“How the fuck did you meet him?”
“I’m a sociable sort of person, Reuben.”
Rhys gestures at me. “Tell Reuben to bring some fish and chips back with him.”
“They’re fat-dense and deep fried,” I say, shocked.
He raises an eyebrow. “And? That is what makes them delicious.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I speak into the phone. “Can you bring Rhys some fish and chips? And if you could locate a salad for me, that would be great.”
He snorts. “Of course. I exist to wait on you both. Am I in danger of being drawn on when I get there?”
“Sadly, no. Not unless you’ve been very naughty.”
I click to end the call and look at Rhys. “Let’s go,” I say excitedly.
chapter 18
. . .
Reuben
A Few Days Later
The grip around my cock is tight and hot and so fucking perfect. I shove my hips up, hearing the sound of my panting mingled with Xavier’s breathy groans.
“Go harder,” I gasp, my fingers digging into his thin hips. I know I’m going to leave bruises, and it should make me stop. Instead, I tighten my grip. Rather than being angry, he just throws his head back, his moans getting louder. His hair is long now, brushing my balls. It tickles in the best way, and I rut up into him, speeding up as we near the end.
He’s covered in sweat and looks as infuriatingly good as ever. I can’t stop my eyes from tracing over him, and why should I? He’s laid out like a gift for me, riding my cock and arching back so his long body is on display. He feels so familiar, and yet he’s a stranger now—this famous model who’s on magazine covers. It’s so different from the way he looked when he was nineteen. He’s a man now. The sunshine boy has been replaced by this vengeful stranger, and part of me mourns his loss.
I track the movements of his ribcage as he pants. He’s too thin, but he wouldn’t thank me for telling him that. The deal is we meet, we fuck, and we go our separate ways, and if he can fuck me over in the process, he’ll leave with a smile on his face that never quite covers up the air of desperation that clings to him.
It’s not healthy, and we shouldn’t be doing this, but I don’t know how to stop it.
“Have I lost your attention?”
My eyes jerk up to his. His face is so pretty, but his ocean eyes look decidedly stormy. I want to smile, but I wisely stop myself, instead just saying, “You never lost it.”
“Doesn’t feel like it to me.” He circles his hips, and my eyes screw shut at the bolt of pleasure that sparks down my cock.
“Fuck,” I cry out and ram up into him in long strokes. I grab his arse, still full and round, and bring him in tighter.
He gives a garbled whine, his eyes falling shut.
“No, look at me,” I snap. They fly open, and I look into the green-blue depths with satisfaction. I let go of his arse and pinch his hip. “When did you get this tattoo?”
He blinks, never stopping his grinding. “You can still talk?” he gasps. “I must be doing something wrong.”
“What does it mean?” It’s a tattoo of a little dish of ice cream that’s blue with cold and shivering.
My voice is hoarse and rough, and I don’t know how I’m managing to concentrate, but the need to know is stronger than the need to come. “Tell me,” I snap. Did he get the tattoo for a man he’s met?
“It’s …ahfuck. Right there.Harder, Reuben.” I stop moving, and he cries out. He slaps my chest, the sound loud in the room. “Why did you stop?” he says petulantly.
“I don’t reward rudeness.”
His eyes narrow. “Oh,really?”
