Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
SIMON
I’m a weak man. I can tell myself all I want that I let Sebastian join me in the shower because he paid for a boyfriend experience, but the truth is much worse. It wasn’t until he climbed in, kissed me, and palmed my ass like he owned it that I finally remembered the money at all.
“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of touching you.”
The flu didn’t kill me, but his words might.
I manage to put some space between us, saying, “I need to wash my hair.” Then I add, “I think you’re only saying that because your kind of love hurts, and I let you beat the shit out of me.”
I didn’t mean to say love. I was thinking of that song. There’s a song about love hurting, right? Whatever. Lucky for me, Sebastian doesn’t seem to notice.
“Mmm. Maybe you’re just perfect for me.” He turns me to face the wall, pressing kisses into my shoulder. Every couple of kisses, he turns it into a gentle bite that makes me shiver despite the hot water.
“Look, I like the direction you’re taking this, and the customer is always right and whatnot. But I think with our height differences, fucking in the shower won’t work in our favor.”
Without a word, Sebastian pumps some conditioner from the wall dispenser and takes my hardening cock into his hand. It’s a slow slide, a sensual dance as his hand teases and glides over my sensitive skin. His chest presses against my shoulders, his hard cock riding my spine.
I gasp and groan as the punishing water pressure beats down on me, as his hands tease me mercilessly. The fingers on his free hand roam from my lips to my nipples to my balls and everywhere in between. My shoulders burn from the pounding hot water.
It hurts so fucking perfectly. Nobody’s felt this fucking good touching me before. Why in the hell did he have to be a client?
It doesn’t matter. This isn’t a movie. You don’t get the guy. Enjoy the sex, take the money when the week is up, and go nurse your broken heart in private.
I don’t want to, though. That’s stupid, right? I’m the one who said we shouldn’t see each other again. But every new facet of Sebastian I see makes me wish things could be different.
His left arm comes around me, holding me up, holding me against him. So, just to punish him for being someone I want and can’t have, I put my arm over his, and then I dig my nails into his wrist. His hiss in my ear makes my heart race.
His teeth sinking into that spot on my shoulder sends tingles all through my body. I feel myself floating away on them, awash in something I haven’t felt until him. Something I think I came close to with Elijah, but it was never this good.
“Jesus Christ, why can’t I get enough of you?” His voice in my ear is raspy and rough. Almost tortured.
I don’t know how to answer him. I couldn’t if I wanted to.
His grip is firm, almost painful on my cock. I swear it’s like he found some manual entitled How to Make Simon Come Harder Than Ever and studied every page, including the extra credit sections.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take. It’s too fucking good, and I’ve learned the hard way that something this good always comes with a price.
The thought slips away as fast as it entered my head.
Sensation keeps dragging me under. His thumbnail is abusing my nipples.
His stubble against my face. His hard cock rubbing against my ass.
His low murmurs of “Nothing feels as good as touching you” and “I could sink my teeth into every inch of skin and still want more” reach me in this pleasant floaty place and threaten to turn my brain inside out.
He strokes me faster, my orgasm building and building. Every time I think I’m ready to go over, he brings me higher.
Until he whispers the words, “Your cum is mine, Simon. Did you know that? Give it to me.”
And then I’m in a freefall. It’s a rush like nothing else. From a fucking hand job.
I’m still coming down when he pins me against the wall and unleashes a mighty groan, shooting his load all over my back. It’s degrading and demeaning and I fucking love it.
I think, maybe, I fucking love him.
Or maybe I’ve been in this business too long. I’ve spent so much time being a fantasy for other people that I think I’m in love with the first man who knows how to meet my needs, but wouldn’t it be nice if this were real?
Idiot. I can practically hear Brennan laughing at me.
I’m in a daze as Sebastian soaps me up. As he rinses me off. By the time he pulls me out of the shower and dries me with one of those fluffy towels you only find in pricey hotels, I can barely stand.
“How are you feeling?”
“Exhausted but fucking amazing. I came so hard I’m brain-dead.”
Maybe I’m hallucinating, because he appears to be genuinely smiling, and I swear I see the clouds clear from his gray eyes, making them look a little bit blue. Almost. Sebastian wouldn’t be Sebastian if he didn’t have gray eyes and a touch of dickhead in him.
Which makes it so odd when he leads me to the bed and tucks himself against me as I fall asleep. Again. Almost like those other times weren’t just a fluke.
* * *
I wake up in the morning feeling brand new. I’m still a little achy, but otherwise, I’m fine—good, even.
“I ordered pancakes for you.” A throat clears. “No dairy. I remembered.”
I roll over to find Sebastian staring at me over a cup of coffee.
Maybe it’s because I was too out of it to think about it before, but lying here in bed makes me feel weirdly on display.
I’ve got a sheet around me up to my waist. He’s seen me more naked, and God knows what state I was in when I was sick a few days ago, but this feels different.
I’ve been in bed with so many men I’ve lost count. There’s a unique intimacy in lying here while he has his breakfast. Not to mention the way this intense, unyielding man has been caring for me the past few days. It’s unsettling.
Even more so the fact that he remembered I have a dairy intolerance. I don’t know why.
“I can get you something else if you’d rather.”
Oh. Shit. “No, pancakes are great. Sorry.” I shake my head. “I’m still a little disoriented.”
Never mind how him remembering about my dietary needs after taking care of me for days is causing all sorts of feelings. All sorts.
“Uh, how many days have we been here?”
“Five. You had a fever when the hurricane passed over us, and you’ve slept a lot ever since.”
More than I thought. Whew. “So, how long are you planning on keeping me hostage?”
He sets his coffee down. “According to my agreement with Brennan, I’ve got you for two more days, but we can head back to Belle Argo whenever you’re ready.
I was waiting for you to get better. We can go today.
I’m meeting Tony for dinner on Friday night anyway.
There’s some preparation I’d like to do beforehand. ”
Oh, I do not like that at all. Not the way the idea of him having dinner with his fucking husband makes me feel, and not the heavy rock that sinks into my gut when I realize what I’m feeling is jealousy. No, that’s not quite it either.
I want to cut the bitch.
“Dinner with Tony, huh? Cool.” Did that sound as “I don’t give a shit” as I meant for it to?
Sebastian shrugs. “He’s been wanting to talk. You’ve mentioned you talked to him at that party. Lehman pointed out that I’m being stubborn by not asking him if he knows anything. I have to admit he’s right.”
Fuck Lehman. For that matter, fuck me and my big fucking mouth.
“Stubborn? Doesn’t sound like you.”
He finds that funny. As in, I get an actual honest-to-fuck laugh.
Sebastian nods at the covered tray on the table. “Eat and get dressed. They’ve got walking trails surrounding the property. It would be good to get some fresh air before we leave.”
After throwing on the scrubs that Sebastian had the hotel wash for me at some point and scarfing down breakfast faster than I did when I was a starving teenager (I guess not wanting solid food for several days will do that to you), we wander outside to the courtyard behind the hotel.
We’ve only made it a few feet when I stop, too excited by what I see.
“Holy shit, this is awesome.”
The hotel is built to entertain families.
Not the kind I grew up in. Regular ones.
Families that have fun together. There are several games, most of which I’ve seen but never played, and I’ve never seen them like this.
They’re massive. We’re talking about me-sized chess pieces and checkers as big around as my car tires.
Beyond those is an air hockey table and foosball. I’ve played those at a bar with the guys before. There’s a massive firepit where some people are enjoying their morning coffee—enticing, since the storm passing through and left a slight chill in the air. Chilly for Florida, anyway.
“Did you want to play a game?” Once again, Sebastian seems amused. It looks good on him.
“I wouldn’t even know how to play most of these.
Never really had time for games.” I try to shrug it off, but I’ve gotten the impression that many people played chess and checkers when they were young.
You’d think I would be used to all the reminders of how twisted my childhood was, but it never seems to get easier.
Especially now, when I wish I had the skills to do something fun with this guy who looks even more devastating when he smiles.
Sebastian walks over to one of the games. It’s a large yellow grid with red and black disks that can be dropped inside. Someone appears to have started a game and then abandoned it. Sebastian hits a lever that drops the disks onto the ground.
“This one’s easy,” he says. “I’ll show you.”
So we stand there for the next hour like a couple of overgrown kids, playing this fucking game. He beats me nearly every time, his sharp steel eyes constantly looking for and finding the best move.
As the breeze ruffles his hair—only a little, because God forbid the wind piss him off—and the sun shines on his skin (I lied when I called him beige; he sparkles like a fucking movie vampire), it’s impossible not to have…
thoughts. Sexy ones, because those same hands lifting oversized game pieces and slotting them into place have been on every inch of my skin.
Caressing, bruising, fucking. But underneath it all, there’s a warm something I can’t describe in my chest.
When a resort employee comes by to ask if we need anything and he not only uses the name on the guy’s name tag but tips him generously just for bringing me a ginger ale, I think it might be even worse than falling in love with him.
I’m starting to genuinely like him.
I am so fucked.