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“I appreciate that, mate. Genuinely. But I’ve never been better.” He spread his arms. “I mean it, Colin. I haven’t felt this good in years. Life is all just…it’s all just working. I feel on top of the world.”

Ruari had already turned back to the bench and pulled a tray from the rack. Six madeleines sat in a neat row, golden-shelled, their surfaces ridged with the pattern of the tin.

“Here.” Ruari swept four into a paper bag with one hand, twisted the top shut, and held it out. “It’s a new recipe I’m trying out. Browned butter and cardamom. Tell me if the cardamom’s too much. I can’t tell any more, I’ve been tasting them all night.”

Colin took the bag that Ruari thrust at him.

“And these—” Ruari was already reaching for a second tray. “Miso caramel financiers. Raf reckons they need more salt, but he’s always been heavy-handed with the stuff, so his palate is compromised.”

He loaded four financiers into a second bag and pressed it into Colin’s other hand.

“Give the financiers to Diwa. He’ll get it. The umami thing — it’s his whole deal, isn’t it? Filipino-American palate, sweet and savoury together, he’ll understand what I’m going for.”

“Ruari,” Colin cut in.

“Yeah?”

“Condoms. Sober driving. And you talk to me if something’s off.”

“Done, done, and done.” Ruari grinned, wide and easy, and clapped Colin on the shoulder. “Night, Col. Kiss Tala for me. And Cass.”

Chapter Sixteen

Cassian was close.

He knew the signs now, the way his thighs locked and his breathing climbed. His body drew tight on a single point of sensation that Ruari was stoking with two fingers while his thumb pressed on the swollen base of his cock.

Then those amazing fingers withdrew.

The orgasm that had been right there, close enough that his toes had already started curling, vanished like someone had pulled a plug. Cassian reared up on his elbows and found Ruari kneeling between his legs, tearing open a foil packet with his teeth.

“No,” Cassian said.

Ruari paused mid-tear. “Cass—”

“No! I was right there, Ruari.” He jabbed a finger at the offending square of foil. “Every time. Every single time we do this, I’m about to have the best moment of my entire life and then you stop everything to put that plastic thing on. Then we have to start all over again from the beginning, which takes ages.”

He snatched the condom out of Ruari’s hand. The ring of latex smelled artificially sweet, so Cassian brought it to his nose and sniffed. “Why does it smell like strawberries?”

“It’s flavoured.”

“Why does it need to be flavoured, Ruari?”

Ruari opened his mouth to answer while Cassian popped the condom into his.

The latex tasted nothing like strawberries, more like the inside of a rubber glove dipped in cough syrup. The texture on his tongue was so deeply wrong that his face puckered, but by then Ruari had already launched himself across the mattress.

“Spit it out, Cass, spit it out! That’s not — fucking hell—”

Ruari’s fingers were in his mouth, hooking the condom off his tongue. Cassian gagged, and Ruari pulled it free trailing a string of saliva that caught the lamplight.

They stared at each other. Ruari was braced over him on one arm, breathing hard, the ruined condom dangling from his index finger.

“It’s not very nice,” Cassian reported.

“It’s not meant to taste nice.” Ruari sat on his heels, examining the condom wreckage. “It just has to do the job.”

“Then why did they bother to make it taste like something?” Cassian wiped at his tongue. The artificial strawberry taste lingered, chemical and cloying.