Chapter 28
Lance carried him upstairs.
Brett didn't ask him to. He didn't have to. After an hour of flirting on the bottom stair, after the teasing about Singapore and tenting and meeting Lance's dad, after both of them were shaking and hard and wrecked from grinding through their clothes, Lance just stood up with Brett still in his arms like he weighed nothing at all.
Which, at one hundred and twenty-nine pounds, he practically did.
Brett gasped and clutched at Lance's shoulders, his long legs dangling in his 140 mm patent Mary Jane platforms, his tight black bodycon dress riding up over his garter belt, his D cup breasts pressed against Lance's chest.
"Put me down," Brett giggled, his soft girl voice breathy and high from hormones, his big blue eyes shining, his perfect smoky makeup completely ruined now, mascara tears dried on his golden cheeks. "I'm too heavy."
Lance looked down at him, at the goddess in his arms with the mussed honey blonde hair and the swollen nude lips and the three-carat diamond flashing on her left hand, and smiled that slow, wrecked smile that made Brett's heart stop.
"You're perfect," Lance whispered, and carried him down the hall to the master bedroom, the bedroom Brett had slept alone in for eleven weeks while Lance was in Singapore.
He kicked the door shut behind them and set Brett gently on his feet beside the huge California king bed, his big hands lingering on Brett's tiny twenty-three inch waist through the black dress.
They just stood there for a moment in the low lamplight, looking at each other.
Brett was trembling. Not from cold. From everything. From the maximum hormones humming in his veins, making his skin feel too sensitive, making his breasts feel heavy and aching under the lace bra, making his heart feel too big for his chest. From the eleven weeks of waiting. From the proposal. From the fact that he was about to share a bed with Lance Sullivan for the first time in his life, not as best friends, but as something else entirely.
Lance reached up with shaking hands and unzipped the back of Brett's dress, the long metal zipper sliding down from his nape to the small of his back with a soft hiss.
Brett shivered as the cool air hit his bare skin, as Lance's knuckles brushed his spine.
"Turn around," Lance murmured.
Brett turned, his back to Lance, his long hair falling forward over his shoulder, exposing the back of his neck. Lance pushed the semi-sheer sleeves down Brett's arms, letting the tight black dress fall to the floor in a pool of fabric at Brett's feet.
Brett stood there in nothing but his black lace balconette bra lifting his D cup breasts high, his matching high-waisted panties, his wide satin garter belt with six gold clips, his black seamless stockings, and his towering platforms.
And his diamond.
Lance made a low sound in his throat, his hands coming to rest on Brett's hips, his thumbs stroking over the golden skin above the garter belt.
"God, Brielle," he breathed. "Look at you."
Brett turned back around slowly, his hands coming up to cover his breasts self-consciously, a sudden wave of shyness crashing over him despite all his confidence downstairs. Despite the hormones, despite the teasing, this was different. This was a bed.
Lance saw it instantly. He stepped forward and gently took Brett's wrists in his hands, pulling them away from his body, holding them at his sides.
"Don't hide from me," Lance whispered, his blue eyes locked on Brett's, not on his body, on his eyes. "Not ever. Especially not now."
Brett's lower lip trembled, his sharp canines catching it. "I kept it," he whispered, his voice small and scared for the first time all night. "Like you told me to. I'm still... down there... I'm not..."
"I know," Lance said simply, and lifted Brett's left hand, kissing the diamond, kissing each pink nail. "I know exactly what you are. You're my beautiful fiancée. You're perfect."
He let go of Brett's wrists and started unbuckling the straps of Brett's platforms, one by one, kneeling at his feet like he'd knelt in the snow to propose. He slipped each shoe off gently, setting them aside, then rolled each stocking down Brett's long golden legs with reverent hands, unclipping each garter with care.
Brett stood there in just his bra and panties and garter belt, swaying slightly, his hands fisted at his sides to keep from covering himself.
Lance stood and in one smooth motion lifted Brett's silk robe from the chair and wrapped it around his shoulders, tying the sash loose at his tiny waist.
"Get in," Lance murmured, pulling back the white duvet on his side of the bed.
Brett slid in, his long hair spreading across the pillow like silk, his diamond catching the lamplight. He watched as Lance undressed down to his black boxer briefs, his body lean and strong from years of swimming, and Brett's breath caught at the sight of him, at the obvious arousal still straining against the fabric, at the reality of this man getting into bed with him.
Lance slid in beside him and immediately pulled Brett into his arms, tucking Brett's head under his chin, wrapping one big arm around his waist, pulling Brett's back flush against his chest, spooning him perfectly.
Brett fit. His tiny body, his soft breasts, his narrow shoulders, everything fit against Lance like they'd been made for this.
Lance's hand came to rest low on Brett's belly, just above the waistband of his lace panties, his thumb stroking slow circles on the silk robe.
"Hi," Lance whispered into Brett's hair.
Brett laughed, tears springing to his eyes again, his hormones making him weepy and overwhelmed and impossibly happy. "Hi."
They lay like that for a long time in the quiet, in the warm dark, listening to each other breathe, feeling each other's hearts beat.
Brett could feel Lance hard and warm against his backside through their thin layers, and he could feel his own body answering, trapped and aching, but Lance didn't grind, didn't push, didn't do anything but hold him.
"This is nice," Brett whispered finally, his voice thick with sleep and tears.
"This is everything," Lance corrected softly, pressing a kiss to the back of Brett's neck, right where his pulse fluttered. "Eleven weeks I dreamed about this. Just holding you."
Brett reached back with his diamond hand and found Lance's hand on his belly, lacing their fingers together, holding tight.
"I'm scared," Brett admitted into the dark, his soft girl voice barely audible. "What if you wake up tomorrow and realize I'm still... me?"
Lance tightened his arm around Brett's tiny waist, pulling him even closer, his lips against Brett's ear.
"Then I'll wake up tomorrow next to the most beautiful woman in the world," Lance whispered, his voice fierce and certain and full of love. "And I'll thank God I was smart enough to put a three-carat diamond on her finger before anyone else could."
Brett turned in his arms then, carefully, so they were face to face on the pillow, nose to nose, his D cup breasts pressing soft against Lance's hard chest, his long leg sliding between Lance's.
He looked up at Lance with big wet blue eyes, his perfect lips trembling, his dangerous smile gone soft and real.
"Kiss me goodnight?" Brett whispered.
Lance smiled and cupped Brett's face with one big hand, his thumb stroking over Brett's cheekbone. "Every night for the rest of our lives, baby."
And he kissed him, slow and deep and sweet, not hungry like downstairs, but reverent, like a promise.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing soft, Brett tucked his head back under Lance's chin, his diamond hand resting over Lance's heart, and closed his eyes.
For the first time in eleven weeks, for the first time since the transformation began, Brett fell asleep in someone's arms, safe and held and wanted, exactly as he was.
And Lance lay awake long after, holding his one-hundred-and-twenty-nine-pound goddess, feeling her soft breath against his chest, feeling her heart beat in time with his, and knew with absolute certainty that a million dollars had been the bargain of the century.…