Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Fitch tugged him across the couch until he was cradled between his knees. “It is different, Angel, and not just because you happen to have male parts.”
His stomach chose that moment to protest again and Fitch smiled up at him. “I think we’d better feed you.”
“Thank fuck. I’m starving.” Ansel pushed off and went to the drawer where Ange stored the takeout menus. “Pizza?”
“Sure.”
He found the one he wanted and tossed it to Fitch. “I’ll have a large extra cheese with peppers. I’m going to take a quick shower.”
“If you’re not out in ten minutes, I may come in after you. Fair warning.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ansel took longer than ten minutes, but Fitch decided not to bother him. Instead, he tried to clean up some of the mess and get a handle on his feelings. His dancer was an alcoholic. He’d suspected as much and he was absurdly proud of Ansel for taking the first step.
Even if he had to go the rest of his life without another drop of alcohol, he’d do what he could to support Ansel’s recovery.
The pizza arrived as Ansel came into the kitchen wrapped in a purple towel. His pale skin was still wet from the shower, his hair combed through but not dry. Fitch groaned and slammed the door on the delivery guy.
“Christ, if I didn’t know you were starving...” He let the threat hang. Ansel’s raised eyebrow and cocky smile said he knew exactly what he did to Fitch’s libido.
“Ditto. That look is pretty hot.” Ansel gestured to Fitch’s open jeans, bare chest and feet. “But it will have to wait, because if I don’t eat soon I might faint.” He sat at the table and opened the pizza boxes. “What the hell is that?”
“Sausage, bacon, pepperoni, jalapenos, and olives,” Fitch said as he sat across from Ansel and pulled out a piece.
“You’re crazy.” Ansel picked up a slice from the other box.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“You’ve got so many toppings you can’t even see the cheese.”
They ate in silence for a while, each taking another slice after finishing their first.
“So when exactly do you have to be out of here?” Fitch asked, savoring another jalapeno.
Ansel licked the grease off his mouth. “Tomorrow night is my last.”
“How are you going to move everything?”
“The landlord is letting me store the furniture in the basement for a few weeks. Ange and the boys are coming tomorrow to help with that. Then they’ll each lug a box of my stuff home with them.” He pulled a pepper off his slice. “I usually do a Sunday dinner for everyone, but since all my shit is packed we’ll probably just order Chinese or something. Do you, maybe, want to come?”
Fitch swallowed, the spicy mouthful burning his esophagus on the way down. He put his slice down and took a big sip of water. Cautiously, he replied, “If you want, I could take boxes in the truck so your friends don’t have to maneuver through public transportation with them.”
Ansel’s eyes brightened. “Cool, thanks.”
A pleasant warmth filled Fitch’s stomach and it had nothing to do with the hot peppers on his pizza. Smiling, he watched Ansel stuff slice after slice into his mouth with an expression of pure bliss on his unpainted face.
“You have a really bad habit of staring at me when I eat,” Ansel said.
“Sorry, but I told you about your mouth and melted cheese. Weirdest fucking turn-on, I know, but there you have it.”
With an arched brow, cheeky grin and hooded eyes, Ansel wrapped some of the cheese around his finger before sucking it all off.
“Fuck.” Fitch took the slice from Ansel’s hand and put it in the box before slapping the lids shut and tossing both boxes to the counter. “I think it’s time for round two.”
He pulled a chuckling Ansel to his feet and ripped off the towel. After a quick kiss, he turned Ansel and bent him over the table.
“Fuck, Fitch.” Ansel’s usually sultry voice had deepened another octave into a husky rumble.
“Ready to bless the kitchen, Angel?”
“Hell yes.”
* * *
Much later that night, Ansel was catching his breath on the bed in his room after another mind-blowing orgasm. He couldn’t remember ever having so many in one night. It was like Fitch was on a mission. A mission to destroy Ansel for anyone else, ever.
And it had worked.
“Damn,” Fitch said to the ceiling.
“My thoughts exactly.”
Fitch found Ansel’s hand on the bed between their hips. “Your apartment has been thoroughly anointed.”
Ansel burst out in a fit of laughter. “Yeah, I’d say so.”
Fitch joined him and together they chuckled, joy infusing almost every dark corner in Ansel’s soul. He turned his head on the pillow and studied the amazing man next to him. Fitch’s profile was aristocratic, like a Disney prince. His wide smile brought out the dimples in both cheeks and gave those deep-set brown eyes crow’s feet. But the imperfections only added to the allure.