Page 25 of One
I grunt in thanks.
“Sorry, bro,” Rami says.
“What’s your angle? With Michael?” Rague asks me, annoyingly going back to our previous conversation.
“There’s no fucking angle.” Well, there will be when I bend him on this couch and rut into him until I stuff him full of my cum. Just the mental image makes me half-hard.
“So, when are we gonna meet him?” Rami doesn’t let go. But the truth is that I want to keep Michael all to myself. At least for now. I want to spend time with him, alone. My family needs to butt the fuck out. Selfish? Definitely. And I don’t care, as usual.
So I ignore Rami’s question, and instead ask, “Serena, how long before I get my information?”
“Approximately five hours, Raph,” she replies before I hang up.
Hearing a very noisy approach, I look up. Michael is hopping on one foot, looking freshly ready. He’s wearing a horrible light blue, long sleeve polo shirttucked insidea pair of grey pants and—dear God, brown lofters.
“Do you buy your clothes in bulk from a colorblind guy without a sense of style, or do you go to the thrift store on Seventh Avenue? The one with the nun clerk.” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Very funny. But not everybody has money to waste onhaute couture, Mr. Valentino.” He points at my jeans. His eyes take a long time studying my bare chest before they lift to my face again. I work hard on my body, and Michael’s appreciative gaze makes all the sweaty hours worth it.
“I thought I was Mr. Hottie. And these are Galliano’s.” I wave at my jeans, smirking when his gaze stops on my groin. I stalk toward him. I put my hand on his hip, untucking his polo while my knuckles stroke his adorable, scrunched up nose. “I wear expensive clothes, it’s true.” Partly because my rich persona does, and also, “Because I like the feel of high-quality, soft fabric on me.”
“Fashion slut,” he mumbles, narrowing his affronted gaze on me. But his body tells me all I need to know the way it’s leaning toward mine. Like a moth to a flame, I’m going to make him burn slowly and deliciously.
“Really?” I breathe into his ear, licking and nipping at the area on his neck that makes him whimper. My hand glides behind, fingers slipping inside his pants and gripping his bare, silky buttcheek. He tilts his head to the side to give more space for my exploration. And when I bite his jaw, a sexy noise escapes his lips and his body arches into mine. So responsive.
“I could do whatever I want to you right at this moment, babe. And you’ll let me. You’ll beg for it,” I grunt, grinding my hard cock into his belly. His sinful moan almost makes me walk him back into his room and have my wicked, depraved way with him. He’s pliable in my arms, lost to his desire. For me. And fuck if that doesn’t send a bolt of pleasure straight to my balls.
“Who’s the slut now?” I smirk, licking his neck in a long slick path from base to chin. Michael’s arms tremble around my shoulders, and, when I lean back, he opens his half-lidded, lust-filled eyes.
“My slutty…” I whisper, enjoying the red blooming on his cheeks and the soft gasp leaving his mouth “…piglet.” That makes him snort, just like the animal would.
“You’re unbelievable.” He shakes his head and drops his arms. “And I can’t believe myself either. Letting you touch me while insulting me over and over.” He grumbles, hopping to the counter and shoving things inside a green bag.
“‘Piglet’ is an endearment, not an insult.” And I won’t fucking stop touching him.
“How about when you said my clothes are hideous?” He glares at me.
“I was just stating the obvious.” I point to the vomit-colored polypropylene bag he’s hiking on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you shopping after you’re done with the corpse.”
“That sounds very disturbing. And I don’t need a sugar daddy.” He grabs the house keys and hops to the front door.
“But I know how much you love when I say ‘attaboy.’” He freezes like prey sensing a predator. “Your pupils slightly dilate, and a hot as fuck shiver runs across your whole body. Just like now.” I take two steps, grab his hair, and slant our mouths together.
The way he immediately responds to me sets me on fire, and all I want to do is show him how searing hot my touch can be. But there’s a serial killer on the loose, one that Michael is eager to stop. And it would be my pleasure to end him—I could use my untouched Xtreme 12-volt drill on him. The thought thrills me. So, I savor Michael’s lips for one more minute, and, with a hard nip, I let him go.
“Attaboy.” I kiss his mouth again, wanting to feel him shudder against my lips.
When I open the door, he’s still half-dazed. Soon, I’ll discover what his thoroughly-fucked-into-oblivion expression looks like.
Crouching down, I smirk before saying, “Hop on, piglet.”
His grunt almost makes me laugh. All the boredom has been replaced by a blonde, sassy, tall glass of water. And when I feel his chest laying on my back, and his legs and arms curling around me, I promise myself I’ll never let him go.
Chapter 6
RAPHAEL
After a quick stop for coffees and croissants, the cab left us at the hospital. We walk inside with my arm around Michael’s back, since he was horrified by my bridal-style hold suggestion. Nurses and doctors greet Michael. Some ask about his foot, sending curious glances my way. Others leer at me, and although I’m used to it, the sudden stiffness in Michael’s body lets me know he isn’t happy about it. It pleases me. But he’ll soon realize there’s no risk at all of me going astray.
