18. Chapter 18
Henrik
W hen I step inside my home, I’m brought up short. Someone is laughing, and it’s not Mal.
The voices quiet, and then Mal calls out. “Henrik?”
I resume taking off my suit jacket and shoes, eternally grateful as I step forward that the guests’ footwear aren’t lying haphazardly on the floor. “We have company?”
After another stressful day at work, I was hoping for a quiet evening at home with Mal. It appears my plans have been thwarted.
Mal steps close—easily identifiable by scent alone if I weren’t also accustomed to the cadence of his walk—and brushes his hand down my arm.
“Sorry,” he says softly, not quiet enough to avoid reaching the visitors’ ears, but gently like he means it.
“I should’ve called to let you know. I didn’t realize how late it’d gotten. ”
I shake my head, brushing off my earlier disappointment in the wake of Mal’s sincere, concerned words. “You’re free to have guests whenever you please,” I remind him. “Care to introduce me?”
“Of course,” he says, taking my hand and tugging me forward. I hide my surprise, not anticipating Mal would have been so comfortable being familiar with me in front of his friends. I can’t say I mind one bit. “Henrik, these are my friends Dixon and Alex. Guys, this is Henrik.”
“The sugar daddy,” one of the men says, his voice light and teasing.
“That’s Alex,” Mal fills in for me, dropping my palm. I can practically hear the eye roll in his tone.
I reach forward, and, as expected, Alex fills in the distance to shake my hand. His palm is smaller than Mal’s. I don’t bother to correct his sugar daddy assessment because it’s not exactly wrong. But I do make sure he knows, “He doesn’t call me Daddy.”
“No?” Alex asks, releasing our shake. “Are you looking for a firm hand of your own, then? ’Cause I’m available.”
Alex laughs, and by the way he stumbles back suddenly, I get the sense Mal shoved him. “Back off, you horndog. Be polite.”
“Don’t know the word,” Alex mumbles.
“Nice to meet you,” the other man, Dixon, says. His voice is deeper, and when he clasps my hand, it’s larger, too. I remember Mal letting slip that Dixon was upset about the client who choked him. I have a feeling Dixon and I will get along just fine. “Sorry about the children.”
“You’re like, four years older than me, Dixie-poo,” Alex says.
“Five,” he corrects, letting go of my hand.
“And how many years older are you than Mal, Henrik?” Alex asks sweetly. I get the impression he’s a well-intentioned shit-stirrer. He and Benji would get along swimmingly.
“Doesn’t matter,” Mal answers for me, guiding me to the left toward the two-seater chair as his friends settle on the couch. “You sure it’s okay that they’re here?” he asks me again.
“Yes, Mal,” I reply, running my fingers up his arm to his neck. His hair is pulled away from his face today, I notice, and I miss the feel of the strands against the back of my hand. “It’s more than okay. I’ll leave you be so you can enjoy your time with your friends.”
He latches onto my wrist, holding me against his neck. “You don’t have to do that. Stay. Please?”
“You’re sure?”
He nods.
“All right,” I say, more than a little pleased Mal wants me to stay. He drops his hold and takes a step back, and I turn toward his friends. “Would anyone care for a drink? Water, wine? Unless Mal has already taken care of it, of course.”
Mal snorts. “No, I’ve been a bad host.”
Alex snickers, saying something about Mal “needing a spanking,” but then he clearly states, “I’d love a glass of wine. One for Dixie, too.”
“Just a tea for me, but I can get it,” Mal says, walking toward the kitchen.
Tea .
I follow with a frown. “Everything okay?”
Mal lets out a slow breath, and when we get to the kitchen, he steps close, speaking softly. His friends aren’t entirely out of earshot, but seeing as they’re talking amongst themselves, I doubt they’d overhear. “Alex and Dixon found me having a panic attack today. I wasn’t at my best.”
I frown again, not liking the implication that Mal is to blame for his panic attacks, as if he’d been better, he could have prevented it. But I do appreciate that he’s telling me, offering up the information willingly as if he trusts me.
Grabbing a hold of Mal’s hips, I run my thumbs along the defined V of his abdomen, and his breath hitches. “I’m sorry you had a bad day,” I tell him.
He lets out a quiet sigh. “It’s better now.”
I smile, probably reading more into his words than intended, but I can’t help but hope part of that reason is me . “But you still want some tea,” I say, running my thumbs in soothing circles over his skin.
“Yes,” he replies, sighing again. “And you need to stop that or my friends are going to get a show.”
I chuckle, taking a step back. “I’ll get the wine.”
Mal prepares his tea as I pour glasses of a nice Sangiovese.
He grabs one of the glasses, along with his drink, and I carry the others.
In the living room, Mal takes one from my hand to pass to his friend.
Then, much to my continued surprise, he pushes me into the two-seater and claims the spot next to me, one of his legs thrown over my own, as if settling at my side was a given.
As if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The scariest part is it’s not scary at all. My mind quiets as I take a sip of my red wine, my other hand resting against Mal’s thigh. His tropical scent washes over me, and I relax into the cushy seat, all those warning bells telling me to stay away long gone, cracked and crumbled into dust.
“Well, isn’t this cozy,” Alex says after a moment.
Mal sighs. “I’m flipping him off,” he informs me.
I snort, but I can’t help but agree with Alex. This sure is cozy.
“So, Henrik,” Alex says, voice mischievous. “Tell us all about yourself.”
“So the new suit is in the labeled bag in my closet. Forest green, you said, to match my eyes . And you’ll pick something up for Mal?”
Benji doesn’t respond, and I frown, nudging the spot where he should be standing a foot away from me. He jumps when I prod his side.
“Shit,” he mutters at a whisper, clearing his throat. “What was that for?”
I cant my head. “You didn’t respond. What’s going on?”
He’s silent for a moment. “Does he do this often?”
Understanding dawns, and I hold back a growl. I don’t like the idea of Benjamin checking out my Mal. No, not my Mal. Just Mal.
“Yes,” I bite out. Mal’s yoga habit has never bothered me before, but he’s never done it with an ogling audience, either. Well, apart from me, but that’s different. “He enjoys it.”
It also calms him, but I don’t go into that with Benji.
My personal assistant blows out a breath.
“What?” I snap.
“I’m sorry,” he says around a laugh, not sounding it one bit. “It’s just… Damn, that boy is flexible.”
I grit my teeth.
“And shirtless,” Benji adds. “Very shirtless.”
“And right there,” I remind him.
“He’s wearing his headphones,” Benji says, brushing me off. “And not much else. I mean, damn Henrik. Damn.”
“You said that already.”
“Let me paint you a visual—”
“ Benjamin .”
“It’s early evening. Golden light streams through the window, lighting the slab on which Apollo stands.
Or, well, bends. His tousled blonde hair is tied behind his head, a few wisps escaping to frame his chiseled face.
Rough stubble, pouty lips, oceanic eyes as fresh as the sweat dripping down his back—”
“Benjamin,” I warn.
“Please, I’m just getting to the best part.
Downward dog ,” he stresses. “Ass high, high , in the air, firm buttocks swathed in nary but the thinnest cloth ever to have been woven up in Heaven or here down on Earth. We mere mortals exist only to bear witness to such miraculous sights. Thigh muscles taut, glutes glutastically firm, arms…existing, I’m sure, if I were able to drag my eyes that far, upper body bent to the floor like—”
“ Enough ,” I bite out, a muscle in my jaw popping. I don’t like Benjamin looking at Mal. I don’t like him objectifying him, even though, realistically, I know Benji’s intent is harmless. I just don’t like it.
Benjamin chuckles darkly, the wicked, wicked man. “I should go,” he says.
“Yes, you should. Send my love to your husband .”
“My husband would love this,” he says wistfully.
I give him a half-hearted shove. “Don’t forget a suit for Mal.”
“Of course,” Benjamin replies, all business once more. “I’ll have it here mid-week.”
I nod, blowing out a breath as Benjamin packs his things.
“Leaving?” Mal asks, presumably having caught sight of Benji’s departure.
“For now. If you need someone to spot you through the rest of your workout, I’m sure Henrik would be up to the task.”
I bite my tongue, but Mal chuckles. “Yeah, he’s an expert at that.”
Benji guffaws, no doubt sending me a mischievous grin. “I’m sure he is. Bye, lovebirds.”
“I have no clue why I pay you,” I mumble.
“Because I’m the best,” Benji calls right before the elevator doors whoosh closed.
“What’d I miss?” Mal asks.
“Nothing important,” I tell him, heading right over to his mat. He startles as I crouch down and feel him out none too gently. “Do the thing you were doing.” I find the sweat Benjamin was talking about, a hint of it along his back. “Please,” I add belatedly.
“Which thing?” Mal asks, inhaling sharply when I find his half-hard bulge and squeeze.
“Benjamin called it downward dog.”
Mal chuckles a little breathily, amused, or maybe surprised, and then he switches position.
I follow him with my palms, skating them over his body and groaning at what I find.
Benjamin was right. His thigh muscles are stretched taut, straightened and firm under my hands.
Warm even through the material of his thin yoga pants.
His ass is high in the air, plump and indescribably lush beneath my fingertips. And he’s bent down like…
“ Fuck ,” I hiss, my cock throbbing, painfully hard within my trousers.
Mal moves from his pose, ignoring my sounds of displeasure and shoving me gently. “C’mon, sit back. I want to taste you.”