Page 107

“Bath,” I tell Theo.

“No.” He whines.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Simon doesn’t even look up from the last of the dishes. “Because you’re going to Papa and Mimi’s in the morning, and they don’t want a sticky onion boy.”

Theo considers this, then lifts his arms without argument. Simon lifts him up and carries him down the hall to help with his bath. I brush his teeth. Simon gets the storybook. I kiss his forehead. Simon tucks the blanket in the exact way Theo likes, corners first.

We sit on the edge of the bed until his breathing evens out.

I turn and Simon’s already looking at me like he’s been waiting all night for Theo to be asleep.

“Bedroom?” I whisper, already breathless.

He doesn’t answer. He just takes my wrist and walks me down the hall.

Inside our room he shuts the door with his hip and then he’s on me.

My back hits the door. I can feel the heat of him through his sweatpants, the hard line of him against my hip, and I whimper into his mouth.

I get a hand between us and palm him through his sweats. Long, thick, already fully hard, the kind of hard that makes the fabric useless. He makes a low sound against my throat and rolls his hips into my hand like he can’t help it.

“Quiet,” I whisper.

“You’re the one—” He cuts off when I squeeze. “Fuck. Okay. Quiet.”

I slip my hand into his boxers, grabbing him properly. He’s a lot.My fingers don’t meet around him when I wrap my hand there, and the head of him is already wet. I stroke once, twice, and he drops his face into my neck.

“Nightstand,” I say, releasing him and stripping my clothes off on my way to the bed.

He groans, but turns and start going through the nightstand before finding the condoms.

“Two more,” he mutters.

“Two?”

“Two.” He tips the box so I can see. “That’s it.”

I stare at him. “We just bought it last week. That was a twelve-pack.”

He has the decency to look a little proud and a little concerned at the same time. “We’ve been busy.”

“We’ve been feral.” I take the box out of his hand, pull one out, and leave the last lonely condom sitting there alone. “At this rate it would be more cost-effective for you to just get a vasectomy.”

He huffs a laugh, quiet, disbelieving. “You want me to get snipped because condoms are expensive?”

“I want you to get snipped because you keep looking at me like I’m a meal and then we go through a whole box in a week and I am still not back on birth control.” I rip the wrapper. “Also yes. The cost. Do you know how much these are?”

He kisses me to shut me up, then takes the condom because my hands are not as steady as they need to be. Putting it on him is its own project. He’s thick enough that it looks tight even though I know they’re the right size. He winces a little at the squeeze, then breathes out.

“Okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. Just—tight.” He glances down at himself, then at me, and the look on his face is filthy and fond at once.

“You’ll live—come here.”