It was Him.

  “Is this your formal ritual?”

  “Yes, Sir. We won’t always have time for cuffs and collar. I want this, though. I need this from you.”

  Rom’s thumb rubbed the top of Colton’s head. “I missed you, too, boy. How long do you want to kneel?”

  “As long as you want me to. When you’re ready, pat me on the head.”

  He thought Rom might do that immediately, but he didn’t, continuing to rub his scalp with his thumb. “You’re my very good boy,” Rom quietly said. “I love this ritual. Excellent job.”

  Colton felt an unexpected prickle of tears at the praise. “Thank you, Sir.”

  Finally, Rom gently patted his head and Colton stood.

  “Vanilla version,” Rom said.

  Colton leaned in. He gave Rom’s left hand a quick squeeze, then briefly nuzzled Rom’s left cheek, and whispered, “Hello, Sir.”

  When he drew back, he found Rom’s gaze focused on him. “What does it mean to you?”

  “It’s not the cuffs and collar that make you my Sir. It’s my submission to you. Left hand because that’s Top hand. I kneel for you willingly, not because you make me. The vanilla version means left is Top, but I want you to know even if we’re vanilla, I still view you as my Sir and owning me.”

  He wasn’t sure, but it looked like Rom blinked back tears.

  Then Rom grabbed Colton’s face in his hands and slanted his lips over Colton’s, a deep, possessive kiss. “I do want to own you,” he softly said.

  Neither of them had mentioned the L-word yet, but Colton felt it. He didn’t need to say it, didn’t need Rom to say it. Not yet.

  They showed each other—that was even better.

  “Do you want me to collar you?” Rom asked, and Colton knew he didn’t just mean put his collar on him.

  He nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. “I do, Sir.”

  Rom bent over and picked up the cuffs and collar and held them out. “Show me. If you really want to belong to me, then you put them on. I want to see that you’re willingly wearing them.”

  Colton took them from him and put the wrist cuffs on first, then the collar. When he met Rom’s gaze again, the man was definitely blinking back tears.

  He cupped Colton’s face and kissed him, this time gently and sweet, tenderly, slowly and forever and sealing a vow. “You’re my boy,” he whispered. “You belong to me, and I’m your Sir, and I belong to you. No one else—just us. Is that what you want?”

  “That’s what I want, Sir. Just us, and no one else.”

  Rom stared into his eyes for another long moment. “I won’t ask you for forever yet. When you’re ready to give me forever, you ask me. Because I don’t ever want to get divorced. We can do this as long as you want to. But when you ask to be mine forever, keep in mind what that means. You’ve seen how I am. It would mean rearranging your life around me. I’m not going anywhere, and I know you’re not, either. So you take your time. The last thing I want to do is rush anything and we ruin us. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.” He understood how terrified Rom felt. After talking to Chad alone one day, he understood Rom’s fear better.

  Fear of another horrible tragedy, no matter how unrealistic that was, befalling his life.

  Colton felt scared, too. He didn’t want to screw this up. For now, what they had was perfect, and he was willing to maintain it, see what grew from it. It had only been four weeks, and Rom was right.

  It was better to show his Sir how ready he was to make this for life, so that when he felt the time was right and told him, asked him, Rom would believe him.

  Rom would be certain, too.

  He didn’t want to press Rom too hard and too quickly and scare him away now that they’d hit a cruising altitude.

  One last kiss, then Rom pulled him in for a hug. “Thank you, baby,” he said, his face pressed against Colton’s shoulder. “This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

  He closed his eyes and buried his face in Rom’s hair. “So are You, Sir.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Before either man knew it, they were two months into whatever this was between them, and still going strong. That Saturday morning, Rom groaned when Colton’s alarm went off early.

  He pulled his pillow over his head. “I should beat you for that,” Rom muttered.

  Same thing he muttered every morning the alarm went off.

  Colton laughed as he reached over Rom to get his phone and shut it off. “But Sir, I enjoy your beatings.” He pulled the sheet down and playfully nipped Rom on the ass. “Turn me into a kept man, and I won’t have to take on clients at the gym.” Another running joke between them that both knew was just teasing.

  “It’s tempting,” Rom mumbled under his pillow.

  “Love you, Sir.”

  He thought Rom mumbled “I love you” back, but with the pillow over his head, it was hard to hear.

  Meanwhile, Colton climbed out of bed and started his routine. He knew Rom would go back to sleep, since he didn’t have to work at the bank today. It felt good knowing Rom would be waiting for him when he got home from the gym. Rom usually didn’t run on the weekends, preferring to sleep in as late as possible.

  Colton was out in the kitchen and working on his breakfast when the thought smacked him in the middle of his head as he realized what he’d said to Rom.

  I love him.

  Oh, shit.

  He stood there, wide-eyed as the truth slammed home. This was more than just infatuation, or sexy-time fun, or a diversion.

  This was forever.

  I love him.

  He walked back to the bedroom, where Rom’s head was still buried under the pillow. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Colton lifted the pillow and stared down at the man for a moment. Rom didn’t open his eyes, and from the way he hadn’t tried to hold on to the pillow, Colton suspected the man was nearly or completely asleep again.

  He watched him for a long moment before he leaned in and kissed Rom’s lips.

  Rom awoke enough to make fish lips against his and mumble something unintelligible.

  Gawd, he was fucking adorable.

  Nuzzling in close, Colton mouthed Rom’s earlobe. “I love you, Sir.”

  Rom’s soft, sleepy sigh told Colton all he needed to know. His guy wasn’t anywhere close to being awake yet. “Love you, too,” Rom mumbled back.

  Poor Sir. The man was even less of a morning person than Colton.

  Colton closed his eyes and inhaled. Rom smelled like sex and sin and sweet hay and honey.

  He smelled like home and forever.

  One more kiss against his lips before Colton gently replaced the pillow. Yeah, he probably should jump in the shower real fast himself. They had got kind of messy the night before and barely cleaned up before collapsing.

  Before he left, though, he set Rom’s mug out, a spoon, and the sugar. Because Rom could sleep late today, Colton didn’t pour his coffee for him on Saturdays.

  But today he left him a sticky note with a heart drawn on it, and a short message.

  i LOVE You, Sir.

  At least today he didn’t have to work in the store. He could hold off on his shower until he returned home, and then take one with Rom before they did whatever it was Rom had planned for them today.

  He didn’t care what it was—it was time with Rom.

  With Sir.

  I love him.

  How had that simple fact escaped him?

  Maybe not escaped, that wasn’t the right word. The depth of his emotions for Rom had eluded him until now. But looking back, he could see it all, plain as day. How he’d been thinking long-term ever since the early days of their relationship.

  How happy he’d felt since the night they met.

  How this was probably the best thing to happen to him since Grammy took him in.

  I’m going to win his trust and marry him if it’s the last thing I do.

  * * * *

  Rom barely remembered Colton’s alarm going off and him getting out of bed, but he finally started gaining enough consciousness to realize he was alone in bed and didn’t have his big snuggle puppy there to cuddle with.

  Ugh.

  Making Colton a kept man was starting to look like a viable option.

  Except for the fact that he’d left the next step of their relationship up to Colton, and Rom wasn’t about to go back on that now. He’d meant it that it was totally up to Colton.

  Before, the thought that Colton might turn around and immediately drop the L-bomb on him and want to make wedding plans terrified Rom.

  Over the past several weeks, though, Colton had shown Rom how he felt.

  He had no doubts that Colton loved him.

  Just like he knew he loved Colton.

  This was better than simply saying something that couldn’t be backed up with action.

  Wait…did he tell me he loved me?

  There was something at the edges of his brain, but if he and Colton had any kind of conversation that morning before his boy left, he honestly couldn’t remember it.

  He found his glasses and looked at his phone to find out it was only six thirty.

  Fuck.

  He hit the bathroom and was going to climb back into bed when his phone beeped with a text from Colton. Rom had him, Chad, and Ina set to override his silent mode. He pulled his glasses on again to read it.

  Craig’s wife is in the ER, and they want me to take his clients this morning. Is that okay, Sir? I’d be here until 12.

  It took him a moment to process the letters and spaces and for his uncaffeinated brain to put them in the correct order and then make them make sense.

  Wait, this is work.

  One of his unbreakable rules was that they didn’t mess with each other’s work.

  He sighed but tapped out a reply.

  I’m still asleep, boy. It’s all right. It’s work. I’ll be here.

  He pulled his glasses off, set them on the nightstand, and rolled over to go back to sleep.

  When Rom finally awakened he felt like maybe it was a more decent hour. Turned out it was a little after ten, but he also had a text from Aunt Roberta.

  If you boys want lunch, there’s turkey salad in the snack fridge, along with sandwich fixings that Sherry brought in.

  His stomach rumbled. He needed breakfast, and a turkey salad sandwich was close enough to that.

  He stumbled into the bathroom again, used it, and washed his face and hands. He stared at himself in the mirror, blurry without his glasses.

  I could do this every day for the rest of my life.

  First, he needed coffee. After pulling on a T-shirt and shorts and his glasses, he made his way out to the kitchen, where he’d have to nuke a mug of it because the coffee pot had long since shut off.

  That’s when he spotted the sticky note.

  He leaned against the counter and stared at it, tracing the shape of the heart with his finger.

  “I love you, too, boy,” he said, smiling.

  Once he had a mug of hot coffee in his hand, he headed downstairs and used the inner door to enter the shop. That door had a keypad lock similar to the ones Kent used, so customers wouldn’t wander back there into Colton’s private space.

  Aunt Roberta smiled when she saw him. “There you are. Where’s the big guy?”

  He kissed her cheek. She and Uncle Mike had adopted him, in a way, and he was glad for it. “Gym. One of their trainers had to call in and they asked him to fill in. Did someone mention fooooood?”

  “It’s in the fridge. Some of the girls are in there now. We’ve got a class starting at eleven.”

  A couple of the customers were regulars he recognized. Women in there literally every week, more a social group than customers, which was even better. They helped get others in the door and helped provide ambiance.

  They had also adopted Rom, once they realized he and Colton were a long-term item, and many of them had been good friends of Colton’s grandmother.

  “Ladies, looking as beautiful as ever,” he greeted them, enjoying their smiles and titters.

  “Where’s Colton?” Sherry asked. She was pushing eighty and was adorable. She liked to make coffee mugs with dirty puns on them for friends and family.

  “Still working. He needed to fill in for someone.”

  “You want a sandwich, hon?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I was coaxed out of bed by the promise of turkey salad.”

  “I’ll fix you one. All the fixings, like usual?”

  “Yes, please, and thank you.” He sat in a chair next to Lucy, another regular. She was in her late seventies. “How are you today, missy?”

  She giggled, gently elbowing him. “You’re such a flirt, Rom.”

  “Only for the beautiful ladies.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and loved how she giggled again, and even blushed.

  “Here you go.” Sherry set a paper plate in front of him. The good bread, too, looked like White Mountain bread from the Publix bakery.

  “Thanks.” He picked it up and took a bite. Sherry’s turkey salad was always delicious, as was her chicken salad. “Yummy as always. What’s the occasion?”

  “Had to use it all up. Freezer took a shit last night and started defrosting stuff. I have five bags of turkey still from Easter.”

  “Yikes.”

  “You want me to make one for Colton?”

  “Just save enough to make him one. I’m not sure if he’ll grab something on the way back or not.” He sat chatting with them while he ate, enjoying their companionship.

  This was something else he loved about being here, was that they felt like family.

  He totally got why Colton enjoyed what he did here with them. It was more than a job—it was a full and rounded life.

  He was still sitting there about twenty minutes after finishing his sandwich when he started feeling…weird.

  Sherry frowned. “Are you all right, hon?”

  “No.” He wondered if he was coming down with something, because two of their tellers had been out that week with flu.

  God, I hope I don’t pass it to them!

  He took a sip of his coffee, then looked at Sherry. “What was in that?” he asked.

  “In what?”

  “The turkey salad.”

  “Turkey, mayo, salt and pepper, mustard, and some spices. Why?”

  “I…” He rubbed at his throat. “Anyone else have any?”

  “We all have. Why?”

  “I…” He didn’t want to go get his EpiPen if he didn’t have to. The fuckers were goddamned expensive, even with insurance. “I don’t feel good.”

  Aunt Roberta looked worried. “Should I call Colton?”

  “No, I’ll…” Okay, his throat was definitely feeling tight, like it was harder to breathe. “And you’re sure there’s nothing but that in there? In the turkey salad?”

  “I made it myself, hon. I’m always really careful when I bring stuff in because I know you’re allergic.”

  “Where’d you get that turkey from again?” Aunt Roberta asked her.

  “We had it left over from Easter. My daughter and her husband had everyone over to their place. They cooked four of them, and she sent me home with leftovers.”

  “Four?” Aunt Roberta asked. “How big’s their oven?”

  “Oh, they fried three of them.”

  It was like all of them realized exactly what she’d said as soon as she said it, including her.

  And Rom knew damn well people frequently used peanut oil for that.

  “Oh, no!” she gasped. “I didn’t even think about that! I—”

  He didn’t dare attempt the stairs now. He was feeling the reaction coming on dangerously fast. “Aunt Roberta, upstairs, in Colton’s bedroom. The nightstand on the right side, top drawer. Can you please bring me my EpiPen?” It’d take her longer to root through his stuff for the one he always took with him to work. “And my wallet. It’s on the kitchen counter. Please hurry.”

  “Sure, hon.” She rushed out of the room to do it.

  Sherry looked like she was near tears. “I’m sorry! Oh, my god, Rom, I’m so sorry!”

  “It’s…it’s okay.” He tried to swallow and not panic. Worse, he didn’t want to frighten the women any more than he could tell that they already were.

  Fair enough, because he felt pretty damn frightened, too. He could already tell this was a bad reaction. “Can someone please call 911 for me? I’m going to need to go to the hospital.” One of the other women went to do it.

  Yeah, now he felt the struggle to breathe, his chest rapidly tightening on him. If Aunt Roberta didn’t return soon, he was going to be in serious damn shape. In fact, by the time she finally made it downstairs, he was close to panic himself because he could barely breathe. He ripped off the injector’s safety cap and swung his arm, jabbing the needle into the top of his right thigh and barely remembering to count.

  Fortunately, by the time the ambulance arrived a couple of minutes later, he was already able to start pulling in more than a few gasps of air. But he realized immediately there’d be a problem. If they tried to put him on a stretcher there, they’d knock over half the displays.

  He stood, albeit shakily, and handed the used injector to one of the paramedics. “You’ll want this.”

  “Sir—”

  “I’ll get on the stretcher outside. Just help me out.” Another paramedic helped him walk, steadying him with his arm.

  “We need to get your vitals.”

  “Outside.” He also didn’t want the women upset any more than they already were. Last thing he wanted on his conscience was one of them stressing themselves into a heart attack over him because of a stupid, honest mistake that was, at the very heart of the matter, his own for not thinking.

  He didn’t feel totally great, but at least he could breathe again. He was sitting on the stretcher, an oxygen cannula on him feeding him O2, and they were starting to work on getting his vitals when he lost his train of thought and realized he wasn’t feeling good again.

  He’d been giving one of the paramedics his personal medical history.