I turned Steven over and grinned, staring into his dark eyes, certain he would feel the same as I did: all warm and contented, as if this feeling were one both of us could live with for the rest of our lives, without ever changing a thing.
But what I read in Steven’s gaze was not what I expected. I guess I should have been more realistic. That’s what happens when you bring you guys home, barely out of the closet.
Steven looked abashed, ashamed…his eyes couldn’t meet mine. His gaze went from window to door, and I could immediately tell that, now that he had come (and yes, there were still strings of it on his stomach and on the comforter beneath him, growing chillier and more liquid), he wanted nothing more than to flee. I had seen this picture before.
But I tried to keep my anger in che
