Chapter 50
The red and blue spandex was in a heap on the white penthouse floor, the mask tossed carelessly onto the nightstand, the white eye lenses catching the soft glow of the Singapore skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Brett was sprawled across Lance's chest in nothing but the black La Perla panties from the bridal set — the ones he'd put on under the superhero suit because Lance had asked him to — his honey blonde hair a wild tangle, his skin flushed pink, his D cup breasts rising and falling with every deep, satisfied breath.
Lance's arm was around him, his hand tracing lazy, reverent circles on Brett's bare back, his blue eyes soft and wrecked and completely in love.
They hadn't turned the lights on. They hadn't needed to.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the hum of the air conditioning and Brett's soft breathing against Lance's collarbone.
Then Lance laughed — a low, quiet, amazed sound.
"What?" Brett murmured, his voice hoarse and sleepy and happy, his pink nails tracing the line of Lance's jaw.
"I've been carrying that fantasy since I was fourteen years old," Lance said, his thumb brushing over Brett's swollen cherry lips, "and you just... you just walked out of that bathroom and became it. Like it was nothing."
Brett propped himself up on one elbow, his hair falling over one shoulder, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief and love.
"It wasn't nothing," Brett whispered. "It was you. It was always going to be you."
Lance pulled him down for a slow, deep kiss, his hand sliding into Brett's hair, holding him like he was precious.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard again, Lance's eyes were dark with something new — not the fourteen-year-old fantasy, but the thirty-four-year-old man who had the power to make every fantasy come true.
"Brielle," Lance murmured against Brett's temple, his voice dropping to that low, commanding purr that made Brett's toes curl. "I have another one."
Brett's breath hitched. He pushed himself up again, straddling Lance's hips, the black lace panties the only thing between them, his hands planted on Lance's chest.
"Tell me," Brett said, his soft alto dropping to a whisper.
Lance's hands came up to grip Brett's tiny 23-inch waist, his thumbs stroking the soft skin above the lace.
"Schoolgirl," Lance said simply, his eyes locked on Brett's. "Pleated skirt. White blouse. Knee socks. Pigtails. The whole... innocent thing. Except it's you. Except you're not innocent at all."
Brett stared at him for a full three seconds, his heart hammering so hard he was sure Lance could feel it through his hands.
Then the slow, wicked, delighted smile that Lance lived for spread across Brett's face.
He leaned down, his breasts brushing Lance's chest, his lips brushing Lance's ear, his breath hot.
"My pleasure," Brett purred, the words dripping with promise.
Lance groaned, his hands tightening on Brett's waist, flipping them in one smooth motion so Brett was under him again, pinned to the white sheets, the black panties stark against his pale skin.
"God, I love you," Lance breathed, his forehead pressed to Brett's, his voice shaking. "Do you know what you do to me?"
Brett wrapped his long legs around Lance's waist, his heels — he'd never taken the clear stripper heels off, even in the superhero suit — digging into Lance's back.
"I think I have an idea," Brett whispered, his blue eyes dark and teasing and completely in love. "Pleated skirt, you said? What color?"
Lance laughed, a deep, delighted sound, and kissed him again, hard and possessive and full of every fantasy he still hadn't told Brett about.
"Navy," Lance murmured against his lips. "With the white blouse tied under your..."
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
Brett arched up into him, his hands fisting in Lance's hair, his whole body lighting up at the thought of the next costume, the next role, the next way he got to be exactly what Lance dreamed of.
"Order it tonight," Brett whispered. "I'll wear it tomorrow. For you."
Lance stared down at him — at his bride-to-be, in black bridal lingerie, still flushed from the superhero costume, already agreeing to be his schoolgirl — and felt his chest crack wide open with love.
"My Brielle," Lance said hoarsely, his voice full of wonder. "My perfect girl."
Brett smiled, soft and sure and his.
"Always," Brett promised. "In every costume you want. For the rest of our lives."
Outside, Singapore glittered like diamonds. Inside, on the white sheets, with the red and blue suit on the floor and a navy pleated skirt already in an online shopping cart, Brett fell asleep in Lance's arms, dreaming of pigtails and knee socks and the look on Lance's face when he walked out in them.
He couldn't wait...