Page 102 of Sterling Clay

“Clay, are you asking—” I didn’t feel I could tempt fate to ask him for clarification. My hope couldn’t take the letdown if I was jumping ahead of this conversation.

“I’m saying I want more firsts with you. But I also want to be your last. The last man you ever kiss. The last man to ever love you as fiercely as I do.”

His eyes lock on mine which are overflowing with tears of joy.

“Marry me, butterfly.”

“Clay. Yes. Absolutely yes.” Leaning down, I kiss him with all I have, and then he’s rolling over me, filling me once again.

And that content feeling, which is pure happiness, leaves me breathless once more.

He’s my deep sigh.

+ + +

In the morning, we wake to a visitor in our bed. In the early morning hours, Dutton climbed between us. Clay didn’t seem to mind the intrusion, slipping his arm over Dutton and reaching out for me, wrapping us both underneath his protection.

Thankfully, he slipped on his boxer briefs and I’m wearing a Seed & Soil t-shirt after our second round of love making last night.

In a groggy voice, Clay mutters. “What’s the plan for today, buddy?”

Dutton lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “First, oatmeal.”

“On it,” Clay says, tossing back the covers and standing beside the bed to stretch.

I admire his back as he lifts his arms over his head.

Dutton stands on the mattress, jostling the bed and imitating Clay, adding an extra groan to the stretch. Clay chuckles and spins toward Dutton.

“Whatcha doing’, little bear?”

“Stretching like Papa Bear. Gotta limber up before the dismount.”

“What dismount?” Clay asks but before he finishes, Dutton is doing a cartwheel across the bed and landing off the end of it. His little feet hit the floor before he snaps his heels together, tosses his arms into the air, and dramatically tips back his head.

“Whoa,” Clay says, staring at Dutton.

“How’d I do on the dismount?”

“A perfect ten.”

Dutton beams, lowering his arms and staring at Clay. “Really?”

“Absolutely.” Clay nods in confirmation.

Dutton pumps his thin arm beside him. “Yes!” Then, he rushes off for his room or the kitchen. All things considered, he’s definitely in a good mood this morning.

I perch up on my elbow, drop my voice to sound as gruffly masculine as it can go, and say “Whatever happened to not doing him any favors by making him think everything he does is perfect?”

Clay laughs, hands on his hips as he looks at me. He points toward the door. “Did you see that, though? It was perfect.”

“You’re a sap.” I toss a pillow at him which he easily catches.

“Yeah, well, that’s my kid. He’s always going to be perfect.” Clay kneels on the mattress coming closer to me, and I fall back on the bed.

“So now you get it,” I tease.

“Nope. Now I get you and him. And that’s a perfect ten.”