Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
As he was about to leave, Hop grabbed his hand.
“Rafe?”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Thank you for coming.”
“You have no idea, pet. No idea at all.” How fucking much I’ve missed you.
* * *
In all honesty, Rafe kind of sucked as a nursemaid. But the fact that he was there at all was enough to keep Hop from complaining. He knew he was a terrible patient. He hated being sick and had a tendency to take it out on whoever was nearest. Usually it was his mother. She had the humility of a saint and the fortitude of an army general.
Rafe did not.
When Hop refused to take his meds, Rafe threatened to spank him. Like that would work, when sex and punishment were the last things on Hop’s mind. Rafe’s version of soup tasted vaguely like chicken-flavored water.
Hop frowned into his bowl. “Where are the stars?”
Rafe held a hand to Hop’s forehead. “You’re not that warm, you shouldn’t be hallucinating.”
“Mom always makes chicken and stars when I’m sick.”
“Do I look like your mother?”
“Why are you even here if you’re not going to try?”
Rafe threw his hands in the air and left the room. Twenty minutes later, he returned with a steaming bowl of chicken and stars soup.
Warmth filled Hop’s chest. “How?”
“You’re lucky your mother had a can in the back of the cupboard.”
Hop ate the soup. When he was done, Rafe made him drink a cup of chamomile tea. Then he turned off the lights.
“Stay, please?”
“Are you sure?”
Hop reached out a hand and Rafe’s palm found his. Their fingers twined together. Rafe settled above the covers and curled around Hop’s back.
“Are those sketches on the wall fashion designs?” Rafe asked, his voice quiet in the darkness, more like a caress of breath over Hop’s ear.
“Yeah.”
“They’re good.”
“It’s something I do when I need to relax.”
“Have you ever shown them to anyone?”
Hop snuggled back and pulled Rafe’s hand closer to his lips. “Who would I show?”
“I don’t know, a designer?”
“’Cause they’re standing around on the street corners waiting for punks like me to accost them with amateur sketches? No. It’s just a hobby.”
Rafe made a sound in the back of his throat and kissed Hop’s head, letting the subject drop. They slept like that until sunrays filtered through Hop’s window and the pressure in his bladder could no longer be ignored. Hop rolled over.
In sleep, all of Rafe’s guises disappeared. He was no longer the powerful businessman; he wasn’t a Dom; he wasn’t even the puppet of a cruel master. In sleep, he was just a man. Wrinkles marked his years and faint scars conveyed the toll life had played. He had weaknesses and fears, just like everyone else. As much as he appeared to be a godlike king among kings while he was awake, right then, he was no different than Hop.
This glimpse behind the curtain did nothing for Hop’s ever-weakening walls, however. And lying around admiring his lover wouldn’t help his most pressing needs.
As gently as possible, Hop slipped out of bed and crossed the hall to the bathroom. His temperature seemed to have receded, he no longer felt like he’d fall over if he stood for too long. That was an improvement. His body still ached though, and his sinuses were stuffed. As he washed his hands, he looked at his reflection in the mirror.
Rafe had seen him like this?
Shit.
His hair was snarled in knots, he had snot crusted on his shirt, and his eyes were puffy. He didn’t even want to think about his splotchy skin or his dry lips. This was not the image he wanted stuck in Rafe’s memory. He turned the hot water on in the shower and started undressing. He was naked and stepping into the old porcelain tub right when a particularly strong wave of dizziness attacked. He grabbed for the wall, but his hand slid on the wet tile at the same time his foot skidded out from under him. He fell with a clatter and a loud thump.
Rafe ran into the bathroom. “Jesus, are you okay?”
Hop held his head, tears streaming down his face mixing with the water. “I wanted to shower.”
“Oh baby, did you hurt yourself?”
Hop nodded. Rafe stripped with record speed. “Come on, let’s get you up.” Rafe maneuvered behind him for leverage and helped Hop stand. “Hold on to me.”
Hop wrapped his arms around Rafe and rested his pounding head on his chest.
“Want me to wash your hair?”
“Yes, please.”
Keeping one arm locked around Hop, Rafe reached for the shampoo and squirted a dollop onto Hop’s head. Like before, Rafe’s fingers were amazing as they worked the soap through every strand of hair.
And another piece of Hop’s heart fell into Rafe’s unknowing hands.
Chapter Thirty-Four
They were eating breakfast in the kitchen discussing their plans for the day—Rafe had to work, but he’d promised to come back later—when they heard the unmistakable sound of keys in the lock. Hop’s eyes went comic-book wide, his mouth dropped open on a curse, and he stood so fast Rafe worried he’d fall again.