Candlelight illuminated the old, oak wood of their bedroom doorway. Not an entirely peculiar sight given Dylan’s tenancy to prefer the mundane over the magical, but it was odd to see the room lit so late at night. Especially when no one was meant to be home.
Tracker stepped into their bedchamber and halted. His chest tightened in both guilt and adoration.
His dear husband had been waiting for his return, clearly with certain thoughts in mind for the evening. Now, the man lay dead to the world, sprawled on his back with the blankets turned down. The low-burning candle’s sputtering light glowed across his nakedness. Although, it wasn’t exactly an elegant vision to behold, with one lanky leg dangling over the side of the bed and the other splayed as if he’d fallen from a great height.
Tracker crossed the room, each footfall coming as deliberately and quietly as if he approached a mark. He undressed in perfect silence, bar the soft rustle of linen as he let his smallclothes hit the floor.
Dylan snorted, scratched at the dark hair trailing down his abdomen and rolled onto his side.
Shaking his head, Tracker slithered onto the bed. He brushed a feather-light kiss across his husband’s brow whilst pulling the blankets over the both of them. “It is fortunate you are cute,” he whispered, tucking the sheets around the man’s chill shoulders.
A small smile tweaked his husband’s lips. “I love you, too.” Those deliciously dark eyes opened. Just a fraction.
Tracker chuckled. Not so deeply asleep after all. It seemed he’d been played as to the nature of the dear man’s alertness. “I thought you would not be back until the dawn?” He wouldn’t tell Tracker what their dear hedgewitch friend had Dylan doing—sworn to secrecy—but it kept him away most nights. An act Tracker was adamantly not in favour of.
“Was going to be,” his husband replied around a yawn. “Finished quicker than they expected. Got home early.” Those dark eyes grew bigger, the falsification of a given slight gleaming in their depths. “I was hoping to surprise you.”
Even knowing Dylan teased, guilt hit Tracker’s chest in full force. “I spoilt your surprise by being late, yes?” If he had only known…
His husband hummed a sleepy affirmation. He groped behind him for the nearby cabinet. A bottle of oil and several lengths of silken ties lay on the wooden surface. “Had it all planned out. Was going to tie you to the bed and do what I did to you at Whitemeadow.”
Tingling heat pooled in Tracker’s groin at the memory of being restrained and pampered until he was almost boneless before Dylan had him seeing stars. “Sounds delicious, darling.” With great reluctance, he gently guided his husband’s arm to stillness. “But tomorrow, I promise.” He rubbed the tips of their noses together. “I shall be all yours.”