Chapter Twenty
The private elevator slid open with a soft chime, spilling them into the quiet of the forty-second floor. Titus stepped out first, pulse still a hard, uneven hammer from the kiss—blood loud in his ears, adrenaline refusing to settle.
He keyed the penthouse door. It unlocked with a muted click.
Inside, the place sat in low shadow—floor-to-ceiling glass throwing the city’s lights across polished concrete and clean, modern lines.
Not the YA apartment one floor down. Both places were his. Harrington property. But this one he used exclusively for himself, and he used it whenever Manhattan demanded a place that wasn’t shared walls and too many eyes.
He didn’t stop moving.
The space held only the subtle markers of someone who returned now and then: clothes folded with precision into a walk-in closet, a stocked bathroom, a fresh set of sheets pulled tight across the bed.
No active gear. No go-bag—he’d left those in the other apartment.
Here, it was just the essentials he kept—enough to shower, to sleep, to fuck, to disappear when needed.
Titus shrugged out of his Zegna jacket, letting it fall across the nearest chair. His cuffs hung open; his tie was long gone. Heat clung to him—tension that hadn’t eased once since the alley outside the club.
“Ah.” Viper looked around, advancing slowly through the expensive foyer. “Who owns this?”
“I do.”
A brief shock crossed Viper’s face—sharp, unguarded, gone in a blink.
Titus let the moment hang, then turned and walked toward the massive bathroom off the master bedroom. If Viper wanted answers, he’d have to come get them.
Viper followed, footsteps steady behind him.
Titus turned the shower on full, water roaring against the tile. Steam climbed fast, curling through the air. He shrugged out of his dress shirt, stepped out of his slacks and underwear, and moved under the spray. The shock hit first—heat biting into cold skin, grounding him.
For a second, it almost worked.
Almost.
Because even through the noise, he felt Viper’s presence—solid, unmoving, watching.
Could’ve blamed it on need, but that wasn’t the whole truth.
He wanted Viper—wanted him in a way that pissed him off and pulled him under in the same breath.
He braced his hands against the wall, water running down his spine, and tried to breathe past the chaos still rolling through him. But every inhale came edged with memory—the fight, the kiss, the way Viper hadn’t backed off for a single second.
“Gonna invite me in, sunshine? Or you just want an audience?”
Titus yanked open the shower door.
The mirrors fogged with the growing steam, hiding the view from behind, but the front was more than enough—pure, mouth-watering trouble.
Viper stood naked—every inch of him cut, controlled, and fucking fine. Military ink tracked over muscle in a way that shouldn’t have been sexy but absolutely was.
A pale scar cut along his ribs—Tatum’s blade, no question. It twisted something low in his gut. Fuck, how he wished he could outrun his past—his family, the whole goddamn mess of it. The words jammed in his throat; he couldn’t have spoken if he tried.
There wasn’t a chance in hell he could hide the reaction hitting him, so he didn’t bother turning away.
Without a word, he caught Viper’s wrist and pulled him under the spray.
The heat slammed into him again—water, steam, Viper. It hit too fast, too close, tightening everything inside him. He reached for the bar of soap on instinct, needing something solid in his hand just to keep from closing the distance harder than he meant to—and finally found his voice.
“Who you calling sunshine, Cupcake?”
Viper’s chuckle rumbled low, echoing off tile, and then fingers slid into his hair and pulled him in—hard, sure, no hesitation.
Viper’s arms closed around him—strong, unrelenting. His breath kicked hard, stance widening on instinct.
Fingers found the back of Viper’s head, sliding into thick, rich hair. Viper’s hips bucked against him.
Fuck, he needed to be closer.
He turned Viper around and crowded up behind him, reaching for the bar of soap without breaking the moment, dragging his mouth over Viper’s shoulder, breath hot against skin.
One slick hand slid down to wrap around Viper’s thick, hard cock, and Viper hissed—his ass grinding back, pressing against Titus’s own hard length.
He took Viper’s mouth—deep, hot, hungry. Viper moaned into him, and something raw and unnamed twisted low in his gut.
Water cascaded between them, hot enough to sting.
Soap frothed under his hands, sliding over the hard planes of Viper’s chest, catching on muscle before gliding down his stomach.
Heat, slickness, the give of skin over power—every stroke left a trail he could feel in his own breath, tightening everything inside him.
Viper shuddered under his touch, a sound low in his throat.
Somewhere in the rush, the fight drained out of him. What replaced it wasn’t weakness—it was something that could wreck him.
Want. Not just the body pressed against his, but the man behind it.
He was all wrong for Viper—too much history, too much damage—but right then, none of that mattered.
So, he deepened the kiss, turning it raw and hungry. His tongue swept into Viper’s mouth before he caught the man’s lip between his teeth and bit.
Viper groaned, and Titus drew back just enough to breathe. “What you do to me.”
A slow, rough breath pulled through Viper’s chest, his eyes cutting up to him. The shift was small—steadying, deliberate—but Titus caught it.
“Once we do this, you’re mine,” he rasped, possessive as hell—sending a shiver up Titus’s spine.
Storm-gray eyes lifted, catching the light—glittering, unreadable. Taking the soap without looking away, Viper ran it over his chest in one slow pass—controlled, measured, as if mapping him.
Now it was his turn to shudder, and the slow, dangerous smile Viper gave him damn near detonated something in his head. Then, with that same lethal curve of his mouth, Viper finally turned and stepped beneath the warm spray.
The water rolled down Viper’s back, over the flex of muscle, down to that tight, perfect ass before he stepped closer.
He wanted skin on skin. He closed the distance inch by inch until the heat of Viper’s back met him in a fit that stole the air from his lungs.
He wondered if Viper would let him in. It could go either way—he didn’t care if he bottomed or not—but with a man like Viper, he wasn’t sure.
He didn’t have to wait long for the answer. Viper turned him in one controlled move, guiding him to the wall—chest meeting cool tile, feet nudged apart. The slide came slowly and deliberately—Viper’s cock slicked with soap, gliding between his cheeks.
This wasn’t about trust. This was craving—heat—a deep need that stripped everything else out of his head.
Viper dragged his tongue over Titus’s shoulder, bit at the skin, then followed it with another bite at his neck.
The man was a vision—ink winding over his arms and across his chest. Viper had noticed it before, but not the full extent of it. Seeing it now was a goddamn turn-on.
“I want you to fuck me,” Titus ordered, voice rough. Some might’ve called it topping from the bottom.
Viper knew better. He called it Titus trying to keep control when letting go was the answer.
“All in good time,” he said, command threaded through need.
His fingers slid into Titus’s hair, turning him gently before he took his mouth—slow at first, then deep, a kiss that deepened until everything else fell away.
“Prep,” Viper growled.
“No prep,” Titus groaned into the kiss as he pushed in slowly. His hand slid around, finding Titus’s cock and stroking from base to tip. Titus rose onto his toes, palms braced against the cool tile, breath coming hard as Viper sank the rest of the way.
Fuck, he was tight—hot, perfect. Felt so fucking good.
He set a steady rhythm, every thrust deliberate, measured against the slap of water and the rasp of their breath. His hand moved in time with it, pumping Titus hard and slick. The sounds—water, skin, breath—filled the small room, drowning thought.
Titus pushed back into him, matching his pace, a low growl tearing from his throat that went straight through Viper. Control slipped another inch.
“You feel me?” he growled, voice rough.
Titus’s breath hitched. “Every inch.”
Viper pressed closer, holding him against the wall until the world narrowed to heat and motion.
Water slid over them in uneven streams, catching the light as their bodies found the same rhythm.
Every breath hitched; every sound blurred into the next.
When Titus shuddered beneath him, a low sound broke from Viper’s throat, and the last of his control went with it.
After several long moments, chest heaving, he finally slid free. His hands lingered around Titus’s waist.
The water had lost most of its heat, but it stayed warm enough.
“Come on,” Viper murmured. He rinsed them off, turned off the tap, and reached for a towel. Steam thinned as he worked—quick, efficient—his focus lingering on the tired lines carved across Titus’s face. How long had it been since the man had really slept?
They made it to the bed. Titus dropped face-first onto the sheets; Viper followed, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. Instead of another round, he drew Titus in, the man giving a half-hearted protest before letting go.
Far beneath them, Manhattan blurred into a muted wash of sound—sirens, engines, life—rising just high enough to touch the windows. With that low, steady hum around them, Viper finally let his eyes close.