Crossing Borders by Z. A. Maxfield Read Free Book Online Page A

puppy while he tried to make lemonade? By the time Tristan heard Michael turn on the water, his face was on fire.
     
    “What's up?” asked Michael.
     
    “Nothing really,” said Tristan, looking around what seemed to him a relatively large bathroom. Like every other part of the house, this room was beautiful, spare, and presumably carefully remodeled. The focal point was an enormous claw-foot bathtub, slipper shaped, with a high back. It impacted the eye, thought Tristan, the graceful, essentially fluid shape of the tub against a geometric backdrop of gray and cream tiles. It was exactly the kind of bathroom that Tristan pictured for mystery novels and trendy bed and breakfasts. It was a monochromatic man's room with no place for extra paper, or his sister's endless zippy bags for cosmetics.
     
    Michael slipped his shirt off and looked straight at Tristan while he removed his sticky jeans and shorts. “That's a feeling I wasn't nostalgic about.”
     
    “It's not an everyday occurrence for me, either.” Tristan looked at Michael, whose body was fit and tanned and ripped. Michael had lied—the man had abs to die for. “I think if I hang out with you much I'd better get used to it,” he said thickly.
     
    Michael turned a slightly pink shade at that revelation and came over to help Tristan out of his clothes. He kissed all the skin he found as he revealed it, peeling off Tristan's shirt and undoing the belt on his jeans. When they were both naked, they stood and stared at each other for a long time. Michael broke the connection first by turning away and picking a stick lighter off a shelf to light candles. He dimmed the overhead lights until the room was lit by only the candles' glow.
     
    The tub was pure luxury, all white porcelain and surrounded by a silky white fabric shower curtain that Michael pushed out of the way as he sank in first, his back against the raised lip of the tub. He looked…so hot. Tristan was still, and Michael watched him quietly.
     
    “I, uh, guess I should…” said Tristan, slipping into the water without a splash. He sat at the foot of the tub, facing Michael, and squeezed himself over to the side of the faucet. Tristan looked anywhere but at Michael's eyes, which he knew would be amused at his expense.
     
    “Oh, no, you don't,” said Michael softly. “I get to hold you; it's my tub, my rules.”
     
    “Oh, okay.” Tristan practically swam through the water to sit with his back to Michael's chest. He felt the man inhale and exhale, his own chest rising and falling with Michael's. “This is nice.”
     
    Michael picked up a tiny bottle and poured a little of its contents into the water, swishing it around. The smell of something vaguely familiar teased at Tristan, and he closed his eyes, trying to place it.
     
    “A little aromatherapy,” said Michael. “Nice after a long day of arguing with unrepentant criminals.”
     
    “Christmas…” said Tristan. “It smells like Christmas.”
     
    “Yeah, I guess. It's probably the rosemary; it has an evergreen smell. It kind of reminds me of food,” said Michael. “But then again, so does everything. I'm kind of a foodie.”
     
    “I got that when you made sugar syrup for the lemonade,” said Tristan. “FYI, even mothers don't do that anymore.”
     
    “My mother does,” said Michael.
     
    “Figures.” Tristan ran his hand through the water a little, moving it in ripples. Michael's arm came around him then, stroking the taut muscles on his stomach, slipping lower to brush his cock, which responded with shocking enthusiasm.
     
    Tristan could feel Michael smile against his neck. “You respond so instantly.”
     
    Tristan tried to hide his face in his wet hands.
     
    “No, Sparky, it's not a bad thing. I like that. Are you kidding? It's hot.”
     
    “I'm like that with you.” Tristan put his hand over his shoulder to hold Michael's head where it was, next to the skin on his neck. Michael's touch was making him sigh and