Page 15 of The Professional
Forrest’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “I’m not religious. Mr. and Mrs. Brassard were. Christian. But I never believed religion. I’m atheist, I think they call it. Do you hate me now?”
Rourke rubbed his shoulder and dragged him in even closer. He leaned into Forrest’s blond locks and breathed in the scent of his shampoo. It smelled like roses, or some kind of flower, and it matched his personality. Forrest always asked for the same expensive shampoo and conditioner every month. “Why would I hate you? What I believe is my business, and I’m not going to judge you on your beliefs.” He paused for a minute and then grinned. “If you ever meet my mother, though, maybe don’t mention that to her.”
Forrest chuckled. “Will I meet her?”
“One day.” Rourke closed his eyes, enjoying the closeness of another person, but not just any man, Forrest. They’d done this once or twice since he’d started at the Virtue. Forrest would snuggle against him, and they’d stay like this for hours. The first time he did it, Rourke tried to escape, to no avail. For such a slim man, Forrest had strength. Rourke quickly learned to accept the cuddle whenever Forrest felt like it. He used the excuse that Forrest was their highest earner, and if he wanted to snuggle, Rourke didn’t have a choice except to comply. Rourke wouldn’t admit that he enjoyed it as much as Forrest. “Tell me about your family.”
The one thing they always avoided talking about was family. Forrest didn’t know a thing about Rourke’s parents or sister, and Rourke never asked about Forrest’s foster home before. Unless someone’s relatives affected the Virtue or how they ran it, Rourke wasn’t interested, but a curiosity tingled inside of him. He blamed the alcohol in this circumstance.
“They’re not my family, never were.” Forrest reached around Rourke to grab the bottle of bourbon, but Rourke moved it out of the way, earning him another pout.
“You’ve had enough,” Rourke said in a strong, no-nonsense tone.
“Enough isn’t a word.” Then he frowned. “Why don’t you sayarselike Conall or Killough?”
Rourke’s mouth twisted in confusion. “That’s a weird question.”
“It annoys me. Ass. Arse. Ass. Arse.Arse.” He kept saying the word in different ways, as if trying to understand the logic of adding anrin the word.
Rourke shook his head, laughing. “Because Sloan’s grandfather came directly from Ireland. It meant they grew up with the slang and adopted it. I assume Conall’s the same. Terrance says he was born in Ireland, so I’m guessing his parents were born and raised there as well.”
“But you weren’t? You’re Irish.” Forrest blinked up at him, those eyes big and curious and downright gorgeous. Rourke imagined Forrest on his knees, sucking on Rourke’s cock while he looked up at him with that stare.
“My great, great grandfather was Irish, but mostly my family was raised in New York. My mother’s of Irish heritage, too, but her father’s American. I didn’t grow up with someone who came directly from Ireland, so I wasn’t exposed to the slang.”
“That makes sense,” Forrest said. “I like it when you say ass. It’s better thanarse.”
Rourke might have rolled his eyes, but he tried not to on most occasions because it was outright rude, and Mom taught him better manners than that. Some people, like Detective Diaz, deserved it, though. Forrest never would deserve anything like that. “Thank you, I guess?”
Forrest giggled, and Rourke couldn’t help but laugh at the silly sound. Definitely drunk.
“So are you going to tell me about the Brassards?”
“What’s there to say?” Forrest sighed and closed his eyes. For a moment, Rourke thought he’d fallen asleep. “They were Christians, thought they were perfect, and only wanted me there to look like true worshipers of God, taking care of someone else’s kid. I came to live with them when I was four. Took their name and everything, but they never treated me like their child. It was better that way, I suppose. I’ve heard some people get lost in the system, bouncing from one family to another. At least I knew what to expect from the Brassards. As soon as I hit eighteen, I left. Came here.”
“Why here?”
“Because the Brassards real son, Abe, told me about it. He came here for some fun. Bet he didn’t tell his parents about it. Anyway, I realized I liked sex, why not get paid for it?” Forrest smiled, the corners of his mouth crinkling. “Plus, I’m hot and I know it.”
“You are gorgeous.”
Forrest sat back and his blinding smile made Rourke’s heart hammer against his ribs. “You think so?”
Rourke squinted at him. Forrest didn’t need the compliments, he already knew the truth, but Rourke decided to humor him anyway. “Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
“Wanna fuck?” Forrest’s eyes darkened, lust dancing in those deep irises that begged Rourke to say yes. His fingers twisted in the silver chain on Rourke’s neck, but he didn’t tug on it.
Fuck. Rourke’s cock jerked in his pants, and not even the cold night air could keep his blood from rushing south. Everything about Forrest called to him, but he looked even downright ethereal under the moonlight and the rare twinkling stars that shone in the black sky. For once, there wasn’t smog choking them from existence, and it only made this moment on the roof more precious. But Rourke reminded himself that Forrest was a whore, a possession of the Killough Company. He’d already warned Terrance off Alice, so he wasn’t going to be a hypocrite.
“No.” He caressed Forrest’s cheek again, running the pads of his fingers over his jawbone. “This can’t happen, Forrest.”
“Why not?” Forrest’s voice went higher in a whine, gaze pleading. “I want to ride your cock.”
“I’m your boss. It doesn’t work this way.”
“Terrance fucks Alice, and Conall fucked me.” He shoved Rourke’s hands out of the way and sat right on his lap, bubbly ass cheeks pressed firmly against Rourke’s bulge. Forrest grinned. “I know how much you want me, I can feel it.” To make a point, he reached around himself and grabbed Rourke through his pants. He leaned closer, his hot breath tickling the shell of Rourke’s ear. “I’ll do anything you want. I’m crazy like that. I can even put a collar on for you, but that’s not very original. Sloan and Conall claimed that first. Tell me what you’ve always wanted, but have been too afraid to do. Cock ring? Anal beads? How about frilly underwear? If that’s what you want, you’re in luck. I’m wearing satin ones now.”
“That’s different, Forrest.” Rourke’s voice grew husky, and he hated how strained he sounded. His cock twitched in his pants as he imagined Forrest in satin underwear. Another thing they’d made sure to buy him. Clients liked all kinds of kinks, and the Virtue made sure they were ready for anything. He didn’t know Forrest liked the underwear, though.
