Make a Wish

Cody Sadler tore his gaze away from the fountain as Tristan held out his hand, and offered him a coin. Arms still folded across his chest, Cody raised an eyebrow at the taller man.

“Take it,” Tristan encouraged. “Throw it in the fountain.”
Cody looked from his lover’s face, to the coin and back again. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“To make a wish as it hits the water,” Tristan said, in that same, oh, so patient voice he’d been throwing at Cody all afternoon. “It’s good luck.”

“I don’t believe in good luck.”

“Then do it because it’s romantic,” Tristan suggested.

“You think watching statues throw up into an elaborate pond is romantic?” Cody asked, making no attempt to take the coin from the other man. “Anyway, I don’t do romance—you should know that by now.”

Tristan stepped behind him and dipped his head to whisper into Cody’s ear. “Then do it because it will please your master.”

His lips brushed against Cody’s earlobe as Tristan’s arms snuck around his waist to pull him back against the larger man’s body.

Cody closed his eyes, partly to relish the warmth and comfort that sung through his veins as the other man held him, and partly in an effort to hide from just how much he loved being cocooned in Tristan’s embrace that way.

He didn’t need the dominant to make a fuss over him like that. Cody didn’t bloody well need anyone at all.

Forcing his eyes open, Cody tilted back his chin, daring the world in general to take its best shot at him. But, at the same time, he couldn’t stop his hand creeping up to the St. Christopher’s medallion that hung around his neck, marking him out as the slightly older man’s submissive.