The rest of the short flight to Zurich vanished like a breath of wind, carrying them to their destination.
Deboarding. Passport Control. Transfer bus.
Before he knew it, the three of them were marching up and down the parking lot, trying to remember where they’d left Maz.
Cinn had never been so glad to see her shiny black bonnet.
Elliot slid into the back before Cinn could offer the passenger seat. “The deal is that I can pass on any radio station you choose,” he announced gruffly, once they were all seated. Cinn found a station playing British hits from the seventies, which seemed to appease the masses.
Once they were on the long road home, the glances between him and Julien began, subtle yet charged. They started small—a quick flick of the head, an almost imperceptible turn of the eyes. As the road stretched out before them, the stolen glances grew bolder, lingering a moment too long, weaving a heated thread of connection that tightened with every passing mile.
Instinctively, Cinn knew without question that Julien was counting down the seconds until Elliot left the car with the same frantic desperation he was.
By the time they’d reached his house, Elliot had also sensed the increasingly rising tension. “Have a nice evening,” he muttered with an edge of amusement to his tone, before sliding out of Maz. “I’ll ring Darcy and check on her, as I have a feeling you’ll be too busy.” Then he paused, hand on the door, to curiously state, “Julien, don’t forget about what I said earlier.”
Cinn glanced at Julien for any clue, but Julien only nodded as the door slammed shut, then he zoomed Maz away so fast that Elliot became a speck in the rear-view mirror before he’d reached his front door.
Julien’s hand, warm against his skin, came up to squeeze the back of Cinn’s neck, then remained there for the duration of the silent drive.
There were no discussions of where they were going next; neither of them had forgotten their promises in the bathroom yesterday.
It was only when they drove through an unfamiliar part of town, one composed of shiny, fancy high-rise buildings, that it hit Cinn—he was finally going to get to see Julien’s apartment. Finally going to get a lot else too, but there was always room for icing on the cake.
Maz slid into an underground parking lot.
Her engine switched off.
Cinn and Julien both stared straight ahead, out of the pristinely clean windscreen.
Julien cleared his throat. “Listen, I need to tell you some—”
Before Julien could ruin it with his words, Cinn unclipped his seat belt and climbed on top of his lap, squeezing himself into the space between the steering wheel and Julien’s body. After a small noise of surprise, Julien gazed at him with wide eyes, then reached down to pull the lever under the seat, sending the chair flying backwards.
“Cinn—”
Cinn silenced Julien with his mouth, then pulled back to whisper, “Let’s talk tomorrow.” Whatever Julien had to say could wait. He had already decided that even if Julien returned to his ‘strictly no strings’mindset, Cinn would allow himself this one night of indulgence with him.
The very tip of Cinn’s tongue teased open Julien’s mouth. Then, letting go of all and every inhibition, he melted against Julien’s lean body. Hands quickly roamed all over each other—running over hips, thighs, hair, urgent in their need to touch, touch, touch.
Needy, breathy little sounds that he didn’t bother to hold back escaped Cinn as he rolled his hips into Julien’s lap, relishing the firmness he found there.
Beep!
The hard plastic of the steering wheel dug into his butt.
Oops. He’d almost forgotten they were in a car.
Julien gently pulled Cinn’s head back, muttering several curses in French. His swollen lips pulled up in a beautiful smile, both dimples flashing. “Come on.”
Holding his hand every second of the way, Julien led him out of the car park, through a luxurious lobby, and jammed the button for the elevator with aggressive force. Then Julien dragged him through the barely opened doors.
“Please don’t tell me you have the penthouse suite,” Cinn groaned.
“Because you can’t bear the thought of waiting that long for me to rip your clothes off, or you can’t bear the thought of me being a rich asshole?”
“Definitely both.”
Julien hit the button of the highest number with a guilty smirk.
