Oh God. Jeremy tasted like chocolate and berries. His lips were soft, and firm hands cradled Qay’s skull. He thrust his tongue into Qay’s mouth, but he wasn’t one of those assholes who needed to prove their manhood by drilling his tonsils. Jeremy had an agile and playful tongue, teasing Qay’s tongue and nuzzling his teeth. Qay felt dizzy, as if he were balanced at the top of the world, so he wrapped his arms around Jeremy for balance. And Jeremy must have approved, because even though he didn’t break the kiss, he managed a groan from deep in his chest.

 

Qay had no idea how long Jeremy’s dry spell had been, but his own had lasted eons. A beautiful man—a good man—touching him, wanting him, was almost more than Qay could bear. He’d expected so little from life, had received so little, but how could he have thought he could survive without human contact? Jeremy’s kiss sparked all the synapses that had once responded so eagerly to drugs. Qay’s mind sang, and as his cock filled and he felt Jeremy’s answering hardness pressed against him, Qay very nearly started ripping at their clothes.

 

But goddammit if the one little bit of his brain that was sane and responsible didn’t choose that moment to speak up. Don’t fuck him over, those bastard cells scolded. Don’t be Donny.

 

With his biggest show of willpower since he’d kicked drugs, Qay pulled out of Jeremy’s grip. The light was poor, so he squinted to get Jeremy into focus. He saw a muscular, handsome ex-cop with kiss-swollen lips—but he also saw the ghost of a shy little boy and the vulnerability of a man whose lovers had hurt him. And now one of those lovers was dead.

 

Qay had made a shitload of mistakes in his life. Lying to Jeremy Cox didn’t have to be added to that list.

 

“I have to tell you something,” he said.

 

He heard Jeremy’s breath catch. “Nothing good has ever come after that statement,” he said.

 

“I know.” Jeremy was going to abandon him here at the top of the West Hills once the words were out. Qay would never be able to go to P-Town again, which meant he’d lose his favorite coffeehouse and Rhoda, who was becoming a friend. All Qay would have would be the memory of a nice dinner, a pretty drive, and one earthshaking kiss.

 

No, that wasn’t true. He’d also have a little more self-respect because he’d know he’d done the right thing. Even if it hurt.

 

Kim Fielding is the bestselling, award-winning author of numerous m/m romance novels, novellas, and short stories. Like Kim herself, her work is eclectic, spanning genres such as contemporary, fantasy, paranormal, and historical. Her stories are set in alternate worlds, in 15th century Bosnia, in modern-day Oregon. Her heroes are hipster architect werewolves, housekeepers, maimed giants, and conflicted graduate students. They’re usually flawed, they often encounter terrible obstacles, but they always find love.

You can follow Kim at

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