Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Nash
Leaning back in my chair, I kick my feet up onto the desk in front of me and clip off the end of the cigar in my hand before bringing it to my lips and lighting it.
I puff on the smoke, letting the taste of cognac and vanilla swirl over my tongue while I stare at the text message on my phone’s screen.
Logan: I can get you on the list, but they can’t find out it was me.
Perfect.
A grin spreads across my face as I pull in a few more puffs of the flavorful smoke before setting the cigar into an ashtray I’d brought over with me.
I throw my feet off of the desk and amble through the hall toward my bedroom and into my closet. I’ve got more suits in here than I care to count, but as I quickly scan over my options, running my hands over their fabric, I realize that none of them are right.
In less than two hours, my stylist is here with an array of options; Armani, Gucci, Givenchy. Blue, black, slate gray, white. Every color, fabric, and pattern imaginable.
I slip a few of them on, bored with the neutral tones. There will be swarms of people in neutrals.
My hand lands on a Givenchy suit the color of a fine bordeaux, and the choice is made for me: this is the one.
·
This party is almost as obnoxious as the men behind it.
Crowds of people, most of them made of at least fifty percent plastic and the others dressed in loud and busy ensembles as if they’re peacocks trying to win over a mate for the evening, swarm around one another.
Loud, bass-heavy music fills the space and cocktails slosh about as their carriers lift them in greeting with one another.
As I file through the groups of people here, making my way toward the bar, I finally see what I came here for. He’s making fucking googly eyes at some blonde bimbo with her tits hanging half out of her dress while she fondles his bicep, and it sets my teeth on edge.
I shove through the last few feet of people between us and clamp a hand down over the Fowler kid’s shoulder, feeling his body tense under my touch as if he already knows who it is.
“Who gave you permission to flirt with her?” I growl into his ear.
He turns to face me, the golden honey of his eyes distorted by the neon lights overhead, and he glares, but I watch as his chest rises and falls. I watch as his jaw tightens, the muscles in it flickering with tension.
“Well,” he says, “I guess that would have been me.”
“You’ve forgotten who you belong to,” I remind him, moving closer until my mouth is less than an inch from his ear, and the musk and cedar of his cologne fills my nose. “I don’t like to share my toys.”
A hand pushes hard against my chest, but I don’t budge. “I am not your toy,” he argues.
There it is. Finally the embers of some fucking fire.
“You sure liked it when I played with you before,” I tease him, bringing my right hand to grip the back of his neck, and I can feel his pulse quicken beneath my touch.
“Why are you even here?” He asks. “You weren’t on the list.”
“Because like calls to like,” I respond, tracing a finger behind the curve of his ear. “And I came to claim what’s mine.”
My eyes fall to his lips, parted just slightly; waiting for me. His gaze never falters from me, watching me soak him in, and I can’t fucking take a second more of it.
I move behind him and grip onto his shoulders, pushing him through the crowd in front of us until we reach a quiet alcove next to a door labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY, where I shove him against the wall, pinning him in place.
We stare at each other for long moments, each of us breathing heavily, before my mouth crashes into his.
His lips taste like spiced rum, and it’s completely intoxicating.
My hand finds his waist, grabbing onto his firm body as one of his hands grips the back of my head, balling into my hair, and my tongue dives into his mouth.
My cock stiffens while I taste him, swallowing the flavor of rum on his tongue as he feeds me a whimper and his own solid shaft presses hard against my thigh through his navy slacks.
“I fucking own you,” I remind him breathlessly before taking his mouth again.
I press my hips into his, forcing another whimper from him, and I grind my cock against his thigh, giving us both enough friction to send liquid heat pouring through my body.
“Ahh, stop,” he begs against my mouth, but I ignore the command. His hips are matching mine in a perfect rhythm; he wants this just as much as I do, he’s just too fucking scared to admit it to himself.
I trail my lips along the curve of his jaw and suck at his smooth skin until I reach the crook of his neck. A giggle bubbles up from him as if I’ve tickled him, and I can’t help but smile against his skin at the sound. I grip onto his hips and grind harder against him.
We move our bodies in perfect unison for long moments before his body stills and his mouth falls open, his lips reddened and plump from our kiss, and his head falls back against the wall behind him.
“Nash,” he pants, “you have to stop before I—”
“Before you what?” I growl against his ear, moving my hips harder against his. “What are you so afraid of?”
I take his lower lip between my teeth and he growls a low moan as his hips thrust against mine, and his mouth falls open as his orgasm rushes through him.
“Oh my god,” he whines.
Pressing my mouth to his ear as he grunts through his release, I purr, “That’s right, pretty boy, I am your god. I control your pleasure, I can control your pain, I own you.”
Looking almost stunned, he drops his gaze between us as his hand finds my cock and takes hold of it through my slacks, and he strokes my shaft with a rhythm that forces me to suck in a breath through my teeth.
I stare at him; the glisten of sweat beading on his forehead, the stray tendrils of hair that have fallen from their perfect styling to drop in front of his eyes, the way that he seems surprised at himself for enjoying getting me off.
My breath catches as fire shoots through my every nerve and I crash into his mouth with mine, slipping my tongue past his lips with a moan while I come.
I pull away from him, panting as I come down, and I give his cheek a few light pats. “Get cleaned up,” I tell him with a smirk. He just stands there slackjawed, looking confused and borderline embarrassed, so I reach behind him and slap his ass, this time. “Now.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off of me until he rounds the corner to dip behind the EMPLOYEES ONLY door. I brush my fingers through my hair, fixing any that may have slipped out of place, and I make my way through the club, snatching an unattended drink off of the bar on my way out.
·
I walk through the back door of my home, stopping to leave my suit jacket and oxfords in the mudroom before entering the main room, where my five-year-old doberman waits for me with his tail wagging wildly.
“Hi, Moosey,” I call to him, crouching in anticipation of his greeting. “Good night?”
As always, he runs at me full steam until his head is between my hands, and I scratch at his ears before kissing him between the eyes.
With a few pats to his haunch, I stand and head for the curved staircase at the opposite end of the room with Moose hot on my heels and we follow it up to the second floor of the house, where my bedroom lies at the end of the hall.
As soon as I cross the threshold of my bedroom, I slip out the buttons holding my shirt together, dropping it onto the floor as I move, and I peel my slacks off as I head for the walk-in shower that waits for me in my attached bathroom.
Bracing my hands against the shower wall, I dip my head low and let the hot water run over me, chuckling to myself while I remember the look on the Fowler kid’s face; the surprise on it while he held his hand on my cock, the way that he looked when he came.
It was like watching a masterpiece being created.
There’s something behind those eyes…
I’m fine with playing the villain; I’ve done it for so many years, it’s become a part of me, with the comfort of a second home. If I have to tuck deeper into that role to pull it out of him, so be it.