In the tack room, Marcus’s knees went soft and he sat down clumsily on the wicker tack trunk, eyes full. His lips trembled.
Oh, Philip, Goddammit, I miss you.
After nine years together, their s*x had changed from volcanic and fiery to warm and comfortable. Philip had commuted from Ocala to Wellington, the center of the hunter/jumper world, and Marcus occasionally traveled the thoroughbred circuit; their separations made the partings and homecomings all the more sweet, full of quickies in airport garages, Marcus’s barn office or the back of a horse trailer. Monogamy had never been an issue for Marcus; for Philip, it was more difficult.
What Marcus missed the most was the steadiness, the feeling of having someone at his back, someone he could count on. The wonderful warmth of waking wit
