“Make me, Jonah Gray.”
Jonah was too drunk for this conversation, and he had a sneaking suspicion Sacha was too, if his flushed cheeks and hooded eyes were anything to go by. Perhaps that was why it made no sense. Why Sacha had followed him into the bathroom in the first place when a sober Sacha might’ve left Jonah alone. Like he’d left him alone all week, when their shared work had allowed him to, at least.
“You are thinking too much,” Sacha said softly. “I do not mean to upset you. If you want to leave, I will stand aside.”
“I don’t want that,” Jonah blurted before his brain engaged.
“What do you want?”
“Right now? Or in general?”
“Either. Both. You decide.”
“I don’t know the answer to the latter. If I did, telling you what I want right now would be easier.”
Sacha licked his lips, a slow sweep of his tongue. “So tell me without words.”
Jonah’s body cried out for Sacha. To take whatever he was prepared to give. But there was something else, a fantasy that had played on his mind since the very first time they’d truly touched. Every encounter until now had been Sacha’s call. He was dominant, rough, demanding, and Jonah had loved every minute, but right now, in this moment, he didn’t want that.
He wanted Sacha to feel, even if he was halfway as intoxicated as Jonah.
Jonah pushed Sacha against the sink, crowding him, daring Sacha to stop him.
He didn’t, and they kissed again, hot and heavy, before Jonah dropped to his knees and reached for Sacha’s belt.
“Wait.” Sacha stilled him, gazing down with half closed eyes. “How drunk are you?”
Jonah snorted. “That’s sweet, Ivanov, but you don’t need to worry about that.”
“I am not worried.”
“Liar.” Jonah returned his attention to Sacha’s belt, trying, and failing, to ignore the warmth in his chest at Sacha’s concern. It didn’t match the belligerence he’d arrived with, but Jonah was used to that. Sacha Ivanov was a contrary bastard.
And a horny bastard, given the fierceness of the erection straining his underwear.
Jonah’s mouth watered. He worked fast to free Sacha’s dick and swallowed him down before Sacha saw fit to stop him again. He opened his throat, taking Sacha deep, revelling in Sacha’s rough gasp, and the taste of him. His scent. And the heightened moans as Jonah brought him quickly to the edge.
In his wildest dreams—and there’d been many since he’d met Sacha—he’d pictured this over and over, taking back the control he’d willingly handed Sacha that first night after the ball. He’d craved this for weeks, Sacha’s gentle hands buried in his hair, his breathless murmurs of encouragement as he fucked Jonah’s mouth.
“Yes, Jonah. Like that. You are so beautiful like this.”
It was the second time Sacha had called him that. Jonah flushed and sucked him harder, enchanted by the sight and sensation of Sacha coming apart, eyes wild as he watched Jonah suck him dry.
Sacha groaned and flailed a hand free from Jonah’s hair to grip the sink behind him. “I’m going to come. If you do not want it in your mouth you need to stop.”
Jonah didn’t stop. He dug his fingers into Sacha’s strong thighs and took it all as Sacha released, not letting go until he’d swallowed every drop.
He sat back on his heels as Sacha staggered against the sink, grinning. “Okay up there?”
Sacha steadied himself and glared down, though no real malice coloured his glittering gaze. “That was not in my plan.”
“What plan?”
“The one where—I—fuck, I don’t know. My English is—”
“Your English is fine when you want it to be,” Jonah snapped. “Are you going to tell me what your grand plan was? Or are you going to show me?”
Sacha shook his head. “Neither.”
