His Heart's Revenge (49th Floor Novels)

by Jenny Holiday

  Alex paused in his wicked ministrations, but only for a moment. Then he worked his way back up to Cary’s neck, kissing and sucking so fervently that Cary feared he would leave a mark. But when he took Cary’s earlobe into his mouth, Cary stopped caring. He cried out when Alex released the earlobe only a second later.

  “So you’ve thought about my cock for twenty years, have you?” Alex rasped, dragging his mouth around to the front of Cary’s throat.

  Cary tangled his fingers in Alex’s hair, which fell in waves a few inches past his ears—long by the conservative standards of the banking industry.

  “Can you be more specific? Because a more thorough recounting of your thoughts could provide us with some helpful direction here.” When Cary didn’t answer immediately, Alex nuzzled him harder on the neck. “Did you think about it inside you?”

  God, Alex didn’t mince words, did he? Cary’s hole clenched at the suggestive question. Of course he had. But that was off that table tonight. He wasn’t handing over that much power, at least not yet.

  When Cary didn’t answer, Alex moved on. “Did you think of it in your mouth?”

  As soon as the wicked question was out of Alex’s mouth, it was all Cary could think about. Taking that beautiful cock into his mouth. Cupping those heavy balls while he relaxed his throat to take more of Alex in. Cary groaned.

  Alex must have interpreted that groan as the assent it was because he growled, “Then what are you waiting for?”

  Cary’s mouth was watering. His tongue was itching. Now that the idea had been planted, he had to have it. He gave a fleeting thought for being slow and seductive, for foreplay, but then he thought about Alex literally ripping his shirt off and figured they were beyond that. So he sank to his knees and let his senses fill with the scent of musky man. He ran his tongue lightly up and down the shaft a few times before taking Alex deep into his mouth, relishing Alex’s muffled curse as he did so. He kept things loose and light at first, teasing as he bobbed up and down, pausing at the top of each stroke to swirl his tongue over the head.

  Alex was resting his hands on Cary’s head. Unlike Alex’s, his hair was too short for fingers to run through it. But Alex’s fingers were flexing, their pads pressing into Cary’s scalp like the sweetest torture. Cary tightened his lips, applying a little more suction at the same time that he deepened his stroke, willing his throat to relax as he took more of Alex in.

  “Fuck!” This time Alex’s curse echoed across the dark apartment as he began rocking his hips. Cary’s balls grew heavy as pressure gathered. Two decades of wondering, and he had never imagined this. It had never been like this before. Never this good. He could lose himself in this forever. The feeling of being filled—filled by Alex Evangelista. It made him feel invincible. Powerful.

  “I told you…” Alex rasped, his voice hanging by a thread.

  Cary had to concentrate to make sense of what Alex was saying above the rush of his own blood and the unbearably sexy suctioning sound of Alex’s cock, working in and out of his mouth, magnified somehow so it sounded like a raging river. He was going to come, right now, and he was pretty sure Alex was, too.

  Alex spoke again, finishing his sentence this time. “I told you I’d have you on your knees before this was done.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alexander’s first thought was that that had been an asshole move, even for him, a documented asshole. His second thought was why the fuck hadn’t he waited until after he’d come to say it?

  Because Cary immediately released him, moving away from Alexander’s dick so fast it might as well have been a rattlesnake. As Cary disappeared into the dark apartment without a word, not even bothering to kick Alexander out, Alexander wondered if some part of him had said it because he wanted Cary to stop. But that was ridiculous. As evidenced by the wickedest case of blue balls in the history of the universe.

  And by the absurd desire to go after Cary.

  He tamped that shit right down, though, and went in search of his clothes. He had to untangle his pants legs from Cary’s. It was like even their clothing couldn’t stay away from each other. What was it with that guy? Alexander had never had a blow job like that before, and he had had a lot of blow jobs. It had been, objectively, an excellent blow job. But it was more than that. With each stroke, Alexander had heard Cary’s phrase echoing louder and louder in his mind. At camp. Since the meteor shower. The knowledge that Cary had thought of him—at all, much less sexually—in the two decades since they’d been boys was…unsettling.

  Even more unsettling? The fact that he didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to do now. He’d been trying to maintain dominance throughout this encounter, to remind Cary who was the titan and who was the upstart in this scenario. But as he’d been about to blow his load, wracked with a pleasure more intense than any he had ever known, a pleasure he would have done anything to hold on to, it was pretty fucking obvious who had power over whom.

  …

  The worst part, Cary thought as he quickly dressed in sweats and a T-shirt after the aborted blowjob, was that he had walked right into Alex’s trap. Or kneeled right into it. His face heated just thinking about it, and he wasn’t sure if it was mortification or lust that was the culprit.

  Goddammit. He’d dressed quickly, but for what? He sat on the edge of his bed and buried his head in his hands. He had no idea if Alex was still out there. He had no idea if he wanted Alex to still be out there. Probably he had left, had brushed his hands together having scored a major victory in this war that was about Liu and yet not about Liu and run home to his penthouse. Maybe he’d made up with the model. Or ordered up a new one.

  The worst part was that, this Liu stuff aside, and as angry as Cary was, in his heart, he knew he deserved it. If Alex was punishing him, he was justified.

  He had to apologize. Once and for all. Decisively. Not because he thought Alex needed to hear it. Clearly, Alex hated him. Cary wasn’t flattering himself that that incident so many years ago was formative. It hadn’t made Alex the way he was. Alex was too strong. Alex made himself. So the impulse to apologize was an entirely selfish one. Maybe he was weak, immature, and too soft. Maybe everyone had been right all along. Because Cary needed to hear himself say the words. He couldn’t control what impact they would have, but this had been eating at him for twenty years.

  The door to his bedroom opened slowly. A dark figure appeared in the doorway, almost indistinguishable from the darkness surrounding him because Cary hadn’t turned on any lights in the apartment.

  Well, shit. Here was his chance being handed to him on a silver platter. Or a platter of darkness, but still.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Cary jumped, because he hadn’t been the only one talking. They’d both spoken the same words at the same time, just like at games day. He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, casting the room in a warm glow. Alex had gotten dressed, too, which was more disappointing than it should have been.

  “That was an asshole thing to say,” Alex said, staring straight at Cary. “I’m sorry. When I issued that threat, I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t planning this.”

  Cary blinked. He couldn’t have been more surprised if Alex had dropped to one knee and proposed marriage. There was none of the hemming and hawing or refusal to make eye contact that some people were plagued with when they had to say difficult things. Not that he would have expected dissembling from Alex. Alex did everything with a decisive single-mindedness, which was probably why their little interlude just now had been so hot. It was more the backing down that shocked Cary. He didn’t get the sense that Alex did that—ever. “I’m sorry, too. That day at camp…” Unlike Alex, Cary had to struggle to get the words out. He took a deep breath. “That was the worst thing I ever did. I took what we had—what we could have had—and threw it away. Worse, I humiliated you.”

  Alex stared at him silently for a few moments, but they felt like hours. His face betrayed nothing when he finally spoke. “What we
had was a kiss. It wasn’t like we pledged our eternal devotion and fidelity.”

  Right. More evidence that Alex, though he might be holding a grudge, wasn’t as affected by Cary’s snub as Cary had always feared. “I know. I just wanted you to hear me say that it was a dick move, and I knew it.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  Because I wasn’t as strong as you. But he couldn’t say that. Because to say that might imply that he still wasn’t, that he knew he was going to lose the Liu account. That Alex and Cary’s uncle and everyone was right about Cary, that he didn’t have what it took to be successful outside the confines of his family’s privileged world. And whatever else happened between them, Cary was still in it to win it. So instead, he answered with a confession. “I came out when I got home from camp that summer.”

  Alex raised his eyebrows and took a step into the room. He hadn’t expected that. And rightly so. It was a big gap from the chickenshit kid who’d thrown his crush under the bus to coming out to family and classmates a few weeks later.

  “Did you go back to camp the next summer?”

  Cary shook his head. “Nope. My father was not…happy with my ‘lifestyle,’ as he deemed it. As if a fifteen-year-old could have a ‘lifestyle.’ He seemed to think camp had something to do with it.” In a roundabout way, it had. “So he made me spend the next summer interning for my uncle.” Not that Cary would have gone back to camp, anyway.

  “And lo, a financial genius was born.”

  Cary cocked his head. “Did you just call me a financial genius?”

  “A momentary slip of the tongue.”

  “Understandable. Your tongue has been…busy.” Wait. Was he flirting with Alex Evangelista? What was the matter with him?

  “It’s just been trying to keep up with the class.”

  Holy shit. Was Alex Evangelista flirting back?

  Cary, who had remained sitting on his bed, stood. “You, uh, want a beer?” Could this actually happen?

  “No.”

  Apparently not.

  “What I want,” Alex said slowly, “is to do what you said.”

  “What did I say?”

  “I want to finish what we started. I think two false starts is just about enough.”

  “Three,” Cary said, his voice catching because the shame of it all was still so close to the surface. “If you count twenty years ago.”

  “Perhaps the fourth time will be the charm, then,” Alex said. “Except we’ll have to live in suspense a little longer because it’s not going to happen right now.”

  Why the hell not? Cary wanted to ask, but he didn’t.

  “We need to be considered about this,” Alex went on. “Measured.”

  “We need to be measured about sex?”

  “Yes. Because that’s all it’s going to be.”

  “So what you’re saying is you’re still not ready to pledge your eternal devotion and fidelity?” Cary was trying to lighten the mood because he didn’t know what the hell else to do.

  But it didn’t work. Alex’s neutral expression didn’t change. “I don’t do devotion. Or fidelity. But more than that, I am unwavering in my intention to wipe the floor with you when it comes to Don Liu. I’m still going to have you on your knees before this is over.” One corner of his mouth did turn up then. Finally, some evidence of human emotion. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

  Cary cracked his own grin in response. “So it’s still war.”

  “It is, indeed.”

  “But it’s not going to be some kind of messed-up vengeance sex,” Cary said. Despite the fact that Alex had apologized, he had to make sure there wasn’t going to be a repeat of what had just happened. As much as he wanted Alex, it wasn’t worth it. “There’s sex, and there’s the competition for Liu, and they’re separate things. I’m not doing this if this is all part of some scheme of yours to play me.”

  Alex gestured to one side of his body with his hands and said, “War.” Then he moved his hands to the other side and said, “Sex.” Then he repeated the first gesture. “Two separate boxes. Over here we have war.” He repeated the second. “And over here we have sex.”

  Cary flashed back to the taste of Alex filling his mouth. “When?”

  “Monday. After work. My place.”

  Cary nodded, but when Alex turned to go, he called out after him. “And, for the record?”

  Alex paused, looking over his shoulder at Cary from where he was standing in the hall outside the bedroom. “Yes?”

  “This whole ‘on your knees’ business?”

  “Yes,” Alex said again.

  Cary summoned his evilest smile. “I’ve always thought metaphor is overrated. I’m more of a literalist myself. Just so you know.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Life had become very surreal. Exhibit A: Cary Bell had apologized. He had fucking apologized. And he had appeared to sincerely mean it. Alexander…didn’t know what to do with that. Hadn’t Saturday night when it was happening and still didn’t. “That was the worst thing I ever did,” Cary had said. The adrenaline that had spiked in Alexander’s body at hearing those words was still coursing through his veins. He had kept it together in front of Cary, but the minute he was back in the safety of his car, he’d started shaking like a fucking lost kitten. He knew that day at camp had made him into the man he was. Hell, he’d changed his whole life plan as a result. But he’d never considered what would happen if the instigator of that day looked him in the eye and said, “I was wrong.” What did it mean when you based your whole life on a mistake?

  He shook his head. It didn’t mean anything. He was more than satisfied with his life, so who cared if it was the result of some childhood bullying? He was the nerd savoring his sweet revenge, and he was more than fine with that. Cary’s apology was neither here nor there.

  That was the worst thing I ever did. Would Cary consider sexual harassment a worse thing than what he’d done to Alexander?

  His personal phone beeped, signaling an incoming text. Good. He needed to stop all this fucking angst-ing. It wasn’t serving him.

  The text was Exhibit B in the surreal-fest that had become his life.

  I’m almost at your building, but I’m realizing, shit, should I have brought my kneepads?

  Alexander stood up from his desk and prepared for Exhibit C: astonishing Derek by leaving at five on a Monday. “Call the concierge at my building,” he said on his way out, “and tell him to let a visitor named Cary Bell up into my condo if he gets there before I do.”

  Wide-eyed with surprise, Derek nodded.

  Alexander waited until he was outside of the Dominion suite of offices before texting back with shaking hands.

  You have your own kneepads?

  I like to come prepared.

  Before he could think what to say, another text arrived.

  It’s just that I can’t get a certain metaphor out of my head.

  Alexander’s cock stirred as he pressed the button to call the elevator. He waited until he got on to type his reply, hating that he was fronting with a bravado he was semi-faking.

  You’re going down, Bell. In more ways than one.

  He stood in the elevator watching the little bubble thing that indicated that Cary was typing a reply for a good twenty seconds before he realized he wasn’t moving. He had been so distracted, he’d forgotten to press the button for the parking garage.

  In one way. But I don’t do metaphors, remember? So, yes, I’m going down in the literal sense, but I’m still winning Liu.

  It wasn’t until Alexander was in another elevator, the one at home, on the way up to his condo, that he realized something that put a considerable damper on the anticipation that had been dogging him all the way home.

  He had instructed Derek to tell Monty to let Cary right up. Without even a second thought.

  What the hell?

  He’d wanted to cut out any awkwardness, eliminate the need for small talk, and just, well, go at it. But obviously, he hadn�
��t been thinking. Not with his head, anyway. It wasn’t like he had anything incriminating in his house. It was more that he…didn’t do that.

  He had officially allowed his space to be invaded without even really realizing it. He sighed. Well, fuck it. It was done. As he faced his own front door, a replay of last time they’d been at this threshold starting running on a loop in his head. Finally, finally, he was going to get his hands on Cary Bell in a sustained way, was going to take his fill and not be left wrecked with need. He was finally going to be sated.

  Feeling like a feral animal, practically ready to growl, he pushed open his front door, made his way into the silent, dark condo, and came face to face with Cary Bell…

  …fast asleep on his sofa.

  Asleep, Cary looked different. Younger. More like the boy Alexander remembered. His heart twisted. That was the worst thing I ever did. As much as he tried to keep shoving them out of his consciousness, those words were starting to chip away at something inside him, something he’d thought had hardened into immutable steel. And if that happened, if too many shards were chiseled away, he had no fucking idea what would be left of him. Possibly nothing. So he forced the apology out of his mind and considered the man in front of him. The opportunity in front of him.

  He wanted to touch Cary’s face. It came on suddenly and strong, the wanting. What the hell? Alexander didn’t do tender caresses, much less when the caressees weren’t even conscious to register them. But he wanted to feel that hint of stubble, scratchy on his fingers, then let his hand slide down that tender neck—God, that neck had driven him apeshit when they’d been going at it two days ago—and let his fingers rest on the pulse he could see beating there, slow and steady. Then he wanted Cary to open his eyes and see him watching. He wanted to feel that pulse quickening, and he wanted to be the cause.