They were simple words. Sacha liked them. His body strained to lean back against Jonah, to absorb his sturdy warmth, but his brain said no, as if the sensation of Jonah’s fingers carding through his hair was already too much.
Too much for what?
Sacha had forgotten the answer.
Jonah rinsed Sacha’s hair, then rubbed body wash with the same scent over his skin. His cock was half hard and pressed against Sacha’s thigh, but Sacha didn’t react. Couldn’t, or they’d be in the shower all day.
So what? You have nowhere to be.
That wasn’t entirely true. He’d left his laptop at the office, and he had a full day of coding to fit in before Monday morning rolled around—coding he’d planned to be halfway through already. He had no time to bang Jonah in the shower. He had no time to spin and drop to his knees. He had no time to kiss Jonah again, but god, he wanted to.
He wanted it more than anything.
Jonah shut the shower off. He slid his hands over Sacha’s hips and turned him around. His lips were pink and full, and he bit down on the bottom one, mauling it with his straight white teeth.
Sacha fixated on it, leaning in, then the obnoxious blast of a phone ringing made Jonah jump a mile, and the moment was gone.
“That’s my mother. Damn it. Hang on.”
He stepped out of the shower and dashed, naked, from the bathroom. Shaking his head to clear it, Sacha stepped out too, and opened the vanity, searching for a spare toothbrush—Jonah seemed like a man who’d have one or twenty.
Or three, as it turned out.
Sacha claimed one and unwrapped it, tucking the box in the bin under the sink. He dried his hair while he brushed his teeth, and tried not to eavesdrop on the conversation filtering out of the bedroom.
It went well until he heard his own name, then curiosity got the better of him.
Leave it. You have no reason to barge in there and invade his life.
But Sacha had never listened to anyone, least of all himself.
He finished up at the sink, wrapped a towel around his waist, and padded silently to the bedroom.
Jonah was on the bed, dressed in charcoal drawstring pyjama bottoms that made his hair gleam. He was holding his phone up and gesticulating to whoever he was speaking too—his mother, presumably, a video call.
Sacha glanced around for his clothes, but he’d left them in the bathroom the night before.
Jonah got up and opened a drawer. Inside were more pyjama bottoms. He pulled out a black pair and passed them to Sacha with a wink.
“Who are you winking at?” Eleanor’s voice came immediately. “Is it Sacha?”
Jonah’s cheeks flushed. “Ma, stop it. You don’t get to interrogate everyone who’s ever in my home.”
“I don’t want to interrogate him. I want to see him. You’ve barely mentioned him since the ball. It’s as though he doesn’t exist, and it’s rude, Jonah. We liked Sacha a lot when we met him. Why would you keep him from us?”
Jonah rolled his eyes and moved back to the bed, giving Sacha space to drop his towel and pull the pyjama bottoms up his legs. They fit perfectly and the symmetry with the loop Sacha’s brain was on left him reeling.
Eleanor was talking again.
Jonah looked as though he wanted the bed to swallow him up.
Sacha pointed at the phone. “You would like me to speak?”
Jonah angled the phone away from his face and muted it. “You don’t have to do that. She’s always like this.”
“Because she worries you’re lonely.”
“I’m not lonely.”
“I know. Because I am here, no?” Sacha climbed onto the bed and claimed the space beside Jonah. He pried the phone from his hand and unmuted his mother, before turning the camera on himself. “Hello, Eleanor. I am sorry to keep you waiting. I was in the shower.”
Surprise widened Eleanor’s eyes. “It really is you. I was beginning to think my son had made you up.”
“How could that be when you have met me yourself?”
“It was quite a night after all that champagne, dear, and you were such a beautiful man on my son’s arm, I was convinced I’d dreamt you.”
Sacha smiled. In her own way, Eleanor was as adorable as her strapping son. “What can I do to convince you I am real?”
“You should come home with Jonah for Christmas. He’s never brought anyone and it’s high time that changed.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes,” Eleanor asserted. “He’s a man now, not a teenager.”
“Oh my god.” Jonah rolled off the bed and left the room.
Sacha laughed. “I think you embarrass him.”
“My son is ridiculous,” Eleanor retorted. “It’s not an unreasonable question of the only man he’s ever introduced us to.”
“Maybe he is not ready to be that serious about me.”
“I very much doubt that. He blushes every time I mention you.”
Sacha felt heat creep into his own cheeks, but a different kind. Jonah was a good man, mortified at being caught in a lie, and this conversation was only prolonging it, but Sacha liked Eleanor. Her nosiness reminded him of his own mama, and he couldn’t seem to let her go.
So he didn’t. He let Eleanor grill him and gave her answers based on truth. They were both working hard, and taking care of each other when they could. Yes, Jonah was getting enough sleep and remembering to eat during the day. And no, he wasn’t working all weekend.
Jonah came back into the room as Sacha made that promise. He waved a mug of coffee under Sacha’s nose and dipped back into shot. “Ma, I’m stealing him back. I’ll talk to you later.”
Eleanor feigned theatrical disappointment, but said her goodbyes all the same. “Let me know about Christmas, Sacha. We’d love to have you.”
“I will,” he promised. And then she was gone, leaving Jonah to toss his phone on the bed with a groan.
“I’m so sorry. She’s obsessed with you. But in her defence, you are wonderfully charming.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Don’t pretend you don’t know it.”
Sacha snorted and sipped his coffee. Silence threatened, but his stomach growled, puncturing the quiet.
Jonah laughed. “I have the answer to that.”
“You have food?”
“Of course. Do you think I don’t know you by now?”
The question was rhetorical, and Jonah was up and out of the room before Sacha could respond, but it stuck in his mind all the same. “Do you think I don’t know you by now?”
It was a stupid question. Jonah didn’t know Sacha any better than Sacha knew him. A few weeks of casual sex, brief workplace encounters, and twelve text messages didn’t tell you who a man was and what had made him that way. It was superficial. Meaningless.
Easy to walk away from.
Sacha sat up to track down his actual clothes. His feet hit the floor, but he didn’t go anywhere. A conflict he didn’t understand raged beneath his skin. The instincts that kept him happily lonely were loud and strong, and telling him to get dressed, go home, and get back to work, but as much as he heard them, he couldn’t make himself move.
Jonah was upset last night. Stay a while longer. Make sure he’s okay.
“Are you okay?”