Shortbread and Shadows - Amy Lane Page 0,67

reached for the light switch, and Bartholomew stopped him with a kiss, and then another, and another.

“Gotta stop that,” Lachlan murmured. “We were in the guest bed last time. I want to take you up to the loft.”

“Guest bed?” Something occurred to Bartholomew. “But you had lube and… and… implements in the end table.”

Gah! Lachlan’s laugh was so delicious, it should have been illegal. He finished chuckling into the sensitive hollow of Bartholomew’s neck and then licked the shell of his ear. “I move those when I have real guests,” he whispered. “I want you to see where I sleep every night; is that so bad?”

He sucked on Bartholomew’s earlobe, and Bartholomew gave a low moan.

“Does that have anything to do with that thing you want me to do?” he asked breathlessly.

“Well, yeah.” Lachlan moved his attentions to Bartholomew’s neck. “I’ve got a bigger ‘implement’ in the upstairs drawer.”

Bartholomew pulled back and regarded Lachlan with a deep suspicion. “You were very sexually active for a while, weren’t you?”

Lachlan grinned, the light from the moon and the stars making him look like a god of mischief in his own kitchen. “Until I met you, Tolly. Is that a problem?”

Bartholomew’s own grin snuck out, and to his surprise, it grew until it was probably as wicked as Lachlan’s. “No.”

Lachlan threw back his head and let out that delicious, decadent laugh again. “Good. Now go up to the loft and get ready. I’m going to lock up.”

Bartholomew frowned and said, “Let me do a thing here with some salt first, then lock up.” He didn’t trust that the magic that set the neighborhood cattywampus wouldn’t somehow seep here, where he felt safe. He used Lachlan’s salt to make a pentagram inside the door and to bless the threshold before washing his hands and dashing up the loft stairs while Lachlan was double-checking the mudroom and the alarm.

The loft itself was spacious and bright from the skylight, and Bartholomew had no problem at all seeing the handsome Queen Anne style chair by what was apparently a hand-carved armoire, where he could set his duffel bag and put his folded clothes. By the time he was done, Lachlan had joined him, stripping his own clothes off with impunity and leaving them on the floor.

As Bartholomew stood, wondering what to do next, Lachlan set his warm hand on Bartholomew’s hip. Just like that, the moment changed, became electric, sent all of the hair on Bartholomew’s arms upright and sent crackles of power down his spine.

This man was his.

He turned in Lachlan’s arms and kissed him, letting his hunger off its leash. Lachlan had shown him, again and again, that he was safe here, that he was cared for. Feeling safe meant he could show Lachlan what he wanted; it meant he could care for Lachlan the same way Lachlan cared for him.

“Mm, Tolly,” Lachlan murmured. “I like where this is going.”

Bartholomew pulled away for a moment and went to drop his head to take one of Lachlan’s nipples, but Lachlan stopped him with gentle fingers on his chin. “Quick,” he said softly. “Hard. Now. I haven’t seen you in a week. I need to know you missed me.”

Bartholomew lunged up and took his mouth again, even more aggressively, and Lachlan met him savage kiss for savage kiss.

Missed him? Sleeping in the house alone had killed him. It was like his heart knew where he belonged, and if he wasn’t by Lachlan’s side, a part of him was missing!

Their kisses grew hard, breathless, Bartholomew learning more with every kiss about what he could do to make his lover happy versus what he thought he should do just to get along.

Their hands roamed, each touch like rough and needy sorcery, until Lachlan grasped his cock and stroked. Bartholomew gasped and Lachlan whispered, “I’m going to reach for the lube, Tolly. You decide where we go from there.”

Lachlan bent over slightly, pulling the drawer out, and as soon as he straightened, Bartholomew pressed his slender body against Lachlan’s muscular one and whispered, “Give me.”

Lachlan practically purred, handing the bottle behind his back before bending over the mattress and giving Bartholomew complete access.

“We did this face-to-face when you were doing me,” Bartholomew murmured, already kissing his way down Lachlan’s spine. God, even his back was muscular, and Bartholomew couldn’t get enough of touching it.

“This way, you can’t get shy,” Lachlan told him. “Not this time. This way, you only need to worry about one thing.”

Fucking.

The thought of the word alone