“I dunno. That’s not really my style.” He gestures the lengthof me, then in a circle at my place:Valentine’sin a black neon scrawl on the outside, brick and ferns interspersed with gritty bathhouse photos on the inside. “But I can see how it’d be yours,” he says with a flirty smile.
Those fucking bionic eyes of his glow against his tan skin and black hair and a flash of straight white teeth accompanies his arrogant smirk, testing my resolve. He holds my gaze, torching every reason I have for keeping my clothes on.
“Truett…”
The velvety need in his voice fucking grips my cock. I freeze, trying not to make any sudden moves.
Cursing under his breath, his eyes dart away and back in a millisecond, like I’m not supposed to see the flutter of insecurity before he plasters on that fucking smirk again.
“Whaddya say, Valentine?” He boldly runs his manicured fingernails along my wrist. “You’re hot. I’m hot. I’ve had a really fucking bad day. Work me over, and then we’ll go back to barber and client. Easy.”
He delivers the line like a throwaway, and I imagine there aren’t many queer men on the planet who wouldn’t be flattered right out of their clothes. Thankfully, he’s got hisbaba’seyes, and every fear about fucking the son of Anders Bash goes double for the son of OmarNooraniBash.
It’s good to remind myself that if his fathers ever caught wind of me dirtying up their precious son, Anders would merely be the opening salvo.
Here’s a piece of unsolicited advice for you: no matter how charming or flirtatious, don’t fuck with the offspring of a child soldier, especially one who was trained in the Noorani family tradition. Someone survives that, you don’t go rooting around in their darkness. I’d rather fall into a pit of rattlesnakes, ’cause at least death would come quickly.
It’s unnerving how unaware Rami is of the firepower in his lineage. Every man he’s ever slept with was only one misstepaway from being kept alive against his will, and Rami has not one fucking clue.
I thank the useless gods for my survivor instincts and step out of reach of Rami’s stupidly elegant fingers.
“Yeah, man. That’s not gonna work for me,” I say, cursing my life.
He blinks up at me like an oversexed Hentai character. So contrite. So needy. So pretty as he begs with those luminous, sad little rich boy eyes. I can practically feel his father’s gun to my head, but…fuck. Thoseeyes.
Water drips in the bowl while I steel my resolve.
Don’t fuck the murder offspring, Valentine.
“Please, True. Let me suck you off. I promise I’ll be so good for you, and then we can go back to being client and barber, I swear.”
Fucking devil in a Harvard T-shirt.
Has anyone ever said no to this man?
4
RAMI
Truett tilts his head,nailing me with that hard-tack expression of his, those deep amber eyes assessing me.
“Desperation, Rami? Really?” he asks, his tone light.
I know for a fact that he wants me, if for no other reason than the impressive bulge in his jeans. I’m not proud of this next bit, but I’m not above a little dirty pool.
“Please, True. I’ll sit here and take it like a good boy. I promise.”
I bet Truett’s a toppy motherfucker, and he probably loves to make the rich boys beg.
God, Isowant to beg for it.
His jaw sharpens, and I let my gaze drop to the floor.Three, two?—
“You really think you could be a good boy for me?” Truett asks, his voice rough.
I bite back a triumphant grin and ignore the fact that my heart rate is zooming through the roof. “Yes.Yes,” I say, rubbing my chest. “I promise I’ll be so good.”
“Do you even know what it is you’re asking for?”
