Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
He learned more every day, Matthew thought with satisfaction as he slipped on his condom and reached for the now ever-present bottle of lube.
Oliver Garcia was still his obsession, and Matthew knew without a single doubt he always would be.
Artistic and strong. Stubborn and determined as he was. Private and under wraps unless he was dancing or Matthew pushed him out of his comfort zone.
For his part, Oliver kept him on his toes and made him dizzy with need for him with a single, sizzling glance. It was an ache that never went away.
Happy. Oliver made him happy.
Matthew slid wet fingers between the cheeks of his gorgeous ass, feeling that snug bit of heaven he’d been dying for tighten around him.
“Oh God,” Oliver groaned, mumbling that mix of English and Spanish he only spoke when he was too turned on to think. “Matty…”
“What do you want, love?”
“You know.” Oliver rocked back against his fingers, one hand slipping down the wall to grip his own erection. “You always know.”
“That’s right.” Matthew pulled his fingers out, spreading those luscious cheeks wide so he could watch Oliver stretch slowly around him. “Fuck, you’re still as tight as the first time.”
“Dancing,” Oliver huffed out in a daze. “And Kegels.”
They laughed. And then the only sounds they could make were possessive growls and breathless cries.
He tangled his fingers in Oliver’s curls, tilting his head back until he could claim his mouth the way he was claiming his body.
His man.
The right one.
When he came, Matthew’s shout was loud and raw as lightning hit him again, sending shockwaves through his body.
His heart was pounding, lungs struggling as his body slowly recovered. Then he wrapped his arms around Oliver’s limp, shivering frame and guided him toward the water’s soothing spray.
“That was perfect,” he mumbled.
Matthew tightened his arms around him. “Close.”
“Close?” Oliver’s doe eyes popped open in surprise. “Close?”
“If you lived with me, we could do this whenever we wanted. That would be perfect.”
Oliver leaned back and pushed his wet curls out of his face. “You want me to live with you?”
“Did you miss the part in this story where you finally admitted you loved me? I think it happened seven weeks and eighteen hours ago.”
Oliver’s lips curved adorably. “That’s pretty specific.”
“Move in with me.”
“That could be a problem.” He wrapped his arms around Matthew’s shoulders.
He swore, knowing what his hesitation was about. “It’s always going to be a problem until we fix it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you love me?”
Oliver’s expression softened. “You know I do.”
“Then it’s time I met your family.”
His breath came out in a whoosh. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
He’d never been more serious. He wanted a future with Oliver. He couldn’t have it until Oliver’s family at least knew he existed and accepted his presence. “About you? Always.”
“Does Kate know?”
“About you moving in? She loves the idea.” She wasn’t about to move out and miss all the fun, but she’d promised to give them plenty of alone time.
Oliver didn’t look reassured but he said, “Okay.”
“Okay?” Matthew couldn’t hide his surprise. “Okay? I was expecting more of a battle.”
“You’ll get enough of that if I move in with you,” Oliver warned.
“When you move in with me.”
“You might change your mind after you meet my family.”
Matthew smiled, reaching around him to turn off the water. “You seem to forget how good I’ve gotten at handling big families.”
The knock on the door to the locker room had them both turning their heads.
“Matthew Finn?” Robert’s shout was irritated. “Godfather Barbie is out here trying to bribe me with cold lasagna. Stop with the exhibitionism and take care of that.”
Oliver’s eyes widened and he covered his mouth to muffle his laugh. “Is he really still that angry at Rory?”
“He appears to be.” Matthew reached for a towel and wrapped it around Oliver protectively. “He was only mildly irritated with him until Bronte had the baby.”
Rory had been at the gym then too, covering the front desk to make up for pestering Robert in the first place. And Bronte had been in a hurry.
Oliver shook his head, striding toward the lockers with a grace that never stopped stealing Matthew’s breath. “He’s an EMT. It’s not like that was the first time he’s delivered a baby, right? What’s the big deal?”
Matthew imagined it was partially because Robert had missed the moment. By the time he’d gotten back, William and the ambulance had arrived, and Bronte and the baby were being taken away on the stretcher.
Then again, it could also have had something to do with the baby’s name.
Bronte had been so grateful that she’d broken part of the Wayne family literary tradition. The baby’s first name had been chosen for months. William and his father-in-law had made sure of that, finally settling on Irish author, Oscar Wilde. Bronte insisted they all agree to call her son Wiley so the boy wouldn’t be traumatized or be given any ideas before she agreed to the decision.