Chapter Ten
SEBASTIAN
“Dammit, that stings.”
Both Simon and my first aid kit are back in my bathroom. I swear he’s enjoying torturing me while he cleans up the cut on my cheek.
“Stop your whining. It’s not even that bad.”
“I know it’s not that bad, so you don’t need to waste your time babying me.” I gesture vaguely at the scar on my face. “I’ve had worse. Obviously.”
“So I see.” Which isn’t an agreement to stop. He just hums a little and continues with his work.
“Tell me, mister businessman,” he says while dabbing at my face. “What’s a guy like you doing spouting nutrition studies and knocking out bad guys? Kind of had you pegged as the sort who would yell ‘My dad has money!’ in an emergency.”
“You’re getting me confused with Tony.”
Simon laughs. “I don’t see that happening.”
Maybe it’s my bitterness speaking, but it’s also the truth. Tony’s parents don’t have money anymore, but once upon a time, he would have. I’m beginning to hate that I let his panic over his father’s financial ruin get to me. Perhaps I let my need to be a hero cloud my judgment.
“Seriously, though,” Simon grumbles.
“Seriously? The man who raised me is in the restaurant business. He and my mom were very into eating plant-forward, living off the land, yada yada. I grew up hearing all sorts of things about food. And as for the other thing, my sperm donor was a violent man. I learned to defend myself. I’m not a fan of guns, but I can use one.
I never leave home without some sort of weapon. ”
“Hmm. It’s weird to think your parents and my parents might have had something in common.”
“They never leave home without a weapon?”
“What? No.” He laughs again. I like the sound. “I grew up in a religious community. Farming was the whole way of life. Living off the land, only what the Lord provides. Lots of vegetables.”
“Ah. Can’t imagine it would be easy to grow up gay there.”
Simon’s body goes still. “No,” he says quietly. “It was fucking awful.”
I’m curious to ask more questions. How did you get the scars on your back? Did they punish you? But his body language is guarded now.
“Is Simon your real name?”
He raises one eyebrow, pinches the skin on my cheek, and applies a butterfly bandage. Then he whips off the gloves he found in the first aid kit and gathers up the tape and other items he used.
“It’s what it says on my driver’s license,” he finally answers.
“I don’t know if that was a yes.” His answer only makes me more curious.
Simon only grins and shrugs his shoulders. He’s leaning close, casually reaching around me to put the first aid kit back in the cabinet. It’s the sort of comfort one tends to have when they’ve seen a person naked, but it’s unexpected coming from him.
This is an odd moment where we’re strangely close because we both shared something stressful. It’ll pass. For all I know, this will be my last time seeing Simon. Because I understand why he feels he can’t cross Brennan to help me. I’m not sure anymore if I’d want him to.
I still have to figure out a way to deal with Tony. It doesn’t have to involve Simon.
“There’s something I do know.” I take a step and then another, pushing him slowly toward the doorway between the en suite and the bedroom.
“What do you know, rich boy?”
I bristle at the nickname. It’s not inaccurate, but it’s not how I want him to see me. As for why I care what he thinks about me when I generally care very little for the opinions of others, that’s a problem for another time.
“Call me Sebastian,” I remind him. “Or Sir.”
“What do you know, Sebastian, Sir?”
I pinch his side, pulling out a sound between a giggle and a squeal. I like it so much that I pinch him again.
“You’re a brat.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I have no doubt.”
My body vibrates with want as I walk back to the bed, keeping my eyes on his.
Until last night, I’d seen sex as a fairly routine thing.
A way to relieve tension or scratch an itch.
Pleasurable, but not…necessary. While I knew I was interested in some rougher acts I’d seen in videos or occasionally in clubs, it was all primarily theoretical.
One night with Simon, and I’m nearly out of my skin with wanting him again.
Because last night, I felt more alive than I ever had.
Because he took what I gave him so beautifully.
Seeing him gaze up at me wide-eyed while choking on my cock, seeing him covered in my cum. Just thinking about it gets me hard.
I can list a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t see him again. But he’s here now, so I will milk this moment for all its worth.
Placing my hand in the center of his chest, I push until he’s flat on his back, gazing up at me with that wicked grin of his.
“Wanna fuck me, big guy?”
“Yes.” I lick my lips. I want that so much it’s like an ache. “I want to wreck that hole of yours,” I growl. “I want you to feel me every time you sit down for the next week, every time you even think of taking another cock inside you, every time you so much as take a step.”
“Ooh. Big words.” Simon wriggles up the bed, pulling his clothes off as he goes—my clothes.
When we returned from his friend’s house, I loaned him a pair of workout shorts along with the T-shirt I gave him earlier.
They’re a little big, but they work well enough.
And if seeing him in my clothes sparks odd feelings, that’s probably part and parcel of the stressful experience.
From my position at the foot of the bed, I can’t help staring. At the way his golden skin flushes in places. At the choppy rise and fall of his chest. The pebbling of his skin, his nipples. The way his hard cock bounces against his belly with every breath.
I’ve noticed that he has some scars—a few on his sides and one on his chest that I can see.
Last night, when I turned him toward the door, I could see several thin stripes on his back, camouflaged by the lines of his shattered mirror tattoo.
I assume hiding them is what the tattoo was meant for.
I haven’t asked about them, even though I’m curious.
It’s personal, and whatever’s happening between us right now, it isn’t supposed to be that.
“I’m not a big fan of pictures, but you could draw a quick sketch since you’re staring so long.”
A surprised laugh rumbles out of me. “You probably hear this all the time, but I can’t get over how gorgeous you are.”
For a moment, the secretive grin and laughing eyes are gone, replaced by something naked and raw. “No, I don’t think anyone’s said that to me before.” He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but then snaps it closed.
They should have appreciated him. Everyone should have.
With that thought, I’m on him as if he’s oxygen and I desperately need to breathe him in.
His scent is a dizzying mix of sunshine and my orange and bergamot shower gel.
I kiss him hard. Breathlessly. Demanding entry with my teeth and tongue.
At first, it seems as if he might be resisting, and I wonder if I’m going overboard, but then his hands grip my shoulders, and a deep moan comes out of his throat.
Yes. Yes.
I pin his arms to the mattress above his head, lacing my fingers with his. One of these days, I’d love to restrain him, edge him until he can’t see straight.
I push the thought away as quickly as it comes. There will not be one of these days.
What we do have is today. I intend to make our time together count.
“I’m going to say something I never thought I would, but do you know where my husband kept the condoms?”
“Oh. Uh, yeah. That’s a weird fucking question.” He laughs, and I can’t help but join him.
Because he’s not wrong. It’s weird.
But then he says, “The dresser, I think. Top drawer.”
After a few moments of wrestling with that stupid top drawer, I find them. Tony didn’t take everything when he moved. The drawer is still full of socks and underwear. The box is in the back corner, under an unopened package of boxer shorts.
Back at the foot of the bed, Simon hasn’t moved. His gaze tracks me as I move toward him, pulling my shirt over my head. As I shuck my lounge pants and boxer briefs. Those gorgeous patches of crimson spread across his body. Down to his hard cock.
“Do you always look like this when you’re turned on?”
He shrugs and reaches down to stroke himself.
“Stop.”
A frustrated growl leaves his throat, but his hand stops moving. “You’re taking way too long to fuck me. I’m going to die of old age over here.”
Which only makes me want to force him to wait longer. He grins and squirms on the bed, clearly trying to entice me. It’s working. Almost. And it makes me laugh.
How many men have gotten to see him this way? Deliciously flushed with arousal, and also a little bit silly?
While I don’t begrudge him his profession, and I’m aware not everyone comes into this world with the privilege I have, I don’t enjoy the sour feeling in my gut when I think of the men who’ve come before me. Men who treated him like a commodity. The ones who didn’t care about his pleasure.
None of those men deserved him.
And you think you do?
I ignore the voice in my head and stand back up to roll on the condom. Suddenly it’s as if my cock is being strangled. “Jesus Christ, is his dick this small?”
That’s the best laugh I’ve gotten from him so far. It’s breathy and uncontrolled and real. “That’s…” He sputters. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s not funny. All dicks are beautiful, and it’s all about how you—” Wheeze. “—use them.”
“Is that the line you use when the guy’s got a tiny dick?”
“I mean…no. I’m being serious. It’s not all about the size. Unless you’re a selfish lover. Then all you’ve got is size.”
The less said about Tony’s selfishness the better, but we both know it’s true. And I shouldn’t allow that to inflate my ego, but it does.
The good news is I’m so hard that I don’t think the condom would affect my performance. But I wouldn’t exactly call it comfortable.