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Maxwell yanked his head back up. “I told you, I don’t want—”
“It to mean anything. I know. It doesn’t have to.” Garrett put his other hand on Maxwell’s other knee and turned his chair around so that they faced each other, their legs brushing. Maxwell’s breath stuttered, and his pupils dilated, and Garrett reined in the lust in his lower belly. “You’re not mine. I’m not yours. I get it.”
Maxwell chewed his lip, and goddammit, Garrett had never seen anything so endearing. “Is that fair to you?”
Garrett hadn’t expected that. He frowned and cocked his head. “Why wouldn’t it be? You’ve made it very clear where you and I stand.” And maybe that hurt a bit, deep down in Garrett’s chest, where he was forced to admit that he did want more with Maxwell. But more wasn’t on the table. And he was okay with that. “You’ve been honest with me.”
Maxwell winced and ducked his head, and the flash of guilt over Maxwell’s face gave Garrett a moment of uncertainty.
But he pushed it away.
“I like you, Maxwell.” Garrett leaned forward and lowered his head to catch Maxwell’s eyes. He rubbed his thumbs in circles on the insides of Maxwell’s knees. “I’ve told you that before. I don’t want to control you, I don’t want to own you, but let me give you this?”
Chapter Four
Maxwell could barely breathe with the feel of Garrett’s hands on his thighs.
He’d thought, in the years of isolating himself, he’d built up protection against this—against the longing and the desperation that a man’s touch could fire up in his gut. He had always hated the weakness, and he hated the way Kurt had wielded it like a weapon to beat him down with or a leash with which to pull him back into line.
Once again, he braced to shove Garrett’s hands back off him, but once again, he couldn’t.
This was Garrett.
Maxwell stared into familiar honey-colored eyes, so earnest and sweet and confident and hungry in a way that sent a shiver up Maxwell’s spine.
Garrett wasn’t Kurt.
Garrett shouldn’t even be mentioned in the same sentence as that man, and goddammit, Maxwell wanted him. Maxwell wanted him, and he’d spent so long alone thinking that it would protect him, only to find himself trapped all over again as soon as Kurt reappeared.
It didn’t have to mean anything. Garrett had said so himself.
Maxwell let Garrett bring him food and clean his clinic and didn’t worry that it meant Maxwell was signing his life away to him or that Garrett was getting dangerously attached. Maybe Maxwell could accept this too, without trapping himself and ruining Garrett.
Maxwell took a deep breath, then a long exhale. “Alright.”
Garrett’s hands twitched on Maxwell’s knees, and Maxwell saw a frisson of energy bolt through Garrett’s body. Garrett licked his lips. “Are you sure?”
Maxwell watched Garrett’s tongue flicker over those lips that had forced their way into his mind from the very first time Garrett had ever thrown him that roguish grin. He’d wondered for years what it would be like to be kissed by Garrett—whether he’d be demanding or coaxing, rough or sweet—and known it would be sinfully good either way. “I’m sure.”
Garrett’s lips pulled into a smile as slow and sweet as molasses as he spread Maxwell’s knees apart. “Then why don’t you ease up on that death grip you have on my hand?”
“Sorry.” Maxwell suddenly realized just how tightly he’d been squeezing Garrett’s hand in his agonizing indecision, and he immediately released it.
“Don’t be sorry.” Garrett slid off his chair and into the space between Maxwell’s spread thighs, and Maxwell’s breath caught. “I’m just going to need it for something else.”
Garrett slid that hand up Maxwell’s thigh, up his flank, and then up to the back of his neck, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Maxwell’s heart pounded as Garrett braced his other hand on the chair beside Maxwell’s head and loomed over him. Maxwell could feel the heat of his body and the tantalizing brush of his hips against Maxwell’s inner thighs.
“Garrett.” Maxwell gripped the arms of his chair so hard his forearms shook.
He wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to do with his hands, and he couldn’t think clearly enough to figure it out. Garrett smiled a little sadly, then pulled Maxwell’s glasses off his face and set them somewhere outside of Maxwell’s field of view.
Then Garrett brought his hand back to Maxwell’s face and brushed his thumb along the underside of Maxwell’s jaw. “How long has it been since you’ve been kissed, Maxwell?”
The achingly sweet tone of Garrett’s voice combined with the reality of the answer made Maxwell’s eyes sting, and the open wound of loneliness gaped in his chest. “Years.”
Maxwell had just long enough to see the pain in Garrett’s eyes before Garrett swept in and captured his lips.
Suddenly, Maxwell’s hands knew what to do, and he tangled his fingers in the shirt over Garrett’s chest and pressed up into him. Tender and insistent. That was how Garrett kissed. Gentle and consuming. God, Maxwell should have known, but he still wasn’t ready for how good it felt.
