Omorphi (49 page)

“You say the cook?”

“I would, but then I’m not ri—a romantic.”
What you are is
seriously overtired, dude
. “How did the chef get in here?”

“They have a key.”

Michael abruptly rose from his seat and went to the front door. Of course, they’d left it unlocked. He turned the deadbolt and returned to his seat. “Make sure they lock the door on the way out. Who else has a key?”

“Rob, a few of the counselors, the cleaning and maintenance staff, security.”

“Too many people,” Michael grumbled as he lifted the stainless cover off his plate. “Linguini with Alfredo sauce?”

“Fettuccine. You said not too special.”

“This is perfect. What’s that?”

“Caprése. The layers are the slice of tomato, the slice of bufala mozzarella, a basil leaf, with a little virgin olive oil and pepper.” Christy cut one little mound in half, forked it, and held it to Michael’s lips.

Michael took the offered bite. “Tasty.”

“My favorite Italian salad.” Christy poured two glasses of sparkling water. “Would you like wine?”

Michael looked at him, stolid, too exhausted to show his surprise. “No, thanks.”

“Do you mind if I have a glass?”

“In Greece, would you drink wine?”

“With every meal except breakfast.”

“Seriously?”

“From the time we are young.” Christy smiled. “We’re in competition with the French and Italians to see who can produce the greatest number of alcoholic citizens.”

“That sounds healthy.”

“It is. We outlive Americans by several years.”

“You get to party and still live longer. That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Why do you think the police do not have Jason?”

The arbitrary change of subject caused Michael’s tired mind to stumble over his thoughts. “As the detective said, someone’s probably helping him.”

“It is my fault. I should not have pursued you.”

“No way. Jason is angry with his mom and taking it out on the world. Trust me, this is no one’s fault but his.”

“You will not make me speak with Rob.”

Michael struggled with yet another quick change of subject and didn’t think Christy’s statement sounded like a question, so he simply said, “Okay.”

“You will not force me to speak with the
Astynomía
.”

“No.”

“So why do you make this disagreement?”

Michael looked into Christy’s puffy, tear-swollen eyes and wondered if he had the strength to deal with this conversation right now. And wondered if he’d fuck up and put Christy into a catatonic state.
Honesty. Stick with honesty.
“I didn’t make this disagreement. You did. And I think you need to work with Rob.”

Anger filled Christy’s eyes again, and Michael wondered if he needed to call Rob for help ahead of time, to stave off some critical reaction of Christy’s.

Christy seemed to mull his comments over for some time. “Why to work with Rob?”

Surprise!
Christy didn’t freak. And a valid question.
What the hell is the answer?
“There is no way in hell anyone can try to rebuild a life after what you’ve been through without help.”

“I have you.”

Michael sat back in his chair. “You do, but I don’t know how to deal with this, Christy. I’m walking on eggshells trying to keep you from freaking out.”

“I have baggage.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed on Christy. “Where did you hear that?”

“I hear people at school. They say they do not want people with baggage, the things that come with them that are difficult.”

Michael set his fork down. “We all have baggage, and I don’t mind your baggage. I mind that you don’t work with Rob.”

“So this is the condition?”

Michael frowned. Was he conditioning their relationship? “No. I will never make you do anything you don’t want to do. But I have a question for you.”

Now, it was Christy’s turn to wait with bated breath.

“Are you willing to risk our relationship because you didn’t participate in therapy?”

Christy’s brow knit deeply. “What do you mean to say?”

“At some point, I won’t know what to do for you. What will you do then? You’ll have no one to turn to without Rob.”

Christy’s brow contorted, the thought seemingly never having entered his mind.

“I can’t help you all on my own. I need you to help yourself, and that means working with Rob.”

Christy raised his eyes to Michael. “Okay. I will do this.”

It was so simple once Christy made up his mind. He merely needed someone to explain it in a way that made sense to him. “Thank you.” Christy reached a tentative hand across the island and set it on Michael’s. He trembled ever so slightly, and Michael held it and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. “If we work together, we can do it. Everything will be okay.”

“Together,” Christy whispered.

Michael might as well have inhaled his food after that. He wasn’t exercising or running this week and thought he’d be less hungry, but it certainly didn’t seem to be the case. He looked down at his stomach. The raspberry bruise had started to turn an ugly greenish-yellow-purple.

“It’s getting better.”

Michael nodded. “A lot less pain when I move. Come on. Let’s get to bed. I’m beat.”

“Michael?”

Michael waited in silence, unsure he could take any more drama.

“You said I can wear anything when I’m with you. Did you mean it?”

Equal measures of amusement and curiosity filled Michael. He could only imagine what would come next. “Yes.”

“Okay. Will you wait here for a few moments?”

“I’ll do the dishes.”

M
ICHAEL
turned from the sink and nearly dropped the plate from his hands. A hellish heat shot through his veins, leaving him desperately seeking hormonal purchase. The lingerie that Christy wore left little to the imagination, but that was only a fraction of what stunned him. It was Christy’s incredible beauty and how much Michael liked… no, not liked…
craved
what he saw that left him bereft of his senses. Christy was the very embodiment of every sugar-spun fantasy Michael had ever had. White lace graced Christy’s lean hips beneath a matching lace camisole and the slightest of red sheens painted his irresistible lips.
He’s absolutely gorgeous.

“You don’t like it?”

Michael tore his lustful gaze from Christy’s body and met his eyes. What he saw tempered his heated desire and sent an ache to his heart. He set the plate on the counter carefully, still fearful it would slip from his hands, and went to Christy. He touched a fingertip to Christy’s shiny lower lip and brought it to his tongue.

“Cherry.” Christy’s whisper was a breath on the air.

Michael brushed a wispy ringlet behind Christy’s ear. “I don’t like it. I love it.”

A tentative smile formed on Christy’s lips.

Michael cupped his chin with thumb and forefinger. “You’re absolutely beautiful, my pretty Christy.”

“You don’t think—”

“I think you’re the sexiest guy I’ve ever seen.”

“I can wear this?”

Michael nodded.

Christy launched into Michael’s arms and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Michael.”

Michael didn’t want to overthink this. Whatever
this
was. Did it need a label?
No
. It just
was
. He didn’t want to be burdened with doubt and insecurity. He only wanted to love his beautiful Christy.

Michael led Christy to bed, climbed in after him, and curled around him, fitting against him perfectly. He pulled Christy closer and kissed his shoulder. “Night.”

“Thank you for staying with me.”

“Don’t thank me, babe. Have sweet dreams.” Michael said a silent prayer for them both and another for his parents and was out within seconds.

M
ICHAEL
woke to bright sunshine sparkling in Christy’s eyes as he looked down at him. Christy’s small frame covered his torso, their bodies melding perfectly.

“
Kaliméra, filos.
”

Now
this
was the way to wake up on a Wednesday morning. Setting aside his raging hormones and morning wood, Michael felt very… adultish. “Morning. What does that mean, exactly?” he asked, sleep not yet gone from his voice.

“Good morning, boyfriend.” Christy kissed Michael thoroughly.

Recalling Sophia’s text message to Christy, Michael tried, “Let me see if I can do you one better.
Kaliméra, agapimenos
.”

“That is ‘Good morning, favorite.’ It should be
kaliméra, agapimenos mou.
”

“‘Good morning, my favorite’?”

Christy smiled. “It is more ‘Good morning, sweetheart.’ Now I will show you
kaliméra, erastís.
”

“What’s that mean?”

“You know of the Greek god, Eros?”

Michael smiled. “Cupid.”

Christy rolled his eyes. “It is ‘Good morning, lover.’” He drew back to sit on Michael’s thighs and began to slip the camisole over his head.

“Leave it on.”

Christy bit his lower lip in an effort to hide a shy smile as he moved languidly onto one hip and slipped the lace panties off to reveal his very erect manhood.

“Now
that
looks hot.” Michael sat up and was pleased to discover his diaphragm only nagged a little. “You with that lace on and these….” Michael slipped his hands beneath the lace and found Christy’s rosebud nipples.

Christy breathed a little “oh” at his touch. “You are so sexy.” Michael kissed him slowly, passionately, as he took Christy in hand and stroked gently, taking his time to learn every curve and muscle.

With a deep moan, Christy pushed him back on the bed, scooted forward, and wrapped a hand around them both. Every stroke beset Michael’s senses, driving him crazy with need. He gripped the sheets and fought not to move, to simply enjoy the moment. Then Christy changed the pressure, changed how he moved, and Michael was done in. With his hands on Christy’s narrow hips, he thrust into Christy’s rhythmic movements and, with a stifled cry, spilled over Christy’s hand. Christy followed seconds later with a soft moan, adding to the warm mess on Michael’s belly.

Michael’s heart slowed as he relearned how to breathe and drew Christy down for a heartfelt kiss. “You never cease to amaze me.”

Christy smiled. “It’s a small thing to start our day.”

Michael touched a fingertip to Christy’s luscious lower lip. “It isn’t a small thing. Everything we do is important, Christy.”

“Are you always so serious in the morning?”

“I’m always serious when we have sex. How do you get your hands so soft?”

Christy reached behind a knee and brought up a small bottle of lubricant.

Michael laughed. “Cheater. I didn’t see you put that on your hand.”

Christy looked smug.

Michael ran a hand down his white-gold ringlets. “Pretty and dangerous.”

Christy’s eyes filled with uncertainty within a fraction of a second. “I’m not dangerous.”

Michael smiled. “Dangerous in a good way. Not literally.”

Christy’s brow knitted. “Is there such a thing?”

“Remember what we wrote on the easel upstairs? That you’re pretty in everything you are and do?”

Christy nodded once.

“Your beauty has the ability to render me powerless.”

Christy’s brow tightened as he puzzled this and then smiled, sudden and bright. “I can do this to you?”

“Definitely. You leave me absolutely weak.”

“I am stronger than you?”

“I could never compete with your strength, Christy. Ever.”

Christy frowned again.

Michael pulled him in for a sweet kiss. “Stop thinking so hard. You might break something. What time is it?”

“A little after six. Rob comes with breakfast at six thirty. Let’s shower quickly.”

“Y
OU
didn’t have a nightmare last night,” Michael commented as he kissed the nape of Christy’s neck and soaped his back.

“I didn’t.” Christy sounded amazed. “Did you?”

“Nope. Slept like a baby.”

“This is good for us.”

“It is.”

Michael’s phone rang in the other room. “It’s either Mom or Jake. Care to wager?”

“Jacob with your clothes.”

“I bet it’s Mom with a lecture.”

“Ah, so this is where you get it.”

Michael made a face as he rinsed off and left the shower.

Michael glanced at the screen before answering the phone. “Morning, Mom…. Slept good. How about you…? Yeah? That’s great…. We had fettuccine and Caprése salad…. Here. The chef made it…. Ah, do I have to answer that…? Well, then, yeah, this morning…. Mom! Don’t embarrass me or I won’t be honest with you…. We don’t do things that need that kind of protect—”

Someone banged loudly on the front door.

“Hang on, Mom.”

Christy walked out of the bathroom and looked at Michael, equally surprised by the loud noise. The banging became insistent and hard enough to rattle the hardware. Christy took the towel from his head and wrapped it around his waist as he headed across the room. Michael stayed him with a hand on his arm.

“I don’t know, Mom. Hang on.”

Michael guided Christy to stand behind the door.

“Who is it?” Michael called.

The banging continued, insistent and loud.

“You need a peephole.” Michael moved to the front window. “I don’t know, Mom. Just hang on.” Michael cracked the pine shutters and peered out. All that he could see was part of a uniform. It looked like a deliveryman from one of those overnight courier services. “Are you expecting a delivery?”

Christy shook his head.

“Hang on, Mom. I’m going to answer the door.” Michael placed the ball of his foot against the base of the door and opened it slightly, and the window behind Christy exploded. The door slammed into Michael, and he tripped backward, the phone flying from his hand as Jason aimed a gun at his chest and fired.

Michael’s quick reflexes had him turning, avoiding a bullet to the chest but not to the arm.

Flames raced across the floor and up Christy’s leg and the towel around his waist ignited.