The Little Library by Kim Fielding

Author:Kim Fielding
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance, mm romance, romance gay
Publisher: Kim Fielding

Chapter Twelve

Elliott entered Simon’s house with a certain degree of trepidation and was surprised to discover it was actually clean and neat. The furniture—formal and fairly ornate—didn’t suit Simon at all, but it was carefully arranged and debris-free. The carpet was dusty rose, and most of the upholstery involved patterns in creams and sea greens, often accented by carved and gilded woodwork. The pale-yellow walls were mostly bare, although there were a few framed prints of ancient carvings.

“Lamassu,” Elliott said.

“What?”

Elliott pointed at a depiction of a winged bull with a bearded human head. “Fifth or sixth century BCE, I think. My knowledge of Assyrian history is a little sketchy.”

Simon stepped closer. “You think I invited you here to show you my etchings, huh?”

“That’s kind of a dated reference. Nowadays shouldn’t it be to watch Netflix and chill?”

“I’m dating a historian.”

Simon moved so close they were nearly touching. He didn’t quite loom, and Elliott could easily have backed away, but still Elliott was viscerally reminded of how big Simon was and how powerful, despite the knee. This wasn’t a frightening realization, although it made Elliott feel a bit weak in the knees himself.

“Your house isn’t a toxic waste dump.” He sounded evasive even to his own ears. And scared, like a virginal nineteen-year-old.

Undeterred, Simon let his cane drop and enveloped him in an embrace. “I made sure it was clean,” he rumbled into Elliott’s ear. “In case you came over.”

For him. Simon had cleaned his house for him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Simon took a step back, which was a disappointment. “My mom has been after me about it forever. I finally told her to have her way with vacuum and dust rag.”

“Did you tell her why?”

“Ha—no. Maybe if I did, it’d soften her up a little. Convince her you’re a good influence on me. But can we please not talk about my mom? It kinda kills the mood.”

Elliott’s mood was not killed. He was fairly certain a bomb could drop in the next room—a big kitchen he glimpsed through the doorway—and the desire racing through him wouldn’t be reduced one bit by the explosion. He’d never felt this needy or this . . . heated about anyone.

With a noise surprisingly akin to a growl, Elliott closed the space between them and grasped Simon’s hair, pulling him in for a kiss. And he didn’t stop there, pushing relentlessly as he backed Simon into a wall—easing the stress on Simon’s bad leg—and then pressed his full weight into Simon, finally feeling the whole of that body supporting him.

Since they hadn’t yet taken off their jackets, their mouths remained in contact while their arms ended up in a confusing tangle, with hands tugging at collars and sleeves. When the jackets were in heaps at their feet, they attacked shirt buttons. So many goddamn buttons, each one of them a barrier to skin.

Once the shirts came off, though, they got distracted. Simon’s broad chest bore a coating of black hair almost as luxurious as his beard.

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