CHAPTER 16
Vaughn
I had agreed that we’d play this William’s way. It was his business trip; he had to drive the company car, stay at the company hotel. I knew the drill.
I hadn’t complained about the lack of leg room in William’s Taurus. I had graciously accepted the brackish gas station coffee he had procured for us, though it made my teeth feel gritty and burned behind my sternum in a disturbing reminder that I wasn’t twenty-five anymore. I had managed to hold my tongue when we turned into the parking lot of a hotel I’d only ever seen advertised via signage at highway exits. Hell, I’d even used the towels they provided without asking Will if they were intended as some kind of punitive measure.
However. A man could only bear so much. And this? This was where I drew the line.
“William.”
“Hmm.” His attention was on the television over my shoulder.
“These are not eggs, William. These are a nightmare that chickens have.”
“Mhmm.”
I winced at my plate. “Complimentary Continental Breakfast!” the sign in the lobby had insisted. But the weak coffee was an insult, not a compliment, and the mealy corn muffins and hardboiled abominations were about as continental as eating dinner at five p.m. Clearly, Will’s mind was on other things. I tipped my untouched food into the trash, briefly eyed the waffle maker with its dirty plastic tub of batter, and shuddered.
I poured myself a glass of orange juice and reluctantly filled a paper bowl with Raisin Bran from a bulk cereal dispenser where it was the only sane option among three neon-colored cereals. God knew how long it had been sitting in the dispenser, absorbing the taste of plastic and the germs of the room. But at least you couldn’t overcook Raisin Bran.
Back at the table, Will was fiddling with his phone with one hand and mindlessly eating a muffin with the other. I hated the cheap-looking suits he wore; his watch was a sports timepiece, completely unsuited for business attire; and he was wearing navy blue socks with his black suit. It was almost as atrocious as the La Quinta’s garish green-and-purple modernism. But it didn’t matter in the slightest, because when he glanced up at my return, and smiled at me, he was the loveliest thing I’d ever seen.
William Fox might not have been objectively the handsomest man I’d ever been with, but there was nothing objective about what I felt for him. His appeal was in the whole package. How his seriousness made his full lower lip look like it was getting away with something sensual. The moment when the calculation in his eyes gave way to acceptance. The way he trained his body as a weapon of enforcement, protection, and let me turn it to an instrument of pleasure.
The way his voice changed from barking, “This is Agent Fox,” to curling around “Amory” when he realized it was me on the phone, caressing the word like licking a sweet. I called his work phone instead of his cell so I could listen to him change from Agent Fox into William, just for me.
Not that I’d ever admit it. I was almost certain he had no idea he did it, and would make every effort to stop if he did. But it made my heart beat fast every time.
I took a bite of Raisin Bran while I watched him, his beautiful eyes narrowing and the smooth golden skin of his forehead creasing at whatever he saw on his phone.
“Ugh,” I said, mid-chew. “What on earth?”
“Hmm?”
“This…this…William, I cannot.”
“What?”
“This…raisin bran is not even Raisin Bran! These raisins are…what on earth is this?!”
“What? It’s probably just an imitation brand, Vaughn. Snobby much?”
I started to open my mouth on the running list of offenses against decency and taste that this trip had committed thus far, when Will checked his watch again and lifted his phone to his ear. He had eaten his muffin with seemingly little difficulty and I felt slightly petulant.
I plucked one of the desiccated thorns masquerading as raisins from my bowl and dropped it onto the table in demonstration and disgust.
“Hey!” Will’s face lost its FBI seriousness as he grinned at whoever was on the phone. “Happy birthday!…I know, right?…Yeah, in Durham…Yes, I realize it’s problematic terminology, believe me.”
Will gave me a quick look and smiled as whoever was on the other end spoke. His eyes lingered on my mouth, then slid down my body to where my hand lay on the table next to the offending raisin. I could tell that he wished he could slide his hand over mine and squeeze. For a moment, I nearly did it for him, to spare him having to struggle with the choice. Will wasn’t in the closet, in life or at work, but I knew he weighed the costs and benefits of his actions in ways that wore on him at times. As this was his milieu, I would follow his lead.
“Okay, cool, see ya then,” he said, and ended the call. He got to his feet and shook out his suit jacket before sliding it back on. Not that it helped. “Ready?”
I stood and buttoned my own coat, snatching the bowl of cereal from the table at the last minute. Our aerobic sex the night before had left me hungry. In the parking lot, I picked out another raisin and threw it on the ground, eating a few of the flakes. Will shook his head at me.
“Who was on the phone?” I asked, giving in to the desire to slide a hand up his spine.
“Oh, Charlie.”
“Charlie…as in, your sister Charlotte.”
Will shot me a look like I was an idiot. “Yeah, as in my sister, Charlotte.”
“Today is her birthday.”
“Yup.”
“Your twin sister, Charlotte.”
I pulled Will around by the arm so he was facing me, and he squinted into the sun, then rolled his eyes.
“So then—and please correct me, unless I’ve been laboring under a misapprehension about twins—that would mean that today is also your birthday.”
“Uh…” Will fidgeted. “Uh huh.”
“God damn it, William, how could you not have said?”
“Oh. It’s no big deal, really.”
And the way he was looking at me, I could almost believe him. Had he ever celebrated just for himself, or had he always thought of it as primarily Charlotte’s birthday? I had a vision of them as children and teenagers, planning every birthday together, Will letting Charlotte—nascent party planner—make the decisions for them both. I wondered how many people ever wished William a happy birthday and thought of it as only his.
Then again, some people simply didn’t care about their birthdays.
I pulled him to me by the arm I still held, and bent to kiss his lips. “Happy birthday, William.” I kissed him again, and smoothed his hair where it had dried a little mussed.
“Thanks,” he murmured, looking down at the pavement.
“Well. I hope you will enjoy spending your birthday learning how to be a minimally decent human being and seeing that your coworkers are—no doubt—not nearly as up to the task. My condolences in advance.”
“Yeah, these things are always…not the best.” He glanced over his shoulder at the entrance to the La Quinta’s conference room, then down at his watch. “But I should.” He indicated the doorway.
“Of course. I’ll see you back in the room when you’re done?”
He squeezed my hand, then turned and strode purposefully across the parking lot, immediately in work mode. As I made my way back to the room, I shook my head. If only we’d been at home, I could have celebrated him in style! Better yet, had we gone away to somewhere of my choosing for the weekend, even if I hadn’t known it was his birthday, I would’ve had wonderful things planned.
But I was almost immediately distracted from my annoyance at not having the upper hand in Will’s celebrations. Because it was so dedicated, so loyal, so utterly William to agree to go on a work retreat over the weekend of his birthday and not even think to complain about it.
I allowed myself a brief moment of fantasizing that perhaps he’d been especially pleased when I’d jumped at the chance to come along, because at least he’d get to enjoy being with me for his birthday, even if it was spent in a horrible motel that served inedible breakfasts. Perhaps he’d thought of me, just for a moment, as a birthday gift.
And then I brushed my teeth to get rid of the taste of the worst continental breakfast on the continent, canceled my next phone meeting, shot the purple and green room a glare for good measure, and went to procure a cab. Because I had some planning to do if I was going to have things ready by the time the birthday boy got back.
* * *
Everything was ready when William let himself into the room. The food was keeping warm in its insulated bag. The champagne was chilling in the cheap plastic La Quinta ice bucket. Bath products, candles, and soft towels awaited in the bathroom. And the bed was remade with new pillows and sheets that didn’t feel as though they were cleaned via carwash and left to dry in a pile on the floor. Will’s gift hung in the closet, still zipped in plastic in case he should open the door unexpectedly.
My first instinct had been to take him out for dinner, or to a club or a show, but I’d forced myself to think of what had gone so well about our first date. It had been my guiding principle since this whole business with William had begun, and I was trying hard to stick to it. It even had a simple acronym: WWWW. What Would William Want. Not what would I want, or Valerie, or any of the number of other dates whose birthdays I had celebrated. But William, and only William. And in the case of today, I imagined that after a long day of unpleasant work-related socializing, Will would likely want to relax. So I’d brought the relaxation to him.
As the door closed behind him, I was met with a decidedly not-relaxed sound. He yanked his tie off, nearly strangling himself in the process, dropped his suit jacket in a heap on the ground, and kicked off his shoes, before falling face-first onto the bed with another irritated groan and mumbling something unintelligible into the new Italian sheets.
I eased onto the bed next to him and rubbed a hand up and down his spine. His shirt was tacky with sweat and his muscles were tight.
“What’s that, darling?”
My hand stilled on Will’s back as he flipped over. “I hate Brett Lawson.”
“The gentleman who needed reminding that sexual orientation was not an accurate predictor of personality traits?” On the drive to Durham, I’d heard all about Brett Lawson and his lack of enthusiasm at having to participate in a sensitivity training. And I’d heard a lot of things that William hadn’t exactly said, about how Lawson had treated him over the years. I gritted my teeth as he nodded, but couldn’t help notice that Will sounded less vitriolic than…whiny. And it was just the slightest bit adorable to see him reduced to pouting into the bed. “And what transgression of sensitivity did he perpetrate this time?”
“Oh, uh, nothing…he’s just a dick.”
But this time when Will rolled onto his face, I was nearly certain it was so I couldn’t see the truth in his eyes. William was a wretched liar.
“William.” I kept my voice low in his ear as I stretched out beside him on the bed. He shivered. “Darling, tell me.”
“’S stupid,” he muttered. But he turned into me, throwing an arm over my waist and tucking his nose to my neck.
I could probably lull him to sleep like this, with my fingers in his hair and his lips against my skin. But it was late enough in the day that if he napped he wouldn’t be able to sleep, and he’d be annoyed that I’d let him. “What happened?” I asked softly.
A sigh.
“I didn’t exactly think about how having you here would be…uh, a topic of conversation.”
Before I could wrangle the specifics from Will, he forcibly changed the subject.
“Hang on…are these…did you get housekeeping to change the sheets?” Will pulled the top sheet down and ran his hand between them. “Oh, god, Vaughn, did you ask them to put a different kind of sheets on the bed?”
I scoffed. “You can’t possibly imagine that the La Quinta Inn, however convenient its proximity to the highway, keeps Pratesi sheets in its housekeeping carts.”
Will’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what that means, but I think it implies that you went out and bought new sheets to put on a bed in a hotel that we’re staying at for one more night.”
“It’s your birthday, William. I couldn’t possibly let you spend your birthday between sheets that—ah, in anything less than whatever comfort I could provide. Are you hungry?” I asked before he could comment further.
“Yeah, I’m starved, actually. I got caught up talking to the trainer at lunch and lost track of time.”
“Excellent. Would you like to take a quick shower while I set out the food?” Will always liked to shower the day off.
“Okay.” He kissed me gently, then went into the bathroom. I wondered if he’d notice the new towels and robe I’d swapped for the wretched ones the hotel had issued.
I also wondered if he’d notice the other swap I’d made. I’d promised Will no more art theft, and of course I had every intention of keeping my promise—even if the oversized photographs of water droplets and bamboo stalks were such an offense to the eye that if I had stolen them it would only have been to the aesthetic advantage of the next poor souls to check into room thirty-three. But, no. Swapping wasn’t stealing. All I had done was put the one in the place of the other. Sure, it had required unmounting what was never meant to be unmounted, but it was the work of only fifteen minutes or so. And now, though I was stuck in this horrid room with this horrid art, at least I had the satisfaction of knowing I’d left my mark.
And I had. On the backs of the pictures, I’d added my own signature: a discreet W&V to commemorate our stay. Like signing a guest ledger, really, had this been the sort of place that would have one. They looked good together, W&V. And as I’d rehung the paintings, I’d imagined our monogram on other things we might share. Hand towels, bathrobes, Christmas cards. Wedding invitations?
I tapped the cumbersome frame of the photograph of water droplets that was now above the desk, then I moved the desk out from the wall so I could put a chair on either side, set it, and laid out the food and champagne. Will came out of the bathroom in a gust of sweet-smelling steam just as I put the finishing touches on the table. He was wrapped in the thick robe, drops of water visible on his muscular chest where the fabric gaped, and his skin was flushed from the heat. He looked even more edible than the meal I’d procured.
“Great water pressure,” he said.
“Yes, my chest thought so too. If only I could say the same for my hair.” I kissed him, feeling the heat from his skin.
“What? Oh. Ha, you’re too tall.”
“I would prefer to say that the shower is too short.”
“Wow, where did all this come from?”
“A restaurant called Luna. I got the recommendation from a friend of mine in D.C. It’s South America meets the American South.”
Will put his nose to a container of carnitas and inhaled blissfully.
“Here, sit.”
I put my hands on his shoulders and pressed him into the seat, gesturing that he should serve himself first. I popped the champagne and poured it, handing a flute to him.
“Cheers, William. To, I hope, a very happy birthday, and many more to follow. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to be sharing it with you.” Even though you weren’t going to tell me it was your birthday. I touched my glass to his and sipped, the champagne wonderfully dry and bright, with just a hint of fruit on the swallow.
“Amory, I—” Will shook his head and sipped his own champagne. “I can’t believe you did all this. Thank you.”
“This is a far cry from what I could’ve done with some notice.” I shot him a look. “But I’m glad you’re pleased.”
We ate and talked and it wasn’t too terribly hard to imagine that we were in a beautiful hotel room, in a resort somewhere, or at one of my properties out of the city. The food was good, the champagne was good, and whatever was lacking in ambiance, the beauty of the man in front of me more than made up for it.
After, I sat Will on the bed and told him to close his eyes.
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he said, and I kissed him until he shut up.
I got his gift from the closet, where I’d clipped its tags and removed its pins earlier, and stood in front of Will.
“Okay,” I said, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
He opened his eyes, then they opened even wider when they saw what I held. The Zegna suit was a navy blue slim-cut, two-button in a wool-mohair blend. I knew the color would look gorgeous with his warm brown hair and eyes, and the narrow cut and side vents would show off his broad shoulders and lean hips to perfection.
“Because it’s you, I know that’s a nice suit,” he said, smiling. “And where the hell did you get it on such short notice?”
“Thank goodness for Nordstrom,” I said. In truth, I’d had to go to two different Nordstroms and follow their sales associates into the storeroom to find anything passable. It was just the best I could do in one day.
“Try it on?” I asked. “There’s a shirt there too.”
Will looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read, then nodded, and took the clothes into the bathroom. I wasn’t sure why, since I’d seen him naked from every possible angle—and a few I’d thought impossible before I met William. But I supposed seeing the whole package at once would be nice.
He was right: it was a nice suit. But it was nothing compared to what I wanted to give him. As I’d walked through the unimpressive shopping malls today, I had been regretful that I couldn’t have a bespoke suit made for Will, the way I would’ve preferred. Not because I cared overmuch for how he dressed—hell, if I had, it would’ve been a problem the first time we met. And not because I thought his life would be better lived in a more breathable fabric and flattering cut.
But because of what it represented. That I could intercede between William and the very material of the world he came in contact with. The world that I couldn’t control. That I could look at my lover and see evidence of my care upon his body. It was a possessive thought. Perhaps even a jealous one. But it had been all I could think of. The Zegna suit, nice as it was, was merely a stand-in for a better one. And that one, in turn, merely a stand-in for the frustrating reality that I couldn’t keep Will in my arms every hour of every day.
“Did you get my measurements out of my other suit?” Will asked, stepping out of the bathroom slowly. The suit fit him beautifully. Not bespoke, but nearly perfect.
I scoffed and crossed to him, running a finger down the soft lapel.
“I didn’t need measurements,” I told him. “I know you by heart.”
I’d expected him to laugh at that, or to mock me for flirting with him. For saying something cheesy. But he didn’t. He stepped into my arms and cupped my cheek, kissed my mouth.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “It’s a beautiful suit. Nicest I’ve ever had. I—thank you.”
“My pleasure,” I murmured. And it was. It really was. “Can I talk you out of it as easily as I talked you into it?”
At that, he snorted. But he spread his arms wide and smiled at me. “I know you think you can talk your way out of anything. But you might have to actually use your hands for this one.” I loved his clumsy attempts at banter.
“You don’t say.”
I undressed him slowly, hung the suit back up in the closet, and encouraged him down onto the bed. Then I crawled between his legs and kissed him deeply, canting his head back and running my fingers down his bare throat. We kissed until we were panting and Will was tugging at my clothes. Splayed naked beneath me on the soft Pratesi sheets while I was fully clothed, Will looked decadent and debauched. Hair mussed, mouth puffy, eyes heavy, he was a vision.
I stripped my own clothes off and reached for the champagne bottle. I took a sip and then kissed Will so he could share it from my mouth. Then I slid back between his legs and kissed the insides of his thighs until he was moaning and trying to press his hips up to get my mouth where he needed it. I kissed his low belly, and the creases of his thighs, not touching his swollen erection.
“I want you, please,” he said, tugging at my shoulder to try and pull me up.
“No, this is just for you.”
I tilted his hips up and finally sank down, taking his erection into my mouth. He groaned and clutched the sheets as I worked him. I luxuriated in the taste of him, salty-sweet and clean, and the feel of that velvet skin stretched taut around his thick need. There was something so vulnerable about a man with his cock in my mouth. Having control over his pleasure with the single flick of my tongue or touch of my lips.
William went wild beneath me when I scraped my teeth lightly along his length. I pressed my fingers to his lips and he sucked on them as I was sucking him, getting them slick. I slid two fingers inside him, stroking his ass in time with the rise and fall of my mouth on his cock. When his broken whimpers and pants signaled that I’d brought him to the edge, I backed up, playing with his balls, stilling my fingers inside him until he made a sound of frustration and wriggled beneath me.
“Impatient, William?” I asked.
His response was inarticulate.
When he’d backed away from the edge, I started up again, sucking him to the hilt and spreading my fingers inside him until he was a shuddering mess, sweating and moaning. I backed off again and he let out a needy cry, a hand reaching out for me. I pressed a kiss to his palm and his palm to the bed, licking the insides of his thighs softly to feel them tremble.
When I put my mouth back on him, I slid a third finger inside and nailed his prostate directly. He clenched around me and cried out so I did it again and again until he was panting my name and leaking a steady stream of precome. Then I took him deep and moved on him, hollowing my cheeks on the downstroke and swirling my tongue around his sensitive head as I came up. I kept up pressure on his prostate and after a minute or so, he was crying out over and over, straining his hips to meet my mouth, clenching around my fingers, and, finally, exploding into my mouth as he groaned his release.
“Oh, fuck,” he whimpered. I gently cleaned him with my tongue as he came down, tiny shivers of pleasure still running through him. “Oh, god.”
“Mmm.” I slid a hand up his thigh, over his hip, up his belly, and rested it on his chest where I could feel his heart still pounding. “Happy birthday, love,” I said softly, and pressed one last kiss to his belly. He whimpered in response.
“Here, let me,” he said, reaching for me. My erection was a hot brand against my belly, almost painfully hard from watching him fall apart. I went to push him away, but he got a hand around me and jerked before I could. I groaned and lost it in two more strokes, shooting all over his stomach and chest, my own thighs now trembling with release, my ass clenching as I shuddered through my own aftershocks.
I leaned down and kissed him, brushing his hair back.
“We made a mess,” I murmured.
“Mmm. You made a mess,” he said, and I smiled into his neck.
“Yes, true. But I made it on you, so now we are both rather in need of a shower.”
Will made an unimpressed sound and I moved off him and started the shower, so it would be warm by the time I got him into it.
I kissed his neck and up his jaw, then kissed his mouth.
“Come,” I said, and pulled him up. He was boneless in my arms, languid, and I got him under the hot spray before he even opened his eyes. He sagged against me and it was a rare moment of vulnerability outside of bed. He wrapped his arms around my neck and let me hold him under the water.
“Can’t believe you did all this for me,” he said sleepily into my neck.
“Of course I did.” I didn’t tell him that it had been nothing, because I knew that to him it hadn’t. “Maybe next year, with a little more notice, we can go on a trip that doesn’t include sensitivity training for your birthday.”
He laughed softly. “Kay.”
And that was all. A low, sleepy indication that Will didn’t think it was ridiculous to imagine that we would still be together a year from now. It warmed me to the gut. I lifted his face to mine to kiss him, imagining he could taste my smile even with his eyes closed.
“I love you, William,” I murmured against his mouth.
His blinked his eyes open, brows drawing together. “You do?”
It was such a very William response.
“I do.”
I worked shampoo into his hair, then tilted his chin up so I could rinse it out without getting shampoo in his eyes. He blinked dazedly at me, arms still around my neck, water sluicing down his neck and chest. I could see the gears turning as he considered his options, and I had the urge to tell him more. To make the case for why I loved him so I was positive he believed me. But this was William, so I stayed quiet, and I spoke with my body.
I conditioned his hair, though I knew he never used conditioner. I washed him, sliding the cloth over every inch of his beautiful body and kissing my way back up. I worshipped him.
When I got back to his mouth, he looked confused. Overwhelmed.
“You must be so tired,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”
Will nodded, and let me lead him out of the shower, dry him off.
“Do you want to watch a movie? Or some mindless show?” I held the covers aside so he could slide into bed, but he stopped in front of me, scowling in concentration.
I touched a finger to the lines in his forehead and he refocused on my face.
“I love you too,” he said, like he was proposing the answer to a puzzle he’d just worked out.
The moment the words were out of his mouth, his brow smoothed out and the shadow in his expression passed.
“You do, huh?” I slid an arm around him as he nodded, and we climbed under the covers.
“Yeah, I… Yes.”
The sheets were soft, the mattress was lumpy, and I had never been happier to be exactly where I was. I kissed Will softly. A kiss about love and appreciation. We sank down to the pillows together, his head on my shoulder. Then he let out a small laugh, like a kid at a sleepover, and buried his face in my neck.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He kissed my neck. “Oh, can we watch Forensics Files?”
“I hate that show,” I muttered. “But yes.”
Will grinned at me wryly. “I’m pushing the whole birthday thing with that one, huh?”
“No,” I said. “There’s not a thing you could ask me for right now that I wouldn’t willingly give you.” And I meant it. “Not because it’s your birthday though.”
“I love you,” he murmured, softly, like he was trying it on for size after the initial purchase.
“I love you, William.”