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“Like what?”
“Well, take that holiday for a start.”
“We can still do that without breaking the bank—”
“I’ve got a jet. The resort I want to book is exclusive. I want to buy a place in Brighton and move in together,” he said and stood. “We’d still be even in every other way, but I think we should be able to live a certain lifestyle without you being threatened.”
Joq sat right up. “I’m not threatened. I just don’t want you to think you can own me and then discard me.”
Chris laughed. Joq frowned up at him. He didn’t get why that was funny.
“Joaquin,” he said with a smile, “believe me, no one can own you.”
And, well, the way he said it—completely honest—Joq could live with that.
“You have a jet?”
“Of course,” Chris replied. “You want to see it?” he asked playfully.
“Yeah, I think I would.”
11
Chris stepped out of the limousine into the Thai sunshine. He looked at Joq beside him in his crisp white shirt, tailored shorts and aviators, the relaxed smile as he met Chris’ eyes and thought this was a bloody great idea. It’d taken until summer to get here—turned out, according to Brendan, he could not just “take a bloody month off out of the blue”—but when Chris told him haltingly he really wanted to try and make it work with Joaquin, Brendan fast-tracked a few things, promised he’d be in touch sparingly if he needed Chris’ signature, and got him his month off.
He’d asked, in the world’s most awkward display of caring, if Chris was going to be okay for a whole month with his “problem.”
“I think it’s gone,” he’d replied, face heating, nerves thrumming because he didn’t want to jinx it, but it simply wasn’t happening. He theorised that all it must’ve taken was being in love with the person he was fucking—who would’ve thought?
“I’m glad, man,” Brendan had said and slapped him on the back.
And now here he was, a month off, an exclusive bungalow with a private beach booked, and plans to marathon fuck Joq until he lost enough sense to agree to let Chris buy them the Brighton place, move in together and renovate.
“I’ll check us in,” Chris said as he came up beside Joq, squeezed his hip. “Go have a drink.”
Joq smiled up at him. “See you at the pool bar.”
Chris returned the smile, itching to take Joq to their room, but let him go with another firm press of his fingers into his skin. He watched Joq stroll through the lobby towards the pool like he knew the place before heading to check them in.
He ordered champagne for the room and glanced over at a guy down the counter checking out. He looked vaguely familiar—about Chris’ height, similar colouring, but his biceps were like something out of a fitness magazine. Chris wondered if he was some kind of athlete and that’s where he recognised him from.
“We bring the champagne now?”
“Yes, thank you,” Chris returned to the man checking him in. The champagne could chill while they got down to business.
He found Joq standing near the pool.
“You haven’t had a drink yet?” Chris asked as he walked up.
Joq startled, tore his eyes away from the lobby.
“Not yet,” Joq smiled; it was strained.
“Wanna go to the bungalow then? I’ve ordered champagne,” Chris suggested, but he was wondering what the hell happened between checking in and now—Joq looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Everything alright?” he asked once they were moving.
“Yeah, great,” Joq breathed out.
It did not feel great. Chris slipped his arm around Joq’s waist and felt him tense. Chris had that uncomfortable feeling—did he leave his arm where it was or pull away? He knew how he felt when guys did this to him after he was finished with them.
