Page 11 of Fallen Rook

I whirled around, stalked the short distance toward him, grabbed the back of his neck roughly, and slammed my lips against his, cutting off the incoherent stream of words.

An awkward oomph escaped him. The taste of tobacco, beer, and undetectable sweetness invaded my senses all at once. I grabbed the back of his head, thrusting my tongue into his mouth, wedging my thigh between his legs, applying pressure to his swelling cock. I was hard, too. Of course I was hard. He was fucking gorgeous, a fact I never denied, but never let cloud my judgment, either.

His tongue traced mine in an open-mouthed kiss, erotic and indulgent, just like the man himself. I met him with my own personality—demanding, aggressive, unhinged beneath the buttoned-down facade. I swallowed down his needy, slutty groans, dominating his mouth, his body, his soul. We grappled, him pushing at my chest to earn some of his dominance back, me returning his thrust with double the force. He grinned into our kiss, liking the way it felt being with someone his own size. I felt his smile in more than just my mouth. I waited for him to freak out and bolt, but all he did was deepen the kiss between harsh, desperate pants, bucking his hips to press his erection against my thigh in the middle of the goddamn street.

Jesus fuck, he tasted good. Better than good. Divine. How long had it been since I’d eaten someone’s face like this? Two years? Five years? Ten?

Don’t think about it. It doesn’t matter.

I needed to stop.

Shit.

Fuck.

Dammit!

Even though I’d been out for twenty years now, I didn’t do public displays of affection.

More specifically, I didn’t do affection.

Come to think about it, I did not do public, either.

Ripping my mouth from his, I ignored his growl of protest as I pushed my thumb down his lower lip, pried his mouth open, and grunted in frustration, “Wider.”

His mouth parted on cue. He took the order like a good boy, Bambi eyes glazed, cheeks flushed. It was the last thing I expected from a mouthy, extroverted man-child.

Clasping his closely shaven, square jaw, I leaned forward and spat into his mouth. He threw his head back on instinct, trying to wiggle free from my grasp. But while he had more muscle mass, I’d been trained by the deadliest and cruelest in combat and could dismantle him quickly.

I tightened my grip on two facial pressure points that completely paralyzed him, my eyes boring into his. “Gurgle.”

He did. By God, did he gurgle the shit out of my saliva. His Adam’s apple bobbed beautifully, making the crown of my cock stick to my briefs with precum.

“Now swallow.”

I watched his thick throat work around my saliva, consuming it, and finally dropped my hand from his face, cupping his crotch. Jesus, the kid was packing. That was some dick. I hadn’t taken a look back in the alleyway, because that felt both predatory and wrong. And though size didn’t always guarantee aesthetic, I had a feeling that, like everything else about this asshole, his cock was a work of art.

He arched into my hand, grunting, his hooded eyes pleading for more. His penis twitched against my palm through his sweatpants. Fuck. I needed to get out of here before I lost my sanity and my job.

I released him completely. He stumbled backward a couple steps, coughing and heaving. I stood straight, my frosty demeanor intact as I took him in with my signature boredom. “Suffice it to say you are attracted to men. Good night, Enzo.”

I slipped into my car and drove off before I fucked him right there on the pavement.

Chapter Four

Tom

I woke up feeling fresh as a daisy the next day.

Nothing ever penetrated the armor of my put-together exterior. Nothing of the romantic sort, at any rate. And Enzo, while enticing and annoyingly attractive, wasn’t going to disrupt years of calculated numbness.

I worked hard in order to achieve, no—earn the ability to keep the world at an arm’s length, and never let anything or anyone rattle my core.

The only pesky, completely controllable inconvenience was that my cock kept twitching as I made myself my bulletproof coffee at four forty-five in the morning, but I ignored it. I would take care of this minor issue once I ticked all the boxes of my morning routine.

After slipping into my prepared workout clothes, folded neatly on my bedroom’s ottoman, I took the elevator down to the building’s gym. I lived in a skyscraper, in an apartment owned by a company I incorporated to cover my tracks.

I did a quick forty-minute strength training session, followed by ten minutes of conditioning and twenty minutes of intense cardio. From there, I went upstairs, shaved, hopped into the shower, took care of my not-so-little Enzo problem, came on the granite shower wall, cleaned it up, and donned my Monday suit, which happened to be my favorite—a Prada.