I was late getting home from a client’s house where I’d spent way too many hours indulging a young Westlake society wife on how best to set a table for her “authentic Downton Abbey” murder mystery evening. Let’s just say it involved last-minute sourcing of twenty sets of Royal Worcester dinner plates to replace the Wedgewood Gillman ones she’d discovered had been sold in the US instead of the UK in 1915.

“Regardless of her American daughter-in-law, Lady Crawley wouldn’t have allowed such things on her table,” Ashley had insisted with a sniff. “As soon as I discovered the mistake, I about lost my shit.”

It had taken every ounce of self-control not to point out that she may need to work on her vulgar language before slipping into her corset and evening gown later. But it was honestly none of my business.

And I had a hottie waiting at home for me.

“Anyone home?” I called out when I entered the front door to the farmhouse. Milo let out a mrrp before trotting toward the back of the house. Saint had a fairly new habit of stopping by the shop to grab him before coming home so Milo wouldn’t be lonely overnight. The jury was still out on how Milo felt about the daily commute back and forth. As I watched him go, I noticed two things: the interior of the house was lit by only candles, and there was a trail of scattered keys on the floor leading toward the bedroom.

“Saint?” I called, setting down my own keys and wallet on the table by the door. I kicked off my shoes and tossed my coat over the back of a nearby chair before following the trail of keys deeper into the house. “Sorry I’m late. Ashley kept asking me how to make pin curls and whether or not to choose the Lotus clip or the Vever comb. Remind me never to carry women’s hair jewelry in the shop again if I want to avoid discussing historical hairstyles.”

I was babbling because I was nervous. As I came closer to the bedroom, I could hear the distant lazy sounds of Roxy Music spinning about Avalon.

Hot damn. Saint was in a mood.

“Babe?” I asked with a chuckle. “Should I strip down before I get to the bedroom?”

I was in the hallway now and decided to err on the side of naked by beginning to unbutton my shirt. By the time I entered the candlelit bedroom, I was topless and half-hard. There was no sign of Saint in our bed.

“Don’t tease me, Saint-Michel-des-Saints,” I warned. “I’m the new master of edging, remember?”

I heard a muffled thump from somewhere above and realized where he was.

My hidey-hole.

I stripped down to my underwear and entered the closet. Sure enough, the trail of keys on the floor led straight to the ladder in the back of the small space. The music got louder as I climbed up.

When I poked my head through the hatch, I nearly fell off the ladder. There, in complete almost naked glory, was the love of my life lazily stroking his hard cock through the thin fabric of a sexy jock.

“Fuck me,” I muttered. “I should have chartered a jet. Had I known this was what was waiting for me…”

“Get up here.”

I finished making my way into the small space. The fairy lights hanging from the low ceiling set off the gold and silver of my key collection. They hung from gold thread, making the entire space glow with a warm and honeyed ambiance that only served to make Saint Wilde look more like a fitness cover model than a… well, hell. He’d actually landed on the cover of a fitness magazine recently. Granted, it was North Texas Gymscape doing a profile on Twist’s new co-owner, but still.

He was hot as holy fuck.

And he was all mine.

“What’re you doing up here in your skivvies?” I asked, reaching forward to snap an elastic strap on his hip. The jock he wore was one I hadn’t seen before. The waistband said Pistol Pete and the straps themselves were red, white, and blue.

“Where are my black sequins?” I teased, crawling forward. “It’s New Year’s Eve, not Fourth of July.”

“Sequins itch. And the selection wasn’t all that great at the thrift shop.”

Had I not known he was joking, I might have gagged.

“I feel underdressed in my utilitarian boxer briefs,” I admitted.

“You’re sexy as hell in anything. Or nothing. C’mere.”

I finished crawling across the piles of blankets to where he lay. As I stretched out between his legs, I took the opportunity to run the tip of my tongue over the defined muscles of his hairy thigh. One of my new favorite things was stopping by Twist and watching the clients drool over him. The first time it happened, I was overcome with insecurity and jealousy.

But then Neckie had burst out laughing and pointed out the undeniable truth. Saint only had eyes for me.

Sure enough, after she told me that, I’d noticed the truth of her words. When I was in the same room as Saint, his eyes were locked on me like industrial magnets. The look on his face was sometimes affectionate, sometimes predatory, but always, always possessive and claiming.

And I loved every minute of it.

His adoration of me had very quickly helped convince me my fears of being unworthy were unfounded. Saint made a big effort to make sure I knew how much he loved me.

Case in point: the naked sailor in my favorite nest.

His grunts of pleasure filled the small space, and I looked up to catch his stormy gaze.

“How’d it go at the gym today?” I asked. “Any takers on your New Year special?”

“It was packed. My personal training spots are full through February already, and the Jumpstart Grinder class is on a waitlist. But I don’t want to talk about work. I want to suck your dick.”

That was enough to finish filling my cock in about half a second. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Suddenly I was on my back looking up at the lights and golden keys spinning idly around Saint’s blond hair like a halo. My underwear was missing, and my knees were next to my shoulders. The sound of Saint’s mouth caught up to my ears right when I felt his beard stubble on the sensitive skin of my rim.

“Jesus fuck,” I croaked. “Yes. That. Mmm-more.”

I held my knees back to give him access to whatever the hell he wanted to lick and suck down there as I squeezed my eyes closed and tried not to shoot off in the first ten seconds. Saint’s mouth moved over my balls to my shaft and ran a hot tongue up its length.

“You smell good. Taste good.” His muffled voice warmed the skin of my inner thigh, which reminded me of Christmas morning when he’d woken me up with his mouth while we were in his grandfathers’ bunkhouse bedroom. Before I’d come fully awake enough to realize where I was, I’d screamed so loudly through my orgasm that half his siblings held up scorecards when we arrived at breakfast.

I ran my fingers through his hair. It was longer on top than the sides and I loved running my hands through it. Sometimes when we watched a movie together he’d lie on my lap and let me play with his hair. Most of the time it resulted in a sleeping Saint who would be quickly joined by Milo curling into a tight ball on his warm lower back.

As he licked and sucked, Saint finally made his way up my body to lay claim to my mouth. I grabbed the back of his head and held on, wrapping my legs around his back to keep him still. He devoured my tongue and rubbed his scratchy cheeks against mine.

“Missed you,” I mumbled into his mouth. “Love you.”

I felt his cock slide against mine and groaned.

“What time is it?” he asked. “Midnight?”

“No. Like, seven? I think?” My head was spinning enough to make me unsure, but I remembered it being six something in the car.

“Want to wish you happy New Year’s,” he said before nibbling my ear lobe. “Gonna be a good one.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Best one ever. You and me. Milo.”

My heart soared. “Mm-hm,” I hummed again, arching up into him in search of release. “Gonna be better if we close out this year with an orgasm.”

Saint’s big, warm hand wrapped around our cocks and began to jack us off together. It felt so fucking good, I threw my head back and arched into him even more.

“Oh god.”

“Want to see you come,” Saint said through quickening breaths. “Please, Augie. Can’t… can’t…”

His thumb swiped over the head of my cock, throwing me over the cliff with a gasp. My entire lower body contracted with a bright, searing explosion of nerve endings.

“Fuckkkk,” I cried.

“Yes,” Saint hissed as I felt his warm release against my skin. “Fuck. So good, baby. God, you feel so good like this.”

He leaned in to kiss me some more, slowing it down until it was the barest of brushes against my lips. Finally he collapsed beside me and rested his head on my shoulder. I handed him a box of tissues so he could wipe off his hands.

“Why do you have a box of tissues up here?”

I thought back to the night I’d first met Saint Wilde, when I’d been too afraid to sleep in my own bed but plenty brave enough to masturbate one or five times in my hidey-hole to the memory of the stacked navy SEAL who’d touched me all evening in the gym and then bought me a drink at the pub after.

“No reason,” I said, blushing. “I read books up here. Sometimes they’re tearjerkers.”

“Liar,” he said with a grin. “You got the word ‘jerk’ right, but if you need these tissues for reading, the only book I can think of is Jacking Your Beanstalk.”

“Shut up,” I said with a bark of laughter.

“How To Choke A Chicken In One Easy (Repeated) Step.”

“Oh my god, you’re terrible.”

“Lone Rangering. Dotting the I. Me Before You. Grilling Salami for One.”

“I hate you right now,” I insisted. He was laughing just as hard as I was. Tears streamed down both our faces. “Bet you’re glad we have these now, huh?”

He handed me one to wipe my eyes with. When we caught our breath, he glanced at me with so much raw affection in his eyes, I was shocked into silence.

“That night I followed you home, you know.”

“You did?”

Saint reached out and pushed a piece of hair off my forehead. “I was worried about you. Wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

“Even then?”

“Even then.”

We spent the next few hours teasing, snuggling, planning, and pulling as much pleasure out of each other’s bodies as we could. And when midnight finally came, we were too busy enjoying the moment to even notice it was a whole new beginning.