Chapter 8 #2
“It’s called minimalism,” Baz said.
“Where I’m from, it’s called ‘being broke.’ I bet you’re massively overpaying for this place, right?”
“Are you here to talk settlement or to judge my apartment?”
“Actually, I came here to get that drink you owe me, but I don’t see why I can’t do that and judge your apartment.”
“I owe you? You spilled coffee all over me!”
“That was a seven-dollar coffee.”
“It was a seventy-dollar shirt!”
“Which I replaced with a fifteen-dollar one, which is exactly what you deserved after not buying me a drink at the bar, so you’re welcome.”
So he had put Baz into a bad shirt on purpose! What a sadistic sense of humor. How could anyone be this annoying?
“I didn’t realize I was meant to buy you a drink after you stole half of mine.”
But still, he walked to the kitchen and produced two whiskey tumblers out of the top cabinet. With Sami, his body seemed to have developed a mind of its own.
Sami hopped onto the white marble top of the kitchen island and crossed his legs. “You’re cute when you’re clueless.”
Baz was neither cute nor clueless. An idiot, maybe, given that he grabbed his best bottle of bourbon, a move-in gift from Joel. Baz hadn’t had an occasion to open it yet; getting Sami to shut up seemed like a good one.
The golden liquid splashed when he picked the tumblers up. Sami stole one out of his grip before Baz could hand it to him. Impatient.
Sami lifted it for a toast. “Thanks. Took you long enough.”
Obnoxious.
Sami’s lips left a perfect imprint on the glass. The star in his eyes was glowing with something Baz didn’t dare to find a name for.
“You are by far the most obtrusive, impertinent person I have ever met.”
Sami smiled like that was an honor. “And you’re into it, so what does that say about you?”
His foot traced Baz’s leg, hooked around his thigh. Baz’s knees turned to jello. He braced himself on the counter, a safe distance away from Sami’s hips. “I don’t like you.”
“Is that gonna be a deal-breaker?”
Well.
Feelings had never played a role in his sex life. If they had met under different circumstances, fucking Sami’s brains out would have been a no-brainer. But he couldn’t forget that they’d be sitting opposite each other at the negotiation table tomorrow.
“This is a bad idea.”
On a case with this much attention from their bosses and the media alike, being caught in an affair with opposing counsel, getting accused of foul play, could nuke both of their careers.
“That’s half the fun.” Sami glided off his perch, squeezing between Baz and the counter. A fiery heat coursed through Baz where their bodies touched.
Sami’s index finger trailed down his arm. “I thought you’d agree, given your reputation.”
“What reputation?” His voice came out rough. He suppressed the urge to clear his throat.
“They say you’re quite the player.”
God, Collin and his fucking jokes must have gotten out of control for that slanderous rumor to have reached Sami.
“Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“Oh, the irony. Wasn’t it you who said ‘scratching the surface is plenty’?”
Well, yes, but—
Sami grabbed his hip and yanked him closer. Baz hated the soft moan that escaped him. “Are you seriously telling me you’ve never gotten involved with the opposition?”
“Is that what this is? Us getting involved?”
“Isn’t it? You planted the image of you being pantless in my head, and believe me, that stuck.”
“What does your girlfriend from the bar say about that?”
“Who, Naija?” Sami laughed, loud and throaty. All the hairs on Baz’s arm stood to attention. His blood rushed south. “I fear the amount of alcohol required to make us bi for each other would kill us first.”
Fine. But that didn’t mean he was unattached. Baz took a step back, far enough for his mind to sober up again. “And what about Ian?”
Sami’s nose crinkled. “What about him?”
“Did he send you here?” Baz wasn’t sure what Ian got out of Baz fucking his associate, but he wasn’t naive enough to underestimate the twisted ways of Ian’s—and Sami’s—mind.
“No! Trust me, I’m here for myself. Ian has no idea.”
That sounded oddly genuine. And if Sami was just another gay guy looking for some fun…
No. That was his dick talking.
“I find it hard to believe that you’d tell me the truth.”
Sami’s smile was loaded with something Baz didn’t understand. “Ah, yes, because I am such a bad, bad boy. You don’t know the half of it. Believe it or not, I haven’t lied to you yet.”
Hm. Baz did pride himself in knowing when people were lying, and right now… He crowded Sami back against the island, one hand on either side of him. Sami tilted his chin up. The tips of their noses brushed, barely there, yet filling him with a desire to devour Sami.
“So tell me what I don’t know.”
“Why should I? I don’t want your understanding or your pity.”
“But you want me.” The hardness pressing into his hip made that abundantly clear.
“I’m rarely wrong about people too,” Sami muttered, stroking his thumb down Baz’s pulse.
“And when I saw you, I thought, wow. This guy, he carries himself with such arrogance, he must have the best or worst dick game in the world. But unlike you, I like to gather all information before I pass my judgment.”
The sudden pressure against his crotch had Baz gasp. Sami’s hand teased him with a gentle massage. Baz couldn’t help it, he grinded into his palm.
Sami’s nose traced along his cheek; his lips brushed Baz’s jaw, his earlobe. Baz’s eyes fluttered shut.
What was the worst that could realistically happen here? They could resolve that tension between them and carry on as professionals tomorrow. If Sami was telling the truth about Ian having no clue—and Baz really, really wanted to believe he had—no one else would ever know. So what was the damage?
He hovered his lips above Sami’s. “If we do this, it means nothing, got it?”
“Obviously. Come on, Baz.” Sami shifted to his toes, his lips close to Baz’s ear as he whispered, “I’ll even let you fuck me. This time, anyway.” His voice was so husky, it had Baz’s dick twitch. To have Sami sprawled out underneath him, whimpering, begging for Baz… Fuck.
He hadn’t stood a chance from the moment Sami stepped into his apartment.
He’d be damned not to show Sami exactly who he was going up against.
He grabbed Sami’s wrist, dragged him to the bedroom, and pushed him onto the bed. Sami fell willingly, draping himself on the edge of the mattress like a fallen angel awaiting his devotee. Baz couldn’t free himself from the restraint of his shirt quickly enough.
Sami pulled at Baz’s belt, tugged at his pants until the cotton slithered down Baz’s thighs. His filthy grin had arousal buzzing in Baz’s groin, a hive of bees desperate to be released.
Humming his approval, Sami rubbed circles over the bulge in Baz’s boxer briefs. His palm was cold through the fabric. Teasing shit.
Baz tried to swallow the grunt, any noise of approval, trying to escape. He wasn’t sure he succeeded, but he did know Sami needed to lose these fucking clothes. Now.
He straddled Sami’s lap and pounced on the tiny, cheap buttons of his dreadful white shirt.
He explored every inch of freshly exposed, soft brown skin.
Flicking his nipple, running his hand over his perfectly hairy chest, his shoulder, his arm…
Patches of leathery scar tissue wrapped around Sami’s forearm. What the—
Five fingers glided into Baz’s hair before his brain could form the question and pulled him down.
Their lips collided with the force of two oceans crashing into each other.
Sharp teeth ghosted Baz’s lower lip, teasing and rough and, oh, Baz hated him.
Hated how easily Sami had talked his way into Baz’s bed, hated how good he tasted.
And by god, if Baz didn’t get to fuck him right now, the raging fire inside of him would burn this whole fucking building to the ground.
Never losing Sami’s lips, he fiddled with the button of his pants.
Sami lifted his hips for Baz to strip him naked.
His hair-studded legs were chiseled in a way even Donatello couldn’t have imagined.
If he were still around to witness such beauty, there would be a hundred statues of Apollo modeled in Sami’s image.
Except that Sami had one huge advantage over those statues, and it stood high and tall. Baz had to swallow lest he drooled.
“Like what you see?” Sami rasped.
“You know damn well I do.”
Sami pushed himself to his elbows. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Baz had no answer. All he could do was kiss Sami again and grab his pulsating dick.
Sami’s moan was electrifying. The scruff of his beard teased Baz’s jaw, smoothed over by soft kisses. Every touch lit a firework in Baz’s body.
Sami licked the place where Baz’s neck turned into shoulder, sucked it between his lips, harder and harder—wait a second.
Baz pushed him away and touched the sensitive, wet spot. Sami’s grin was too shit-eating for him not to have left a mark.
“Seriously? What are you, twelve?”
“You better hope not, or you’re going to jail.” Sami’s thumb traced over the hickey, too low to be visible under the collar. “It’ll be so hot, knowing it’s there tomorrow. Our dirty little secret…”
Fuck, that was hot. Baz claimed his lips again. Sami must have laced them with crack because Baz simply couldn’t pull away.
Sami thrusted against his stomach. His quiet moans were a pornographic symphony that made Baz’s mouth water. If they drew this out any longer, it would be over before Baz got to the main course.
He reached into the drawer of his nightstand, fished for a condom and the near-empty bottle of lube. Had to be enough. He’d shove a bottle of olive oil up Sami’s ass too if needed, there was no turning back from this.
The mattress dipped when Sami crawled to the center of the bed, arching his spine and pushing his hips up high. Some birthmarks—five—were scattered across his upper back.