“Oh,” Justin said, astonished. Those eyes were huge, gazing back at him. Carnation and cinnamon, rose-stripes and wonder, lush and bottomless. “Kris, I—I don’t know what to—that’s not—the way you see me, I’m not—that sounds so ungrateful, this is so—I don’t know what to say. You mean it.”
“Every bit.”
“Then…thank you.” Justin kept gazing at him, lips parted, breathless. “I’ve never felt…my family tells me they love me, they think I’m great, all that, but with you…it’s different, feeling it…”
“So it helps?” And he couldn’t help the question. Couldn’t keep wistfulness out.
Justin’s cheeks went pink: sudden adorable honest shyness. “It does. But it’s—so much—you have no idea how much this feels like a fantasy I had—oh f**k not that kind of fantasy!”
Kris raised eyebrows. Deliberately.
“
