Page 51 of Rival for Rent

His cock filled my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. I pulled back, coughing and drooling, but still turned on. I lapped at his balls instead, loving the moans and curses falling from his lips.

I wasn’t exactly experienced at this, but the noises he was making as I returned to his cock were excellent guidance. Hiships jerked, and his hand tangled in my hair. He pulled me forward, and I liked it. His arrogance in most situations was infuriating, but here? Now? I hummed in pleasure as his fingers tightened in my hair. I didn’t mind being used like this.

“Mason, fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come.”

His hand slid free of my hair, as if to let me go, but I didn’t move. I kept working his cock, getting it as wet and sloppy as I could, using my lips and tongue to keep him going until suddenly, he was coming down my throat.

Despite the warning, I was still surprised when my mouth filled. I swallowed reflexively and realized I didn’t mind the taste. My tongue teased the head of his cock, not stopping until he groaned again and pushed me back, too sensitive to keep going.

Kai looked down at me, chest heaving. His dark eyes shone. “That was amazing.”

I opened my mouth to agree, but was too dumbstruck to say it. I shook my head. How was I so blind to my desire for him until a few days ago? How was I unaware of this part of myself?

Was it new, or old? Had meeting Kai again created it? Or was it something I’d buried long ago?

I thought about my dreams again. The way I treated him in high school. I frowned, staring up at him. I didn’t deserve him. He could do way better, and heshoulddo better. I was about to tell him that when his face clouded.

“It changes nothing though,” he said. “This is just physical.”

His voice was cold. He was probably remembering all the reasons why he disliked me. And that was fair. It hurt, but it was fair.

“Right,” I agreed. “It changes nothing.”

12

KAI

The next few days were weird. Awkward as hell, too.

It was one thing to let a supposedly straight guy suck you off and then glare at you like it’s your fault. It was another thing entirely to live in the same house with him afterwards. Since Mason refused to explain anything—and seemed determined to act like that morning had never happened—I decided to follow suit. I wasn’t going to be the one to break first. He didn’t deserve that satisfaction.

Still, I wanted to break. Because I wanted to know what the fuck Mason was thinking. Clearly, the man wasn’t as straight as I’d thought, or as he’d implied. But he also seemed to dislike me. A lot. And as much as I wanted to match that energy, it was getting harder.

He was fully committed to doing his job, for one. The security system he’d made me order arrived that same Saturday, and he spent hours installing cameras out front and in the back, putting alarms on all the windows, upgrading the locks on the sliding doors. It was really hard to stay mad at someone who seemed genuinely concerned for my safety.

Eventually, he relented and said I could go on runs again—but only if he went with me. Of course, he was in ridiculous shape and barely broke a sweat. We didn’t talk much on those runs, but I could feel my resistance softening anyway. Because when Mason wasn’t being a complete asshole, he was...kind of sweet?

He was great with Bella, playing fetch in the yard, putting together these wild doggie dinners for her like she was royalty. He kept cooking for both of us, too—breakfasts and dinners—and I had to admit, the man was a chef. Sometimes I’d catch myself watching him move around the kitchen, calm and capable, like he really belonged here. Like this was his house, too.

I should’ve been alarmed by that feeling, but I was too busy stressing over the cocktail party I was hosting that next Thursday. I really, really wanted it to go well. The Butterfly Center needed a solid endowment, something that would grow with the market and still let us use a chunk of the interest annually. That meant wealthy donors. That meant schmoozing. And schmoozing was not my thing.

Both of my parents were naturals in front of a crowd, but there was a reason I went into tech. I liked building things, solving problems, and staying behind the scenes. Funding initiatives like Wardrobes for the Win and the Butterfly Center made me happy, but I didn’t crave the spotlight. Carolyn was coming to the party, which would help, but I’d still have to stand up at the end of the night and make some kind of heartfelt speech. I kept imagining myself freezing up mid-sentence, my mind going blank while a bunch of millionaires stared at me with polite disappointment.

I’d planned to have the event catered, but Mason shot that down immediately. We were standing in the kitchen when he told me it was silly. He could do it himself.

“That’s more work, not less,” I pointed out.

“For you, it would be. Not for me.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to. I like to cook.”

He said it so simply—I like to cook—that I almost believed that was the whole reason. But I still raised an eyebrow.

“This isn’t some elaborate theory about my stalker infiltrating the catering company to poison the hors d’oeuvres?”

Mason rolled his eyes. “No. But now that you mention it…”

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