Finley wanted to lie and tell Kage that he was a magical balm. “I don’t know,” he said. The session had added one more thing Finley would miss in his life.
“Do you regret it?”
“No.” Finley met Kage’s gaze. “Definitely not. But I got a taste, and what am I supposed to do now?”
“Come on.” Kage stood up and offered Finley a huge white towel. In the process, his own slipped to the floor, revealing his cock, as well as a thick, ragged scar from his hip all the way to his ankle.
Fucking hell. Whatever happened to him was serious. What was the story behind it? Did it still hurt?
Finley wrapped the fluffy towel over his shoulders but his gaze bounced back to Kage’s dick and the piercing on the underside of the cockhead with two steel balls at each end. The urge to drop to his knees to taste them filled Finley.
“That’s so fucking hot,” Finley whispered before he realised he said it out loud.
Kage’s chuckle caused Finley’s cheeks to pinken.
“You say the loveliest things.”
“Sorry, it just flew out of my mouth.”
“Oh no, I don’t mind.”
In the bedroom, Kage swapped Finley’s towel for the fluffiest crimson blanket. Wrapping it around himself, Finley climbed on the thick duvet and rested his back against the headboard. Kage took a pair of boxers out of a drawer and headed for the armchair, but Finley patted the spot next to him.
Kage sat at the foot of the bed, his cock now hidden under the thin black fabric. Shame. He had been hard the entire scene, but he’d showered so fast that he definitely couldn’t have wanked.
“Can I—?” Finley looked up then back to Kage’s crotch. “Suck you off?”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll take care of it myself.” Kage manoeuvred Finley’s feet to rest on his lap. “This evening is about you.”
Disappointment hit Finley. Sure, he’d paid for the session to be what he needed, but sucking Kage’s soft cock until it grew and filled his mouth with come could lift his mood.Why am I so sad?
“I can order something to eat. Anything you fancy?” Kage asked, and fished out a phone from a bag on the floor.
Normally after sex, Finley would either nap or demolish a burger, but a queasy feeling settled in his stomach. “I’m not sure what I want right now.” A shiver ran through him, even though he wasn’t cold.
Kage gave an understanding grunt as his thumbs flew over the keyboard. “We’ll snack, then.” Kage set the phone aside and traced the barrels of Whiskey in black ink on Finley’s calf, raising gooseflesh in his wake. “Rumour has it you used to run a distillery. Your tattoos are your life story, aren’t they?”
“I guess you could say that. Who did you ask about me?” He perked up, intrigued.
“People talk at the club.” Kage shrugged. “Well, Mat was closed-lipped, but I had to know if I could trust you to guard the scene and focus on what I was doing. He swore by you and then you proved yourself that day.” He tossed Finley a bottle of water and Finley took a healthy gulp. “The first night I saw you behind the bar, I wanted to see your tattoos up close.”
“Ah, so that’s why you accepted my application.” Finley wiggled his toes playfully and drank more water. Damn, he was parched.
“Obviously. It was the only reason.” Kage smirked, digging his thumb into Finley’s foot.
“You ass. Ouch. Is this supposed to be a foot massage?”
Kage lifted his brows in a hilariously mock-offended expression. “You weren’t bratty on the stage and now you start? What do you have against me fondling your feet?”
“Nothing.” Finley bit his lip not to grin. “Except you’re not very good at it.”
“And you’re an expert?”
“No. But I know this and that. I worked as a physical therapist for footballers in my early twenties. That’s why I offered to look at your scar. If I knew what kind of injury it was, I could massage it.”
“No, thanks.”
“Come on.”
