Page 134 of In at the Deep End

He had to smile.

Owen’s fast asleep, and yet even now he’s holding me.

Not in a possessive way, but maybe because at sometime during the night, reaching for Matt had been the most natural thing in the world.

Then Owen stirred, nuzzling into Matt’s neck before pressing a kiss to the back of his shoulder. “Morning.” A single word, rough with sleep, followed by another kiss.

Matt rolled over to face him, and Owen smiled, a soft, unguarded smile that only seemed to exist first thing in the morning. He leaned in to kiss Matt, no urgency, just warm lips lingering against his, fingertips brushing across Matt’s cheek as though reacquainting themselves with it, relearning the shape of him.

Matt kissed him back, his heartbeat quickening. This felt nothing like the breathless urgency of the night before.

This was comfortable, familiar, as though waking up together was something they’d somehow slipped into without either of them noticing.

Owen rested his forehead against Matt’s. “Coffee?”

Matt nodded. “I’ll go set up the machine.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.” Owen’s eyes drifted closed again.

He chuckled. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” He eased out of bed, located his shorts and squirmed into them, pulled the tee over his head, and padded downstairs.

The house wasn’t silent. Music played at low volume in one of the bedrooms, and from below drifted the sound of voices in conversation.

The kitchen wasn’t the disaster area he’d been expecting. A couple of guys were working with quiet efficiency, emptying the dishwasher and wiping down worktops. One of them gave Matt a warm nod as he entered.

“We don’t know where everything goes,” he explained, gesturing to the plates and glasses.

Matt waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it.” He went over to the bread bin and removed the loaf. “There’s butter, jam, and marmalade in the fridge. Help yourselves to toast. I expect Owen will sort out something more substantial for breakfast when he gets up.”

The other guy smirked. “Whenever that is.”

Matt saw the coffee machine was already up and running, and he poured himself two mugs, then carried them through the house into the lounge.

Two men lay asleep beneath a throw on one of the couches, curled up together, and that brought another smile. Matt crept past them, quietly opened the patio door, and stepped out into the morning sunlight. He set one mug down on the table.

Owen will find it.

The other stayed in his hand.

Matt wandered towards the far end of the garden and lowered himself into one of the Adirondack chairs overlooking the pool. The water shimmered beneath the early sun, deceptively calm.

His own thoughts were anything but.

What lingered wasn’t the sex—it was waking up wrapped in Owen’s arms. That sleepy nuzzle against his neck. The absent-minded kisses to his shoulder.

The way Owen had reached for him before he’d even opened his eyes.

Matt closed his own. There was a lot to process, far too much for someone who hadn’t even had his first coffee.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at Eric’s name.

He’ll be up.

He won’t mind.

The poor bloke deserved a medal. Every time his own head tied itself in knots, Eric somehow ended up patiently untangling them.

One day I’ll phone him just to ask how he is.