Page 23 of A Mistake of Worth
“Help me understand.”
“I barely know you!” Henri’s voice cracked. “Just go! Everybody leaves. So be one of them, and leave.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“I don’t need your pity.”
“This isn’t pity.” Michael pressed his lips to the back of Henri’s neck, biting down and then sucking hard, leaving another mark. The action drew a soft gasp from Henri. “It’s rage.”
The intensity of his own reaction surprised him. This fierce protectiveness over a man he barely knew, yet somehow felt was his. His to care for, to protect. The instant possessiveness was odd, but he could analyze those feelings later. Right now, Henri needed him.
“Does Gabriel know about this?” The question came out harsh, anger at Henri’s brother rising.
“Yes.” Henri’s voice was quiet. “Because of Ellis, and Jean... Gabriel knows. It’s why I’m here in London, even though the EcoSphere acquisition doesn’t really need me. He sent me awayto get me out of Porte du Coeur. Away from Marc. If he could have sent me away longer than a month, I’m sure he would have.”
Michael grunted, his anger at Gabriel subsiding somewhat, though not completely. The man had let whatever this was go on far too long.
“I have to do what he wants,” Henri whispered, his body tensing again. “If I don’t put on the show, he might come to London.”
Michael went still, his arms tightening instinctively around Henri. The implication in those words, the genuine fear. “He wouldn’t dare.”
“You don’t know Marc.” Henri’s laugh was hollow. “He would. He has before.”
“Clarify that,” Michael said, his voice carefully controlled.
“Last year, I went to a conference in Chicago. Was supposed to be gone a week.” Henri’s voice was distant, remembering. “Just a week. On Thursday, Marc showed up. He’s not even in finance, but he invited himself to the conference anyway.”
“What did he do there?” Michael felt Henri shiver and reached for the comforter, pulling it down and around them both in a protective cocoon.
“What he always does,” Henri whispered. “Whatever he wants.”
“That’s not an answer, Henri.”
Instead of responding, Henri reached for his phone. “I have to reply to him.” His fingers trembled as he typed:
OK. Give me a minute.
The response was immediate.
Now.
Henri sighed, starting to stand. Michael’s arms tightened, keeping him in place. “Not until you answer me.”
“I can’t,” Henri’s voice cracked. “Not... not right now.”
Michael nodded, finally letting Henri rise. But Henri didn’t make it far.
He froze halfway up, thighs trembling, one hand braced on the mattress as he looked down between his legs. A strangled breath escaped him.
Michael followed his gaze and immediately understood.
His cum was leaking from Henri, a slow, glistening trail running down the inside of one pale thigh. Henri stared at it as though it were a wound.
“I need to clean up,” Henri said sharply, almost too sharply. He grabbed for the edge of the bedsheet as though he meant to wipe it away with whatever was nearest, breath already catching again.
Michael’s stomach clenched. Not with guilt, but something darker. Possessiveness. Seeing his cum on Henri, in Henri, lit a primitive fire in his gut. But he swallowed it back and sat up.
“Hey.” Michael was up in an instant, catching Henri’s wrist before he could scrub at himself. “Don’t. Hang on. I’ve got it.”
