Page 87 of Flare

“It’s Emma, notDrew.” His lip curled nastily. “And she can do what the hell she wants when she leaves home, but while she’s living under my roof, she goes bymyrules, and this nonsense stops. I’m not arguing with you. I’m telling you how it’s gonna be.”

“You can’t—”

“No.” I grabbed Kip’s arm, took a calming breath, and bit back the fury boiling in my chest. “Drewis welcome here anytimehewants, and I won’t stop him. You have no say in who can and can’t visit my store.”

Drew’s father stabbed a finger at my chest. “Maybe so. But I’m telling you to stay the hell out of her life or I’ll make damn sure the both of you regret it, understand?”

His sour smile cut through my composure, and I stepped up to him, fists balled at my sides, shaking with fury—enough to swallow the surge of panic forcing its way up my throat. Not this time. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? He eyed me warily and took a step back, and I resisted the urge to fist pump the air.

“If you lay a hand on any of my staff or friendsorDrew, I’ll have you in court. Doyouunderstand?”

“What he said.” Kip moved close and Drew’s father took another step back. “And I just recorded every fucking word.” He held up his phone.

Drew’s father paled and his pinched expression shifted between us with obvious distaste. “Just stay away from her.” He took another step back, turned, and was gone, leaving the store wide open for the cool northerly to fill.

Kip rushed to shut the door while I tried to catch my breath, my feet frozen in place. And then the shaking started and my knees buckled.

* * *

Kip plied me with coffee and got me moving again, but we both agreed the bastard hadn’t done anything the police could have him for. Even his threat was vague, and we didn’t want to make things worse for Drew by sending the cops around. We had a recording if we needed.

I was still fizzing about it when Beck arrived at the flat after dropping Jack at Monica’s house for the night. I caught him up over a beer, dismissed his touching concern for my safety and his desire to go fuck Drew’s dad up on my behalf—the offer only half-joking—because I had more pressing matters occupying my mind. Had done all day.

Whether it was the session with Callum the day before, the way Beck cared for me after the appointment, my first decent night’s sleep in months, or the leftover adrenaline in my system from that morning—the minute we finished talking and Beck headed to the kitchen to grab another beer, I was on him like a limpet, pinning him against the refrigerator door, much to the horror of Valentino who’d trotted along, hoping for a treat, and then scarpered off like we’d lit his tail on fire.

Beck chuckled as I mauled his neck. “Does this mean we’re done talking?”

“Damn right. I was a badarse motherfucker today, and I’m not done.”

“I thought you fainted?”

“Pffft.” I flipped back my hair. “He was damn lucky I did or I might’ve run after him.”

Beck laughed.

“Shut up and come with me.” I grabbed Beck’s hand and tugged him, still chuckling, down the short hallway to my bedroom at the back of the flat. Beck had never been inside. My bedroom was sacred space and I hadn’t had a man in my bed since Nolan, and none before him. Eric and I always met at Eric’s, and my hook-ups never made it past the closest bathroom.

Once through the door, I dropped his hand, pulled the curtains, and started to light the million or so candles scattered over every flat surface.

“Wow, this is beautiful.” Beck walked the room and I tried to see it through his eyes. Loads of natural light and muted pastel tones—so unlike my living space—and filled with simple furnishings and the treasures I’d collected over the years: shells, small pieces of driftwood, fragments of ocean rolled glass.

And just as he’d done in my studio six weeks before, Beck inspected everything in detail—vintage posters of Pierre Cardin and Yves St Laurent, a Monet-style French street scene, and a cubist art print. Something for every mood.

While he focused on the art, I quickly stripped, almost coming to a stop at the sight of my barely half-hard cock. Shit.Not now.Having someone in my bedroom was clearly fucking with me more than I’d thought. I wrapped my hand around the offending prick and pumped hard, keeping an eye on Beck who was still walking my room with his back to me.

Cool air pebbled my skin, sending shivers up my spine, and my cock started to plump.Thank Christ. Relief stormed my heart, and by the time I walked up behind him, I was rock hard. I slipped my arms around his waist and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“You’re naked, Mr Hellier.” He leaned back and hummed appreciatively, stretching around to cup my arse in his hand. It was something we’d been practicing, but I couldn’t risk losing my erection. I bumped his hand away.

“Rhys?” He went to turn but I held on tight.

“As much as I like to see you wandering my bedroom...” I pressed a line of kisses down his spine. “I’d much rather see you naked and in my bed.” His shirt fluttered to the floor, giving me access to all that body hair.

I pressed my bare chest to his back and sighed with pleasure as I reached around to undo his jeans and let them slide. The only positive thing to be said for roomy trousers—they fell the fuck off. Then I pressed kisses to his lower back as I shoved his briefs down so he could step out of them.

I led him to the bed and pushed him flat onto the mattress. Then, keeping our eyes locked, I grabbed the handcuffs and some lube from my bedside table and watched his eyes darken. He licked his lips and raised his hands for me to cuff him to the metal bar of my bedstead, all done in silence. He wriggled to get himself comfortable as I slowly stroked my cock and he eyed me hungrily.

Stay hard. Stay hard.

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