his ass tightening, the muscles of his thighs rotating out. Mmmm. If not for the damn cold, she’d feast on Jay’s movements all day. Watching him warmed her right up.
Henry’s words tickled her skin in an absent caress. If she initiated, Jay had permission to respond. A surprising, exhilarating, non-Friday power. Henry trusted her to treat his lover with care.
Jay snapped his waistband. “I know. You like what you see.” He hooked his thumbs in his sweatpants and thrust his hips forward with a swagger. “I get that a lot. Women who can’t keep their eyes off me.”
“Yeah? What do you tell them, stud?”
Jay tilted his head. “That I’m a one-woman man.”
Tension ratcheted and locked her in place. Click-click-click. Henry might be okay with Jay scoring one-night stands or whatever he’d meant last summer about packing a lunch. But that stood worlds apart from encouraging his lover to develop a long-term relationship with someone else. On fucking Valentine’s Day of all days.
She forced a laugh. “I thought you were a one- man man.”
She’d worried off and on for months Jay might fear she’d stolen Henry’s attention from him. Not once had she considered Henry might need to worry about her stealing Jay.
“I am.” His ease had to be real. Jay lacked the poker face to fake complete unconcern. “But that doesn’t dissuade the ladies from looking.”
He lowered his voice. “Some of them want to eat me up with a spoon. A spoon, Alice. I don’t think they understand how sex works.”
Oh thank God. He’d just played her longer than usual before giving the punch line.
Hysteria tinged her real, relieved laughter. She waved him off and sequestered herself in the bathroom. The cold water worked for now, but someone—Henry, probably—had planned ahead, lining up full buckets of water in case they needed them for tooth brushing or washing up or flushing the toilet.
She emerged to Jay heading in her direction carrying a tray.
“Henry says we’re having brunch in bed. Too cold in the kitchen.” He waggled his eyebrows. “We can shut in the heat in the bedroom.”
“Does he need—”
“No, thank you, Alice.” Henry, coming around the corner in pajamas and a robe, followed Jay down the hall. “All’s well in hand. Back to bed, my dear.”
She scurried in the doorway ahead of Jay and pulled the covers halfway back before climbing in and thrusting her legs beneath. The extra blankets and her two companions would make it snuggly and warm in short order.
“Whatever you made, it smells fantastic,” she called to Henry.
“A bit of a mix,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “It seemed best to use up the items in the refrigerator as much as possible, in the event the electricity remains off long.”
He and Jay settled themselves on either side of her and pulled the covers up. Henry handed her a plate and fork.
“Are you kidding me?” Christ on a cracker. “A bit of a mix” in Henry-speak meant enormous omelets with ham and cheese and peppers alongside a stack of blueberry-banana pancakes.
“You made all this without the stove?” The blueberries were arranged . Heart shapes. Jay’s plate confirmed it. Every pancake bore a blueberry heart.
“I find creativity distracts one from the cold. And a camp stove is still a stove. A finicky one, yes, but still a stove.”
They stuffed themselves with little talk beyond her and Jay’s thanks and compliments to the chef, which Henry demurred with customary grace. Afterward, without discussion or direction, she and Jay carried the trays to the kitchen. Henry had done the cooking. The cleanup belonged to them.
The morning’s nonsexual behavior continued after brunch, despite their silent mutual decision to remain warm by huddling naked in bed. She hadn’t opened the overnight bag she’d brought for anything more than her toothbrush.
Henry made a single phone call, to check on the situation with Mr. Nagel, and reported the super
Henry’s words tickled her skin in an absent caress. If she initiated, Jay had permission to respond. A surprising, exhilarating, non-Friday power. Henry trusted her to treat his lover with care.
Jay snapped his waistband. “I know. You like what you see.” He hooked his thumbs in his sweatpants and thrust his hips forward with a swagger. “I get that a lot. Women who can’t keep their eyes off me.”
“Yeah? What do you tell them, stud?”
Jay tilted his head. “That I’m a one-woman man.”
Tension ratcheted and locked her in place. Click-click-click. Henry might be okay with Jay scoring one-night stands or whatever he’d meant last summer about packing a lunch. But that stood worlds apart from encouraging his lover to develop a long-term relationship with someone else. On fucking Valentine’s Day of all days.
She forced a laugh. “I thought you were a one- man man.”
She’d worried off and on for months Jay might fear she’d stolen Henry’s attention from him. Not once had she considered Henry might need to worry about her stealing Jay.
“I am.” His ease had to be real. Jay lacked the poker face to fake complete unconcern. “But that doesn’t dissuade the ladies from looking.”
He lowered his voice. “Some of them want to eat me up with a spoon. A spoon, Alice. I don’t think they understand how sex works.”
Oh thank God. He’d just played her longer than usual before giving the punch line.
Hysteria tinged her real, relieved laughter. She waved him off and sequestered herself in the bathroom. The cold water worked for now, but someone—Henry, probably—had planned ahead, lining up full buckets of water in case they needed them for tooth brushing or washing up or flushing the toilet.
She emerged to Jay heading in her direction carrying a tray.
“Henry says we’re having brunch in bed. Too cold in the kitchen.” He waggled his eyebrows. “We can shut in the heat in the bedroom.”
“Does he need—”
“No, thank you, Alice.” Henry, coming around the corner in pajamas and a robe, followed Jay down the hall. “All’s well in hand. Back to bed, my dear.”
She scurried in the doorway ahead of Jay and pulled the covers halfway back before climbing in and thrusting her legs beneath. The extra blankets and her two companions would make it snuggly and warm in short order.
“Whatever you made, it smells fantastic,” she called to Henry.
“A bit of a mix,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “It seemed best to use up the items in the refrigerator as much as possible, in the event the electricity remains off long.”
He and Jay settled themselves on either side of her and pulled the covers up. Henry handed her a plate and fork.
“Are you kidding me?” Christ on a cracker. “A bit of a mix” in Henry-speak meant enormous omelets with ham and cheese and peppers alongside a stack of blueberry-banana pancakes.
“You made all this without the stove?” The blueberries were arranged . Heart shapes. Jay’s plate confirmed it. Every pancake bore a blueberry heart.
“I find creativity distracts one from the cold. And a camp stove is still a stove. A finicky one, yes, but still a stove.”
They stuffed themselves with little talk beyond her and Jay’s thanks and compliments to the chef, which Henry demurred with customary grace. Afterward, without discussion or direction, she and Jay carried the trays to the kitchen. Henry had done the cooking. The cleanup belonged to them.
The morning’s nonsexual behavior continued after brunch, despite their silent mutual decision to remain warm by huddling naked in bed. She hadn’t opened the overnight bag she’d brought for anything more than her toothbrush.
Henry made a single phone call, to check on the situation with Mr. Nagel, and reported the super
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