Sam checks his phone and kicks off the covers. “Fuck!” He had been too busy eating ass to set an alarm.
He ate ass last night.
Hedemandedto eat Thomas’s ass last night.
Sam hops in place to pull his trousers back on. “Hey, um, thanks for last night.” He fumbles with the buttons of his shirt instead of looking at Thomas’s face.
“Not a problem. The women were right—you are very good. Though…” he mumbles the rest.
Sam’s stomach drops. “Though what? What’s wrong? Did I go too far?”
It was the biting, wasn’t it?
“No, definitely not. It is the, uh—” Thomas points to Sam’s face, and then to his own jaw. “Your face hair. I burn where it rubbed.”
“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” Sam hasn’t shaved since Thursday morning. His stubble is definitely thicker than the clean-shaven look he usually wears. “I didn’t think about it—I’ll shave next time.”
Next time?
“Non, no, it is fine.” Thomas waves his hands as he shakes his head. “No, it is not a bad thing. Like a souvenir. When I, like this”—he twists his hips in place—“I feel it and remember.” He quickly turns away, but he can’t hide the blush dusting his cheeks.
He likes it. He likes Sam’ssouvenirs.
The Ferraro logo is bold across his chest. They’re supposed to be rivals, notsouvenir buddies, but Sam can’t pull himself away.
“So…” Sam’s throat is dry all of a sudden. “You like marks? Bruises and hickeys and stuff?”
Thomas pulls up a shoulder. “Not where they will be visible, no. But… yes.”
“Alright.” This is definitely a conversation to have with someone he’s going to fuck again. Sam can’t pretend like he isn’t interested—his dick won’t let him. “Yeah, I can do that for you.”
“For me?”
“Yeah.” Sam’s going to claim all of Thomas’s hidden parts for himself. He’s going to stamp his name with his mouth. “Yeah, I’m a nice guy like that.”
The elevator pings when it reaches the sixteenth floor. Sam needed to be packed and out like, twenty minutes ago, so he almost bowls over the person waiting just outside.
“Sorry!” he says, on reflex, hoping it’s not a fan.
“Sam?”
Well, it’s not a fan.
“Hey!” Sam’s breath is punched out of him as he stumbles. “Hey, Lucas. Good morning.”
“I thought you were on the tenth floor?”
“So did I.” Sam tries to laugh, but it sounds forced, even to his own ears. Hopefully Lucas doesn’t notice Sam’s wearing the same outfit he wore to dinner last night.
“Who’s staying up there?”
Ah. The elevator must’ve tattled on him.
“Um…” Sam doesn’t know what to say, so he opts for the low-hanging fruit. “Your mom.”
Lucas huffs and shoves his way past him. “You are such a child sometimes.”
“Yeah.” There’s no point in arguing, but he still feels dejected. “Yeah, I am.”
