard, manual labor.

Now, Bishop was all up in his house, smelling freshly showered, and wearing shorts and construction boots. Taking up so much space in his modest kitchen. And complimenting him and his food. These were things he’d wanted for a long time. But he didn’t want to get his hopes up and start acting like some inexperienced boy with his first big crush.

Maybe Bishop was still pitying him from the other night. Or maybe he was a damn good businessman and knew how to read another’s weakness, hone in on it and use it to his benefit—in this case to get a new contract. Edison quickly dismissed that thought. He’d been the one to solicit Bishop’s private services. If anyone had a hidden agenda… it was him.

His body began to vibrate at the sound of Bishop’s voice. It’d gone from gravelly to sensual the longer he stared at him. And the man really had no problem staring. Bishop had eyes so dark he didn’t know what color they were. Deep brown, brown-black? Chestnut? They were hard to stare at and impossible to look away from. Bishop was his fantasy of the best kind of bad boy. Not in actuality, only in appearance, because Bishop was a successful business owner, a boss, a man’s man.