The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

32. Showtime, Lover Boy

32

SHOWTIME, LOVER BOY

Rafe

If one night is all we have, I want to make each second count.

I spent this evening getting ready for my man, setting the mood. From the music, to the drinks, to the fresh sheets on the bed, to the gift for him waiting on the coffee table.

Well, a gift for both of us.

I also planned to ask him to give me a show and, greedy bastard that I am, I still want it.

The timetable, though, will now require some finesse so I don’t scare him away.

Fortunately, I’m fucking fantastic at finesse.

As I compose myself, returning to the cool, in-control man I have to be, I run the backs of my fingers along his jaw. Gunnar moans, low and guttural. His eyes flutter closed as he leans into my touch.

“I have a question for you,” I begin.

Gunnar opens his eyes. They’re hazy, already rimmed with desire. “What is it?”

I run my finger over his lower lip. He darts out his tongue, flicks it against my fingertip, letting me know what his dirty, beautiful mouth craves.

“Perhaps, it’s more like a request,” I say, low and sensual, warming him up and turning him on.

“Name it.” His gravelly tone, the way it rumbles with desire, floods my senses with lust.

I dip my face to his neck, inhaling his freshly showered scent, which feeds my plans for tonight.

But first . . . this.

I run my thumb along his jaw, needing him to know my request is only for me, not a part of the sponsorship deal. But this is where I’ll need to be careful.

“There’s something I want you to do for me.” I try to concentrate on the details of my request, but focus is hard when he slides his hand up my thigh. Yet I’m determined to get what I want. “I’ve wanted this since we met. This isn’t for the deal.” I don’t want him lunging for the hills again. Gunnar is a man who has no problem walking away. “It’s for me. What I’m going to ask for comes from the greedy, possessive depths of my soul.”

He presses a hand to my chest. “You mean... your true heart?” he asks, full of swagger.

I laugh. “You know me so well.”

He holds my gaze with intent. “I do,” he says, stripped of sarcasm and entirely earnest. “So tell me, what does your greedy, possessive, wicked soul want? Besides me.”

I push my thumb between his lips, giving him a reminder of me fucking his delicious mouth. “You enticed me with an invitation, remember? Come and get me. And I did. I wanted you then, and I’ve wanted to see you in my designs ever since.”

He gazes at me, heat in his eyes, waiting for me to finish.

“I want to see you in my new styles before I fuck you and please you and make you come harder than you’ve ever come before. That’s what I want tonight.”

Gunnar pulls away, removing his hand from my thigh. I should remember that suspicion is his natural state. “And it’s definitely not for a deal?”

“It’s not,” I say. I drop the seduction, cup his face gently, and meet his gaze, no games between us. “Trust me.”

His hands slide down my chest, playing with the buttons on my shirt. “I do trust you, Rafe. I trust you entirely.”

I stroke his cheek with my thumb, the possessive beast in me roaring louder with every touch. “Then know this is only for me.” I plant a hard, hot kiss on his lips. It feels like a promise even though I can offer him nothing beyond tonight.

When I break the kiss, his eyes spark with dirty deeds. “Then I’ll give you a show, lover boy.”

I point to the box on the coffee table. “Those are my new designs. Show me how they look on the sexiest man I’ve ever known.”

He stands, and I sink deeper into the couch, legs spread as I watch him.

He saunters to the edge of the table, a glint in his eyes. “These are all for me, Mr. Rodman?” he asks, seeming to savor how my name feels on his tongue.

I run my hand along the front of my erection. “You’ve shown the world how you looked in my designs. Why don’t you show me?”

In a heartbeat, he whips off his polo shirt and drops it on the floor. Next, he unsnaps the top button on his jeans, shoves them down, and kicks off his socks. He stands in my home in only his tight teal boxer briefs, the Rafe Rodman logo at the waistline.

In that color, he’s a blank canvas for fucking.

Gunnar runs a hand over the bulge. “You like these? You want them on a little longer?”

I groan as pleasure trips through my veins. “Take them off. Let me see how much it turns you on to wear my designs.”

He slides the briefs down his legs, his hard cock springing free. He curls his palm around his shaft, and I lick my lips, my mouth watering at the sight of him. His cock is long and proud, jutting out from a thick patch of hair I want to bury my face in.

He leans over, grabs a pair of my new designs from the coffee table, then slides them on. The devil on the front is big—and it’s perfect for the man I want to do all sorts of wicked things to.

“You want to sin with me, Rafe?” he asks, raising his eyebrows, a smile twisting his lush lips.

“All. Night. Long.”

Filthy sincerity shines in his blue irises. “I’m holding you to it.”

“But first, model them for me,” I command.

He spins around, giving me a fantastic view of his firm ass, then smacks a hand on one cheek, then the other, glancing back at me with mischief in his eyes.

Dear God. He will be the death of me tonight. And then again when I let him go.

“Now another,” I tell him.

He slides off the devil pair, grabs another, then tugs them on. He’s slow and sexy, teasing, taunting as he shows off the cherry-red briefs with a heart design. He rubs his hand over his bulge. “How do I look, Mr. Rodman?”

“So good.” I stand, closing the distance between us, and pull them off him. I reach between his legs and wrap a hand around his shaft, my eyes floating closed in pleasure. “It’s been too long since I’ve touched your cock.”

Gunnar groans. “I know, and it feels incredible.”

“Bet it’ll feel better when my cock is buried deep in your body,” I rasp, then squeeze him tight. “And you’re going to beg me to fuck you harder.”

“I’ll beg you now, babe,” he says, rocking into my palm.

“Gunnar, do you know what my biggest sin is?”

“I don’t, but I’m dying for your confession.”

I squeeze his cock again; he’s hard as granite, throbbing with vitality. This beautiful, hungry, needy cock. “It’s a terrible sin that I haven’t sucked your cock yet,” I say.

“But you can find forgiveness on your knees,” he says.

He struts to the couch, sinks onto the fine cushion, spreads his muscular legs, and puts on another show. Moving his hands down his chest, he plays with his nipples, teasing the peaks.

My throat rumbles as his hands travel along the ladder of his carved abs. Lust has me in its clutches—it nearly consumes me when Gunnar grips his thick shaft and pushes it toward me.

I’m ready to pounce. To drop down on his dick with my mouth. To get on my knees and suck him off completely. He seems to know it as he growls, “I’m ready to make amends, Rafe.”

But I don’t lose control that easily.

I shake my head. “That’s not how I intend to suck your cock.”

“How exactly are you going to suck me then?”

I point to the bedroom. “Go to my bed now.”

He scrambles to his feet and takes off.