Valentine’s eye didn’t look anywhere near as bad as I thought it would on Monday morning. It didn’t look good, let me put it that way. But the cut was healing nicely, the swelling was mostly gone, and the dark purple was fading and would soon be that sickly green and yellow.
But he still didn’t eat enough, and what possessed me to shove a breakfast burger in his hand at the manager’s meeting, I’ll never know.
I could tell myself that it was because if I was going to rail him a few times a week, he needed to look after himself. But his need to get called names while I fucked him hard made me question his self-worth enough as it was, and if he was going to add not looking after himself, then maybe he was on a quest for self-destruction, and that wasn’t a ride I signed up for.
I understood the whole hold-me-down-and-fuck-me thing was hot. And I understood that some folks had a kink for getting degraded or praised, and I was completely fine with that.
But didn’t those people have faith in their sexual partners to look after them? To trust their sexual partners to ensure all their needs were being met?
I didn’t know enough about that lifestyle and maybe I was a fool for diving in headfirst without asking questions or setting boundaries for myself.
Making sure Valentine ate enough food was the bare minimum, surely.
I didn’t want to back out. I didn’t want to bail on our agreement. Because for all his faults, Valentine was right about one thing.
It was fucking hot.
I’d basically had a permanent semi since this whole agreement started. He had invaded almost every waking thought. I found myself thinking about him when I was in the shower, when I was stuck in traffic, when I was at my parent’s dining table for Sunday dinner.
When I was at home on Monday night . . . which was why I also found myself googling shit like mentality behind sexual behaviours and behavioural traits of sexual submission.
What had Valentine said that very first time?
He’d tried BDSM clubs, but they weren’t for him because they didn’t really hate him.
And he needed someone who actually hated him.
Christ.
Was I in over my head?
I was beginning to think I was.
Would I stop seeing him?
No.
I still didn’t like the guy. In fact, he annoyed the hell out of me, and it gave me great joy to piss him off.
But he wasn’t the complete arsehole I’d thought he was.
There were more layers to him than I’d assumed, and he certainly didn’t have the perfect life I’d thought he had. Sure, he had money. He was born into that, yes. But he worked hard for it too.
I didn’t pity him.
I could see now that he was a guy with issues and demons, just like anyone else. He wasn’t infallible. God, he was far, far from perfect.
But I wasn’t sure if I still hated him.
And the fact that we had sex without condoms . . . as much as I could tell myself otherwise, that meant something to me. It wasn’t anything I’d ever done with anyone else, and some weird-primal part of me loved the fact that I could come inside him.
Him, especially. That it was Valentine Tye who took my seed. That, like some fucked-up reasoning, I owned him. A guy who had been an adversary my entire life would bend over and take my loads because I owned him.
And that was kinda fucked up.
“What’s up with you?” Noah asked. We’d finished training on Tuesday night and were having a few beers at the pub afterward. I’d missed drinking with these guys—my last few post-game Saturday drinking sessions had gone by the wayside—and it felt good to knock back a few and talk shit with the boys.
But my mind had wandered back to Valentine. Again.
“You ditched us the last few Saturdays,” Taka added. “Don’t tell me someone sunk their hooks into ya?”
I laughed. “Fuck no.”
Taka shoved his face in mine. “Holy shit. You’re blushing! You are seeing someone!”
I gave him a shove and laughed it off. “Fuck off. I am not. No one’s got their hooks in me.”
They all laughed, and I had to question my ability to lie.
Was it a lie though?
Jesus Christ, Marshall.
“You haven’t hooked up with anyone the last few weeks, Wise,” Millsy said, then took a swig of his beer. “You been leaving early, not drinking, not fightin’ anyone.”
I shook my head. “That’s not true.”
It kinda was and we all knew it.
Noah shook his head at me. “You are fucking whipped.”
I pointed my beer bottle at him. “That is a crock of shit.”
Taka laughed. “It might have been convincing if you were trying not to smile, my friend.”
“Who is it?” Millsy pressed.
“No one.”
“Come on, give us a name.”
“There isn’t anyone.”
“Who’s the lucky guy?” Taka asked.
“No one!”
“Who’s the poor guy that has to take your dick?” Noah asked. “Can he even walk the next day?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I shared a locker room and showers with these guys. They’d seen me, and they’d all made jokes. I had a big dick. This was common knowledge and often the punchline of many jokes. It was hardly an insult.
I hid my smile behind by beer. “You guys are delusional.”
Millsy shook his head sadly. “We’ve lost another one, boys.” He made the sign of the cross with his beer bottle. “RIP Marshall Wise. The man-whore lives no more.”
They all raised their beers like it was some farewell salute to the fallen.
I snorted and took a swig of my beer. “You guys are full of shit.”
Millsy gestured around the bar. There was a decent crowd for a Tuesday night. “Then prove us wrong. Go pick up some random, right now.”
I scoffed. “No.”
“See?” he said like it proved some point. “It’s not like you haven’t fucked anyone in these bathrooms before, let’s be real.”
Well, that was true.
“Just because I don’t feel like it, don’t mean shit.”
Millsy raised his eyebrow and Taka laughed. “Yep. He’s a goner.”
I gave another glance around the bar. I mean, there were a few guys who I knew would be up for it. And I technically could pick up . . . if I wanted to.
But I didn’t want to.
And not because it was a rule to mine and Valentine’s agreement.
I just didn’t need to, because . . . well, because my needs were being well and truly met.
With Valentine.
Fucking hell.
The guys joked some more and I didn’t even mind. If today was my turn to be the butt of their jokes, so be it.
But then on Wednesday at work the jokes continued as soon as Taka and Millsy walked on the job. Taka strode in, doing some sidestep dance to “Lover Boy” by Billy Ocean while Millsy laughed his arse off.
“You’re not funny,” I said.
Millsy replied by singing “Let’s Hear It for the Boy” and Taka continued his stupid dance, both of them clearly thinking this was the funniest thing ever.
And maybe it would have been if I hadn’t tossed and turned all night thinking about what they’d said. How I was a goner, how someone had their claws into me, and RIP to the man-whore.
I had to yell over the top of them so they could hear me. “Next person to sing today is on shitter-cleaning duty for a year.”
They both shut up.
And then, because apparently when you sing about the devil, he turns up.
“Ah Marshall,” Taka said, nodding to the carpark. “The boss is here.”
I turned to find Valentine walking in. I let my head fall back with a groan. “Just fucking great.”
Which, I then realised, Valentine heard.
“Do you have a problem, Wise?” he said as he got closer.
Shit.
“Aw, don’t be too hard on him, boss,” Taka said with his huge, lovable grin. “We were just teasin’ him because he went and got himself a boyfriend.”
Valentine’s eyes shot to mine.
“Not something we thought we’d ever see in our lifetimes,” Millsy added. “Gotta say, pity the poor man who tamed this one.”
I ran both hands through my hair and let out a slow puff of air, trying to calm down. “Like I told both you boofheads last night, no, I don’t. And this is not the place to bring it up, so if you could both shut the fuck up, that’d be great.” Then I gave Valentine an exasperated look. “So no, no problem here. To what do I owe the privilege of this unexpected visit with impeccable timing today?”
His jaw bulged. “A word, please,” he murmured, and turned on his heel and began walking back to his car.
I shot Taka and Millsy a thanks-a-fucking-lot look and followed Valentine. He walked all the way back to his car where he didn’t even turn around. We just had some weird side-on conversation.
“What. The fuck. Was that?”
Okay, so it wasn’t much of a conversation . . .
“That,” I replied, “was a carry-over from last night where half my rugby teammates accused me of being under the thumb because I no longer got shitfaced and wanted to fight people after the game on Saturdays. I’ve bailed on them the last few weekends and they noticed. Apparently the idea of me being nailed down to one guy is funny as hell.”
Valentine’s nostrils flared and his jaw ticked, but he kept his eyes straight ahead. “You didn’t tell them anything . . .”
“Are you insane?” I snorted. “Like I would ever tell them that. Or tell anyone, for that matter.”
His gaze cut to mine with laser precision.
I cracked a smile. “They wouldn’t believe me if I did.”
He stared at me, studied my eyes, looking for what fuck only knew. “Hm.”
I couldn’t resist having a little jab. “Are you jealous? When they said I had a boyfriend, did you think it was someone else?”
He scowled at me. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
And another jab. “Did you think it was the end of our agreement? Were you sad?”
He seethed. “I would miss one part of you.” His gaze drew down to my dick and back up. “And nothing else.”
I laughed. “Liar.”
“If you think—”
“Your eye looks good.”
He shut his mouth and his nostrils flared as he tried for a breath of calm. “You’re so infuriating.”
“All part of the agreement.”
He shook his head, and damn if that fucker didn’t almost smile. “Your work crew are most likely watching.”
“One hundred percent chance of that, yes. They’re probably taking bets to see if one of us throws a punch. Odds will be in my favour, just so you know.”
Valentine rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t be fast enough.”
I scoffed out a laugh. “Oh really? Fucking really? Should we take that bet?”
“My place, tonight at seven.”
“You wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “I fully intend to let you win.”
Now it was me who smiled. He was such a sonofabitch. “Did you come here for anything work related? Or just to see me? Did you miss me? Wanna make it three nights a week?”
His eyes met mine, daring, and he smirked. “I do like a challenge.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
Was that . . . was that for real?
“But about work,” he said, opening his car door. “I’ll need all your reports by Friday, and the air conditioning team need to bring their calendar forward, so they’ll be here next week. And your shipment of optic cabling came in; install starts today.”
What the . . .
“What the fuck?” I gestured to the building where, yes, my crew was indeed watching. “How is that fucking possible?”
I might have yelled that, and my crew most definitely heard it.
Valentine smirked at me as he got into his car. “Have a good day.”
His door closed, and the quiet purr of the stupidly expensive engine just pissed me off even more. He reversed out of his spot, smiling as he left the car park, and so god fucking help me I was reminded of why I hated him.
Yeah.
Seven o’clock tonight he was gonna fucking get it.
I stomped back over to where my team was waiting. “Well, that looked like a fun conversation,” Taka said. “You swore at him, so are you fired?”
“If I’m gonna get fired by that piece of shit, it’ll be because I punched him in his stupid fucking mouth.”
His stupid fucking talented mouth . . .
They were still waiting for an explanation.
“Schedule change,” I said. “Aircon install’s come forward to next week. Optic fibre install starts today.”
They stared.
I nodded. “That’s why I swore at him.”
“Shoulda punched him,” Millsy said. “Next week? How can we have this ready by next week?”
I took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. “We’ll get it done. Because it’ll be over my dead body that Valentine fucking Tye ever beats me.” They all nodded, ready to go to work. Like I knew they would be. They’d never let me down yet. And if Valentine thought I’d fail, then he didn’t know me at all.
And yeah, he was gonna get it tonight. I was gonna give it to him so hard he wouldn’t be sitting down tomorrow.
Or—I thought to myself later on, after I’d had to call the electricians and beg them to drop everything and get done what they could in two days—if I really wanted to make Valentine suffer, I should not fuck him like he wanted me to.
Yes. I smiled. Perfect.
If he wanted to play stupid games, he would win stupid prizes.
Bring on seven o’clock.
I walked into Valentine’s apartment on a mission. And with takeout containers of Thai food because I knew he wouldn’t have eaten.
“What’s that?” he asked, looking at the bag in my hand.
“Dinner.”
He turned on his heel and walked away. “I don’t believe dinner was part of our agreement. I seem to recall the term ‘walk in, fuck me, and leave’ was the specification.”
God, he looked good. He wore black lounge pants and a grey long-sleeve T-shirt that both probably cost more than my entire outfit, boots included. His hair was kinda damp and he smelled shower-fresh, and damn, I bet his skin was shower-warm . . .
Stay focused, Marshall.
I put the bag of takeout on the dining table. “Actually, I seem to recall the actual specification was ‘walk in, put a load in you, and leave’ but the sentiment’s the same.”
Enzo trotted over to me and wound himself around my leg. I picked him up. “Hey, little guy. This food is not for you.”
He meowed, and I shot Valentine a look. “He tells me you haven’t fed him yet.”
Valentine rolled his eyes and sighed. “He lies.”
I carried Enzo with me to grab some plates. If it annoyed Valentine that his cat liked me, I was going to use it to my full advantage. I was pretty sure Valentine also hated Enzo on his kitchen counter, so that was where I put him.
Anything was ammunition in war.
I washed my hands in his kitchen sink using his fancy soap and wiped my hands on his fancy tea towel. I collected two plates and took them back to the table. All the while Valentine never said a word.
He stood there with his arms folded, watching me, his jaw clenched. “This is not fucking.”
I grinned at him, then took his chin between my finger and thumb. “Not yet, it’s not.” I turned his head to the side, getting a better look at his eye. “Hm. You heal fast. Good to know.”
His nostrils flared and his eyes flashed. “Is this payback for today?”
Smiling, I sat down at the table and took the takeout containers out of the bag. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and”—I held up two fingers—“rule number two was no talk of work. Now sit and eat.”
He took a few measured breaths, clearly pissed, and sat down slowly. I handed him some chopsticks, all too pleased that this seemed to annoy him as well.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” I said, dishing up a bit out of both containers onto my plate. “So I just bought what I liked and figured you could deal with it.”
He sat unmoving for a few seconds. “And if I said I wasn’t hungry?”
I ate a bite and swallowed. “Do you need me to tie you up and force feed you?”
“You could tie me up and force me to do most things,” he answered aloofly. “Eating isn’t one of them.”
I shoved some chilli beef into my mouth and chewed it slowly. “If you don’t eat your dinner, you don’t get dessert.”
He knew what dessert I was referring to.
“Hm. Spicy,” I said, getting up. I fetched two glasses of water and put his in front of him. When I sat back down, I pulled my chair a lot closer to his.
He rolled his eyes, but he did eat a bite of the chicken and rice. And after he had that bite, he had two more.
“Mmm,” I hummed, a low guttural rumble. I slid my hand up his thigh. “Good boy.”
His gaze struck me, not with heat or fire but with pure annoyance. Maybe even a hint of hatred.
I smiled as I ate more.
This was going so well . . .
With my hand still on his thigh, I gripped his leg and pulled his thigh over mine. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, obviously. Startled and unsure. But it left his legs open.
Those soft lounge pants hid nothing.
Damn.
When he realised the game I was playing, he tried to change the rules. Or maybe he just got off on it, I wasn’t sure. But he began to eat with more emphasis on hums of pleasure, licking his lips. He toyed with the chopsticks in his mouth, pulling them out slowly. He sipped his water like it was nectar from the gods.
He never moved his leg off mine.
But he did roll his hips and arch his back a little.
Fuck, he was such a whore.
I slid my hand up his inner thigh to the bulge in his pants. But I ignored his dick and rubbed his balls instead. He liked it but it seemed to frustrate him, which made me smile. “Something wrong?” I asked.
“No,” he breathed.
“Good.” I picked up a piece of beef and put it to his lips. “Open.”
He didn’t.
So I took his balls in my hand and squeezed. “Open.”
He grunted but complied, so I released my grip on his balls and fed him the beef. “Good boy.”
He seethed, almost growling at me as he chewed.
I ate some chicken and rice, then tried to feed some to him. He pressed his lips together in defiance and I squeezed his balls again.
He opened his mouth.
So I rubbed his balls as a reward and gave his dick a slow pull. Just through his pants, not skin on skin.
He hadn’t been that good a boy yet.
“If you want me to touch you properly, you have to eat more.”
He glowered at me, but he ate two more mouthfuls, my grip on his balls tightening until he complied.
He kept his hands by his sides the whole time, and he kept his leg over my thigh. He could have stopped me at any time. He could have said the word no.
But he never did.
Until, after the last mouthful, he gave a small shake of his head. “I’m full.”
I don’t know why it made me happy that he’d told me he’d had enough food. He wasn’t just going to comply to play this game; he’d had enough and he told me. I respected that.
“Do you think you’ve earned dessert?” I asked quietly, rubbing his balls and teasing with a gentle squeeze.
“Yes.”
I slid my hand under the waistband of his pants and gave his silky shaft a few strokes. “You’re such a whore.”
And there it was. That slow blink, that subtle smile. That place he needed to go, needed me to take him.
And I was going to take him.
I stood up, his leg sliding off mine. I kept my hand around his dick, and with my other hand, I took a fistful of hair and forced his head back, and I kissed him, hard.
I shoved my tongue in his mouth, owning his tongue, as I stroked his cock and pulled his hair.
He grunted into my mouth, his cock pulsing in my hand.
Such a dirty whore.
I pulled my mouth from his and looked into his eyes. I reluctantly took my fist from around his cock. “Bedroom. Now.”
It took him a second to register the words. His glazed-over eyes focusing on mine, then he disappeared into his room. I threw the containers of leftovers into the fridge, put the plates in the sink, and followed him.
The bottle of lube was on his bed and a folded towel. He was shirtless now, his pale torso teasing me, taunting me. God, I wanted to run my hands all over him.
He slid his lounge pants over the swell of his arse, giving me a glance over his shoulder as if he was asking permission. I gave a nod, and holy shit, he let them fall down his legs.
He was fully erect and fucking beautiful.
And I was still fully dressed.
I pulled my boots off and he spread the towel on the bed and knelt over it. Then he popped the lid on the lube and began to apply it to his arse, and I was stuck watching with my jeans open, unable to look away.
The fucker smirked, enjoying the audience, enjoying the hold he had on me.
God, if only he knew . . .
If he only knew the hold he had on me.
He slipped a finger inside himself and moaned like the fucking slut he was, and I remembered what I was doing.
Now, I’d fucked him plenty of times with my jeans still on—a quick fuck and go, like he wanted.
But tonight I was in charge of the rules, and I fully intended to do my best to piss him off. I wanted him angry to the point of losing his shit . . . before I gave him what he so desperately wanted.
So I stripped fully naked, keeping my shirt in my hands. It was pretty clear he wanted me to stand at the side of the bed and fuck him from behind. So I wasn’t going to do that.
I went to him and gripped his wrist, stilling his hand that he was fucking himself with. “Turn around,” I ordered. “The only thing that will be inside you tonight is me.”
He smiled as he turned, still on his knees, still gorgeous.
“Give me your hands,” I murmured.
He did, and I tied them together with my shirt. His chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths, a calmness to him I wasn’t sure whether I loved or feared.
Then I forced him onto his back and pulled his legs out, spreading them wide. I knelt on the bed between them and applied more lube. I fingered his arse, fucking him, stretching him slowly, and from the crease of his brow, I knew he didn’t like it.
He didn’t like the fact that I was being gentle.
He brought his tethered hands up to my chest, annoyed now. He even tried to fight me, to struggle, to ignite a reaction. So I pushed his hands above his head to the mattress and spread his thighs wider with my knees.
“You’ll get it when I give it to you,” I said, my nose close to his.
His eyes flashed with heat and frustration.
“I just don’t think you want it bad enough yet.”
He sneered at me, and I pressed my lips to his, slow and soft.
He didn’t like that much either. He growled at me, frustrated, and tried to pull his hands free.
So keeping his hands pinned to the bed with one hand, I pinched his chin with my thumb and forefinger, opening his mouth so I could really kiss him. I tangled my tongue with his and he grunted, the fight leaving his body as he kissed me back.
He could tell me he hated it, but his body never lied.
Then he raised his hips, hooking his legs behind my thighs, trying to pull me into him.
He wanted my dick so bad.
But not bad enough. Not yet.
So I kissed down his jaw to his neck, scraping my teeth along the soft skin. God, he tasted incredible. I wanted to lick every inch of him.
He brought his hands down again. Still bound with my shirt, so much easier to control him. I pushed his arms back up above his head and held his elbows, pinning him so now I could lick more of him.
His collarbone, that hollow at the base of his throat.
That made him gasp.
Yeah, he liked that a lot.
I moved to his left nipple first. Flicking it with my tongue, sucking on it, pinching it with my lips. His whole body reacted. His legs came up, his back arched, his cock jerked between us, and he groaned.
“You’re such a fucking whore,” I mumbled, then went to work on his right nipple.
He groaned louder this time and brought his bound hands down to cover his face. He bit my shirt that was tied around his wrists and groaned again, but it was a sound of pure frustration now.
I pushed his hands back up over his hand and put my nose to his. “You want it?”
He nodded.
“Tell me you want it.”
“I want it.”
I kissed him and gently bit his bottom lip. “How bad do you want it?”
He growled in reply, and I laughed before kissing him again and plunging my tongue into his mouth. He lifted his hips, trying to position my cock at his hole.
I pulled back, standing to my full height beside the bed, taking in the view. He was sprawled out before me, his legs spread wide, his cock hard, his lips red and swollen. His bound hands were above his head, his chest heaving.
He was fucking beautiful. He was so sexy like this it took my breath away.
I ignored the thump of my heart, the knock against my ribs that should have given me pause. I should have called it what it was. That maybe I didn’t hate Valentine as much as I used to . . .
Valentine fucking Tye.
God, Marshall. What are you doing?
I snatched up the lube and sneered at him. “You’re such a desperate whore,” I said as I slicked my erection. “You lie there like that in front of me, telling me how bad you need my cock.”
I folded his legs up and pulled his arse to the edge of the bed and pressed the head of my cock against his hole. I leaned over him, staring him straight in the eyes. He tried to look away, so I grabbed a fistful of his hair and spoke against his lips. “Look at me while I fuck you.”
His breath hitched, his lips parting. His eyes widened, gaze drilling into mine as I pushed inside him. That tight heat, the resistance, the glide home.
His eyelids fluttered, his breaths sharp and shallow, but he kept his eyes on mine.
“Such a good little whore,” I rasped out.
I realised I was cradling the top of his head with both hands, still fisting his hair, pulling hard as I fought for control.
He felt so fucking good.
Like no one I’d ever had.
I pushed all the way in and he cried out, his back arched, his neck corded. Having his mouth open like that was irresistible. I crushed my lips to his, kissing him deep, delving my tongue in as I began to slide back and forth in his arse.
He grunted and groaned, and the sound curled around my spine. I was close to coming already and it was far too soon. This wasn’t going to be some quick fuck. I wanted more this time.
I broke the kiss and ran my lips along his jaw to his ear, kissing and sucking, burying my face against his neck. Driving into him slow and deep, dragging out every ounce of pleasure.
This was how I’d fuck someone else.
This wasn’t how I fucked Valentine.
I thought I’d do this to annoy him because he’d hate it.
But the sounds he made, the way he brought his tied hands down over my head, how he rocked into my thrusts . . . he wasn’t hating this at all.
But I couldn’t stop.
I wanted this to be measured and meaningful.
Meaningful?
What the fuck?
I shook that stupid thought out of my head.
Just enjoy it, Marshall. Forget about everything else. Nothing else exists except for the tight, wet heat . . .
“Fuck, you feel so good,” I said, my voice fraught with restraint. I drove up into him, all the way in, and stayed there.
He moaned like a porn star and drew his legs up higher, and I wasn’t sure I could hold back much longer. I was up to my balls inside him—most guys couldn’t take it—but he rocked back and forth.
Fuuuuuck.
I pulled away and stood up, gripping his ribs and sliding my hands down to his hips, driving up into him.
He cried out, almost a scream, and he came, spurts of come covering his belly and chest. His body rigid and his arse clenching around my length.
Fuck yes.
Just like that.
I slid my hands under his shoulders, buried my face in his neck, and rammed into him over and over until it was too much, too hard to hold back, and I let my orgasm win.
I came inside him, pulsing and shooting, and he moaned and sighed as he felt it.
It took a few seconds for my mind to stop spinning, for my senses to float back into my brain. I was breathing hard. My bones were jelly. I laughed into his neck, then bit him for the fun of it.
He grunted and tried to push me off him. I pulled out slowly, my dick sensitive and somehow still not ready to quit.
I would never get enough of him. I wanted to fuck him 24/7, and even that probably wouldn’t be enough.
I used the towel to wipe his come from our bellies and chests, and he rolled onto his side as if he was going to slide off the bed and get up.
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” I said, shoving him onto his front. I kneeled on the bed and dragged him further up so he was in the middle of the mattress. I spread his thighs with my knees and laid myself down on top of him.
I needed to catch my breath and I wasn’t ready to leave yet.
Plus, I wasn’t opposed to cuddles after sex. It felt . . . nice.
I didn’t exactly want to cuddle Valentine, but the full body contact was warm and welcome. My chest to his back, his arms up near his pillows, his head turned to the side.
The fact my dick was wedged down to his arsehole wasn’t exactly terrible either.
I ran my hands up his arms and kissed his shoulder. “Want me to untie your hands?”
“No.”
I smiled into the back of his neck. “You’re a naughty boy,” I murmured.
He pressed his face into the mattress and lifted his hips a little.
Jesus.
I scraped my teeth along his nape, nipping the skin with a little bite, then kissed it better. I ran my hands up to his, over my shirt that bound his wrists, and threaded my fingers with his.
He stilled beneath me. “Are you going to fuck me again?”
I rolled my hips, jutting my cock down to behind his balls. “Yep. Wanna fuck you all night.” I kissed his shoulder. “How much do you reckon you can take?”
He hummed. “As much as you can give me.”
I rolled my hips a few times and he lifted his arse up. Urging me, desperate for more.
Christ. He was as insatiable as me.
I pressed my lips to the shell of his ear. “My cock has never wanted arse like it wants yours.”
He gasped and tried to rise up. To his knees? To get away? I wasn’t sure.
I didn’t care.
I pushed his hands down and pinned him with my body. “You move when I tell you to move. If I wanna fuck you like this, I will. And you’ll take as many loads as I give you.”
He moaned, still trying to raise his hips. An involuntary curl? A deliberate roll? I didn’t know. I didn’t care.
I shoved my hand on his hip and held him down. “I told you not to move.”
He whimpered.
He fucking whimpered.
With my other hand, I fisted his hair and gave it a tug, my lips at his ear. “You’re a good-for-nothing whore,” I whispered.
He smiled. He goddamned smiled.
Christ, my dick was ready again. Holding him down turned me on as much as being held down turned him on. Telling him he was worthless and that I was going to fuck him . . . it shouldn’t have turned me on.
But it did. Like nothing I’d ever done before.
I wanted to be inside him all the damn time. I wanted my come inside him.
Mine.
I wanted to claim him, own him.
I pushed up off him and he was about to protest until he heard the click of the lube bottle. Then he pressed his forehead into the mattress and raised one knee.
I gave myself a quick fresh supply of lube and was about to pour some down his crack . . . until I saw . . .
“Holy shit,” I breathed. A small bead of my come was dripping out of his hole. “Oh fuck, that’s hot.”
I spread his arse cheeks and, using my thumbs, gaped his hole a little. “You don’t need lube,” I said. “You’re already wet.”
I’d never get tired of seeing it.
He groaned and tried to go to his knees, offering himself, urging me to take him.
So I pushed him down again, pressed my cock to his used hole, and drove into him. All the way in, in one long, hard push.
He cried out, trying to twist away from the intrusion so I held his arms above his head and held him still until he got used to it. “You can take it,” I murmured behind his ear. I licked up the back of his neck, nipping the skin with my teeth.
Then I kissed his shoulder, his neck, nuzzled my nose in his hair until his breaths were steady and he relaxed. I could have so easily pressed my hands on his shoulder blades and fucked him hard, and I was sure he’d have wanted me to do exactly that.
So instead I rocked us slowly, a blissful glide, as slow and torturous as I dared. My come already inside him and he was about to get a second dose.
How could I not be sick of this? I hadn’t even come yet and I was already looking forward to doing this again.
How could I still want more?
God help me, I wanted to do this forever. With him. With Valentine fucking Tye. Of all people.
I was slow-fucking him again and he was loving it. I dug in deep and hard, slow and sure, while I kissed every inch of skin I could reach. He grunted with every thrust, raising his hips to take it.
I wanted to stretch him thin, to iron out any knots and troubles, and hold him. I wanted to kiss him, make sure he ate properly. I wanted to make him smile.
I wanted to fix him.
So I held him tighter and fucked him slower. I lost myself to the warmth of his body, to the feel of him underneath me, to the sounds he made, to the gasps and moans.
I lost all track of time.
And maybe for the first time, I lost myself.
All that existed was him.
And when my orgasm took hold, I planted my seed in deep, and he arched his back to take it all.
I collapsed on top of him and neither of us made an attempt to move. I stayed inside him, right where I wanted to be, until he rolled us over. I was pure dead weight. I was a boneless mess and could barely keep my eyes open.
But Valentine got to his knees on the bed and put his hard dick in my face. “You forgot something,” he said. With his hands still tied with my shirt, he took handfuls of my hair and shoved his cock in my mouth, and he proceeded to skull fuck me.
And I let him.
This was not part of our agreement.
This was not what I’d signed up for.
But I let him do it.
I wanted it. I loved it, and I took every drop.
He collapsed to the bed, twitching with the aftershocks of it. I laughed and pulled the shirt free from his wrists, then pulled him into my arms.
He fit against me perfectly, like a goddamn puzzle piece. He was warm. He smelled like himself but also like me, of sex and sweat.
It was divine; a scent made just for me.
I closed my eyes for just a second and my heart was thumping for different reasons. Not the exertion, not the cardio marathon we’d just done.
No, it was thumping, two-sizes too big, because of Valentine reasons.
Valentine fucking Tye reasons.
I was too tired to care. Too exhausted, too heavy, too comfortable.
Too happy.
“I think I’m in trouble,” I mumbled.
Taka looked at me, head tilted. He’d just asked me what was wrong. We were in the dressing sheds before our rugby game. I was bouncing on my toes and getting myself psyched up. Apparently to him I looked bothered.
“What do you mean?” he asked with nothing but concern on his face. “I know you’ve been busy at work, gettin’ it all ready for the aircon guys, and the paperwork reports and whatnot. But we got it finished on time. It’s all good, man.”
I bounced on my toes some more and shook out my arms. “Not work.”
The penny dropped. “Ah. The new boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“But you want him to be.”
My eyes cut to his.
The last three days—since I’d left Valentine’s apartment before sunrise on Thursday morning—had been a total mindfuck.
“It can’t happen.”
Fuck.
Did I even want it to happen?
Pretty sure I did.
“Aw, why not?” he asked. See, the thing about Taka was he was a pure soul. A fucking unit of a man, he was huge, but he was gentle and kind and beamed fucking sunshine. Everyone loved him, his smile was contagious.
And he believed in things like falling in love and happily ever afters.
“If you want it to happen, you’ll find a way,” he added.
I stopped bouncing and deflated. “God fucking dammit.” I shook my head, getting mad at myself for letting things get this far.
I hadn’t stopped thinking about Valentine. About how my heart was beginning to betray my mind.
“It can’t happen,” I repeated. “I can’t tell you anything more, and I’m sorry about that. But it was supposed to be a no-strings-attached thing, and . . .”
“And now there are strings.”
“Just on my side,” I admitted, and perhaps that was the part that stung the most. Because Valentine would never . . . I let out a long-drawn-out puff of air. “This feeling is fucked.”
Taka gave me a clap on the shoulder. “Maybe you should be telling him.”
I shook my head. “No. That’d be the end of it for sure.”
“You sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
Because the purpose of our fucked-up agreement was for me to hate-fuck him. That was all he’d wanted. He’d even said pretend-hate wasn’t enough.
Granted, I hadn’t exactly hate-fucked him on Wednesday night, and as much as he’d probably try and deny it, he’d enjoyed it.
But if I told him I didn’t hate him anymore?
He’d tell me we were done, and that was the reason for the lump in my belly and the strange tight ache in my chest.
I hated this feeling.
Taka gave me a bit of a shake. “Clear your head,” he said. “We got a game to play. And Burwood go hard. We need you on your A-game.”
Right.
Burwood.
I grinned at him. “Consider it brung.”
We took to the field and won the toss. We kicked first, straight to their second row, their number four took the ball. I lined that fucker up and cracked him right across the nose with my elbow.
He went down like a sack of shit, his nose a bloody zigzag, and I went down on him, my elbow across his ribs. “For Valentine Tye,” I spat.
Then I was pulled off him and a bit of a scuffle broke out, but it was all over pretty quick. I got a lot of what-the-fucks from my teammates and the referee sent me off for the game.
I hadn’t even touched the ball.
But I didn’t care. My work was done. Their number four got a trip to the hospital for his busted nose, but I didn’t care about that either. That fucker got what he deserved, and I wasn’t sorry.
My coach was royally pissed though. So pissed he couldn’t even speak to me, and I knew I’d let the team down. They’d fought hard for the win and deserved to celebrate their victory.
I wasn’t exactly in a drinking mood but figured hanging around and buying them a few rounds was the least I could do.
No one really questioned my outburst. They were used to me picking fights and being the reasons drunken weekends sometimes ended with fists thrown. They did shake their heads and some of them laughed at me and my too-short temper.
Except Taka. I knew he’d say something and I didn’t have to wait long. He put a beer in my hand. “So tell me,” he said casually. It was just me and him, and the bar was loud enough that no one else could hear. “The hit you put out today didn’t have anything to do with him bein’ the one to hit Valentine last week, would it?”
I damn near choked on my beer. “What?”
“Same guy apparently.” He took a swig of his beer, not looking at me.
Fuck. Fuckity fuck.
“Not that it’d be any of their business,” he added, “but these guys haven’t joined the dots.”
“The fuck are you talking about?” I asked. “There are no dots to join. I dunno why I hit that guy today. He had a stupid face, and I was pissed off.”
Taka took another drink of his beer. “Yeah. Your problem is you got feelings for someone you shouldn’t.”
I stepped in front of him, his eyes met mine, and all I could do was shake my head. Just shake my fucking head because I couldn’t speak. My heart was hammering and I almost felt sick. I wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up, but I couldn’t find the words—and I couldn’t lie to him. He’d been my best mate since high school.
Taka gave me a sad smile. “I won’t tell no one,” he mumbled, then put his bottle to his lips and smiled. “But I gotta say, ain’t no one gonna believe me if I did.”
I shook my head again, my mouth dry. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He laughed. “You’re a shit liar, my guy. That look of oh fuck just gave yourself away.” He smiled far too smugly. “I thought something was up with you two. First, you stopped pickin’ up randoms. Then you been far too happy, smiling and stuff, so you definitely getting some on the regular. Then last weekend you basically followed him out of the pub. And he came to see you at work, where you two went off for your private conversation.”
“That’s not . . . that’s not what it is.”
His eyes met mine. “So it’s like a work bromance,” he said, nodding. “But the b is silent.”
I would have laughed at that if I wasn’t busy trying to remember how to breathe.
Taka grinned. “I saw him smiling at you by his car. I mean, you also swore at him.” He shrugged. “Which kinda proves my point, because ain’t no one else can do that and not get fired. And then you wanted to punch him in the mouth, so I’m thinking things are going well between you?”
“Taka,” I said. I had no idea what I was going to say, because what could I freaking add that wouldn’t incriminate me?
“I gotchu, bro,” he said, knocking his bottle to mine. “Your secret is safe with me. Like I said, ain’t no one believe me anyway.”
When I still couldn’t speak, he drained his bottle and handed it to me. “Your shout.”
I was only too happy to buy him a beer if it meant I could walk away and try and think.
When I went back to him, he was with Noah and Millsy, and I was kinda glad any chance for conversation was over. I handed him his beer and drank mine, standing back a bit. I wasn’t really up for conversation, just happy to listen to them spin bullshit and laugh, but when Taka waved his empty bottle at me again and asked me if I wanted a refill, I looked at my half now-warm beer.
“Nah, mate. I’m gonna go,” I said.
A few of the others ribbed me for piking out again and Taka did a bit, but the look in his eyes told me it was okay.
I drove to Valentine’s, parking down the street like that would disprove anyone’s theory of who I was seeing.
Goddammit.
God fucking dammit.
I rang Valentine’s buzzer with less patience than manners. No answer. I rang it again. No answer.
I checked the time. It was 8:54.
I waited a few minutes and buzzed him again in case he was in the shower.
No answer.
Where the fuck was he?
I scrolled for his number and reluctantly, hesitantly, pathetically, called him.
He answered on the second ring. “Hello.”
“Ah, yeah, just um, just wondering if we’re on for tonight?”
Why did I sound so unsure?
“I’m on my way home now. Two minutes away,” he said, his voice that smooth, confident tone that gave nothing away.
“Oh, okay. Good. Fine.” God, I was being pathetic. “You once told me never to be late. I assumed the same rule applied to you.”
“You’re early, so my not being there yet doesn’t count.”
“Pretty sure it does.”
He snorted quietly and ended the call.
Arsehole.
About a minute later, he appeared at the foyer door, coming up from the underground resident parking lot, no doubt. He opened the door and stood aside. He had a takeout bag in his hand. “I thought I’d bring food this time.”
I hit the elevator button, then shoved my hands into my jacket pockets. “Good idea.”
We stepped into the elevator and he eyed me, a hint of a smile on his stupidly perfect mouth. “You seem nervous,” he said.
The doors opened and I followed him to his apartment door, then followed him inside. He flipped on light switches and put the takeout on the dining table. Enzo came padding out with a sleek sway and a disgruntled meow that his servant dare be late with his food.
Valentine poured out some cat biscuits, grabbed some plates, and I was still standing there not knowing what to do or say.
Valentine put the plates on the table, but he was watching me. He looked really sad all of a sudden and spoke to the floor. “If you have something to say, Marshall, say it.”
Oh hell.
Here goes nothing . . .
“Um . . . I think we might have a problem.”
