Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“Aren’t you supposed to be in London?” I ask, as it just occurs to me he wasn’t supposed to be due back until Tuesday night.
“I thought I’d surprise you,” he says.
A tickle of happiness in my gut. “Well, colour me surprised.”
He throws a look over his shoulder, a smirk really, before his eyes dip over me hungrily.
He looks a little tired, but hot as fuck, with a layer of dark stubble over his throat and jaw, which gives him a less-polished vibe than he usually has, like his edges have been roughened.
I watch as he finishes plating up the food: eggs, French toast, and bacon, it looks like, and sets it down on the small kitchen table with the two takeout cups.
He pulls out one of the chairs and points at it.
“Sit and eat,” he says authoritatively.
I do as I’m told. “I tried calling you last night.”
“Yes, I saw that,” he says, taking the seat opposite. “I was on the way to the airport when you rang. It was a very last-minute decision because I missed you. I realised if I got home today, then we could spend the day together before I have to go back to the embassy on Wednesday.”
He missed me. He came back from London early because he missed me.
When he looks at the French toast and lifts an eyebrow, I get that he wants me to eat something. I slice off a corner soaked in syrup and bacon grease and shove it into my mouth. My stomach rumbles gratefully.
“How do you know about the photos?” I ask at last.
“A friend in London.”
“Did you also know that the journalist had come to my place?”
“He’s not a journalist,” says Christian as he sips his coffee.
“Yes he is. For The Sunday Times.”
“He likes to tell people he’s a journalist. He was, once, but now he works for an old friend of mine, digging up information that can then be used for nefarious reasons. Did he offer you money, too? How much?” he asks when I nod. He almost sounds amused.
“Millions, he said.”
“Were you tempted?”
“I told him to get fucked.”
“Oh, he should be so lucky.” Christian laughs.
I eat a few more deliciously sodden slices of toast, a strip of bacon, some scrambled egg, and wash it all down with my lukewarm coffee.
“Stephen works for a man called Adrian Brooke,” Christian says at last. “Adrian is quite an important man back in London—he works for the Conservative Party.”
“The guy you told me about before. The guy who wanted you gone.” Christian confirms with a nod. “So, what, he’s still not over you fucking his son? He still wants to ruin you?” I want to cut this guy’s balls off with the plastic knife I’m gripping in my hand. Better yet, I’ll have Amata do it.
“That’s what I thought, too, but no. Adrian has been trying to get in touch with me for a while because he wants me to come back to London and essentially work for him.
His best laid plans did not go the way he hoped after my departure, and he’s found himself in a spot of bother.
I suppose he thinks I’m the only person who can help him, but instead of asking nicely, he’s planning to use blackmail instead. ”
“He’s gonna use me,” I say, feeling really fucking sick all of a sudden.
“Yes, darling, he is.”
I set down my fork and sit back in my chair, unable to look at him. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
“What on earth for?”
I shrug. “Because he only has something to blackmail you with because I’m me.”
“No, he only has something to blackmail me with because he’s a terrible human being. And because I couldn’t stay away from you. This isn’t your fault, Asher.”
“Yeah, well, it would still be easier for you if I was someone else.” Someone more like his wife.
“Easier? Oh, I don’t know about that. Do you know what I was thinking on the flight, though?
I was thinking about how, without Adrian Brooke and his machinations, I might never have met you.
” His eyes turn very warm and soft as he stares at me.
“I’d never have seen your smile, heard your voice, looked into those bloody eyes.
I almost feel like I should thank him.” My cheeks feel hot, and I’m about to melt into a gooey fucking puddle on the floor.
“Felix said I was smitten with you, and I think he was spot on.”
“Felix. You told him about me?”
Christian nods. “I did.”
I’m not sure what to make of that. His telling anyone at all about me feels significant, but Felix? The guy he used to secretly fuck before he started secretly not fucking me. I don’t love it.
“Did you fuck him in London?” I swear it’s not even a fully formed thought in my head before it just vomits out onto the remainder of my breakfast. I don’t even care if he did, I don’t, it’s just—okay, that’s a lie, I do fucking care. I care a lot. Because I love him.
I love you. Please don’t fuck other people even though I consistently fuck other people.
“No, Asher,” he says firmly. “I didn’t. Felix and I have not been together like that for a long time. We’re just friends.”
I nod, but I’m so fucking relieved. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I asked that. It’s none of my business; I fuck people for a fucking living.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” He looks genuinely perplexed.
“Dunno. Just seems weird that you literally watched me get fucked by someone else last weekend, and now I’m getting fucking jealous of you spending time with your ex.
It’s ridiculous.” I laugh, emptily. His eyes are serious and considering, but there’s a small hint of a smile on his mouth.
He shifts in his chair, turning so his legs are out from under the table.
“Come here,” he says.
I stand and go toward him, where he gestures at his lap for me to straddle him. I do, settling my ass over his thighs so that our cocks are pressed flush together. The chair, old and plastic, protests under our weight.
He reaches a hand up to stroke my cheek. “You were jealous?”
I shrug, avoiding his eye.
“I want to hear you say it.”
Cheeks hot, still not meeting his eyes, I mumble: “I was a bit jealous.”
“At the idea of me with Felix?”
I can’t even hide the full-body shudder that rolls over me at the fucking thought of it. “Yeah.”
He sighs softly. “You know, I wouldn’t mind watching you two fight it out. Two beautiful boys going at it right in front of me...”
“Is he more beautiful than me?” I ask. What?! What the fuck is my stupid-ass tongue on today? Shut the fuck up, Thomas.
He hooks his fingers under my chin and tilts my face up to meet his eyes, finally. They’re dark and hot, and I can feel his dick harden against mine. “No, Asher,” he says firmly. “You’re the most beautiful boy I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”
I fall onto him, our mouths coming together in a fevered kiss as he tightens his arms around me. His facial hair scrapes and scratches at my skin, tongue dipping into my mouth as his fingers trace my spine.
“Christian…” I moan, boneless and breathless against him. “Fuck, I want you so bad.”
“Mmmmm, yes. I think it’s about time I did something about that, don’t you?”
I pull back to check he means it. “Can you?”
“I saw my own doctor when I was in London. He said everything looked more than fine, and sex should be quite safe. Though,” he sobers, “I didn’t explain to him I’d be having sex with America’s Porn Darling, Asher Fox. Perhaps I should call him and check.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up.” I laugh, hiding my face in his neck.
“I would like to clean up, though. I’ve been in these clothes for sixteen hours. I must smell horrendous.”
He doesn’t. He smells insanely good, actually, it’s partially why I’m rock hard. “No, you don’t.”
“Come on, let’s get cleaned up together.” He moves to stand, and I slip off his lap. Linking his hand through mine, he leads us toward the bathroom.