by Christi Snow
He reached over to make sure the iron was turned off and stood, pushing Ryder’s wheelchair through the doorway. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
Once in the bedroom, Ryder gingerly moved from his wheelchair to the bed with help from Stig. But when he went to pull away, Ryder held tight. “Please stay.”
He shouldn’t especially considering he was still half-hard, but exhaustion pulled at him. At least if they were in bed together, Ryder couldn’t go on another sojourn without him knowing about it.
Stig slid under the covers and pulled Ryder into his arms, Stig as the big spoon.
“Thanks,” Ryder mumbled.
Stig was just thankful that Ryder was still too out of it to be aware of the erection poking him in the ass or else he might not be so appreciative. The alarm clock said it was just after two thirty in the morning. He doubted he would get much sleep with his body on such high alert to the sleepy, sexy man in his arms. He’d just make sure he was up before Ryder in the morning.
Chapter Three
Ryder
Ryder’s dick throbbed with need. Just a tiny bit of friction and he’d be right there. He thrust his hips, enjoying the delicious sense of doing so against a warm body. So fucking good.
Arousal zinged through his balls as they tightened with impending climax. He wanted to draw it out a little bit longer. He never got this. Even in his dreams, he was usually doing this by himself.
To have a phantom, faceless person with him was the ultimate fantasy, but he was too far-gone. His hips stuttered as his rhythm was interrupted by a spasm of white-hot pleasure.
He groaned and awoke on a gasp as his cock continued to pulse with jizz erupting and coating the insides of his boxers. The pure ecstasy of the moment kept his eyes closed in pleasure. Fuck, how long had it been since he’d had a wet dream? So embarrassing that this was his life at twenty-six years old.
He opened his eyes and yelped, almost throwing himself out of bed in his surprise. “St... Stig?”
Stig’s dark eyes looked almost black with intensity and focus. His hand, reaching across the bed and steadying him, kept him from tumbling onto the hardwood floor.
“What are you doing here? In my bed?” His voice rose several octaves. Humiliation mixed with shock flooded him. He’d just humped himself into orgasm against the guy.
What happened last night? Oh god...
“Relax.” Stig sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed, giving Ryder some much-needed space. “I was just sleeping until a few minutes ago, but you were obviously having a good dream that I didn’t want to interrupt.” Stig looked over and smirked pointedly at Ryder’s wet boxers.
Nice.
Humiliation Level: Expert achieved. “I’m sorry.” Shit, that seemed so weak a response when he’d just cum while draped all over the guy.
Stig laughed. “No problem. I know it didn’t mean anything. I have the wrong equipment for you, but hey, you’re sexy when you come.” He gestured down to where his erection tented his sweat pants.
Ryder hadn’t even noticed that. How had he missed it? From the size of that thing, Stig was hung. Holy hell. Ryder swallowed against his suddenly dry throat.
“At least I thought I had the wrong equipment.” Stig tilted his head in question. “But maybe...”
“What?” Ryder pulled his gaze from Stig’s junk and looked into his curious face. “Oh, god. No, sorry. Yes, I’m totally straight. Women all the way for me. I was just surprised, that’s all.” He got out of bed. He needed clothes and a shower or a hole to crawl into. Something.
“Hey, you’re standing.”
The surprise in Stig’s voice made Ryder go still. “Um, yeah. I only need the wheelchair sometimes, mainly when I’m tired. In the mornings, I’m usually okay, especially when I’m just at home and not out somewhere.”
But that brought them back to the question at hand. Why was Stig in his bed? Ryder never got used to waking up with little to no recollection of what had last happened. He hated the way his brain worked or actually didn’t work now.
“The thing is...” At Stig’s confused expression, Ryan gestured to his head. “I have Swiss cheese for memory a lot of the time. Can you refresh me? Um, why are...” He looked over.
Stig pulled a shirt on over his head, allowing Ryder one final glimpse at his hard, lean, defined muscles, and a mix of mysterious tattoos. He never would have guessed that Stig was so cut. He must have a great gym schedule. As the fabric covered those muscles, Ryder’s gaze again dropped to the man’s groin. His erection appeared to have eased a little bit.
“You keep looking at me like that, I’m going to take it as an invitation.” Stig’s voice lowered with suggestion.
Ryder’s gaze flew to Stig’s amused eyes. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
Stig raised an eyebrow, but he shook his head. “I think we both need caffeine. Go get cleaned up, and I’ll see if I can find us some coffee.” He started to turn. “But wait, Tommy drinks tea. Do you drink coffee or tea?”
“Coffee. Thanks, Stig.”
Stig waved him off and continued out the door and down the hall. Ryder slumped against the wall. Talk about a humiliating morning, and he still had no idea why Stig was here.
He searched his brain. The last thing he recalled from yesterday had been the migraine warnings going off inside his head at the bookstore. Everything after that was a blank slate, but if he’d had a migraine, that was no surprise. Migraines always kicked off a memory block.
He rushed through a shower and mentally took stock of his body. Surprisingly, he felt pretty good this morning. Usually after a migraine, he’d have what he called his migraine hangover—nausea and weakness without all the fun of the party the night before. Maybe the orgasm this morning, no matter how embarrassing, had actually helped flush his system of some of the leftover symptoms. He shrugged. That was as good of an answer as any. He just knew he needed to enjoy the physical strength while it lasted, because it never lasted for very long.
As he got dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, the smell of coffee wafted into the bedroom. His mouth watered. It would be easier to hide out from Stig all day, but he’d eventually have to make an appearance. He might as well get it over with.
He strode down the hall trying to appear calm, even if that’s the least of what he felt. After years of making awkward public appearances, he’d learned how to hide most of his emotions behind a friendly mask.
Stig stood leaning against the counter, a study in nonchalance in his bare feet and...wait a minute...
Ryder tilted his head. “Are those my clothes?”
Stig looked up from his phone. “Yeah, I figured it was okay since you threw up on mine and they were in the washing machine.” He shrugged. “At least wearing your clothes was better than me walking around in my underwear all night.”
“Gah, I threw up on you? Then this morning I basically jizzed on you, too. Why are you still here and not running far, far, far away?”
Ryder had a flash of memory of Stig in his purple underwear as he undressed Ryder. Those underwear had been jock-style and assless. For some reason, Stig had been able to pull that look off well. Heat flooded Ryder’s body at the fleeting memory.
Stig laughed. “It’s okay. Hell, I’ve exchanged more bodily fluids with you than with the last ten guys I dated, but obviously, you’re an exceptional guy.”
Ryder closed his eyes as his face flooded with embarrassment. “I’m really, really sorry. Can you fill me in on the rest of what happened last night? Then you can go home, and we will never speak of this night ever again.” He opened his eyes to meet Stig’s concerned gaze.
Stig pushed a coffee cup across the counter. “You don’t remember?”
Ryder shook his head. “The last thing I remember clearly was being in the café in the bookstore until I woke up to that humiliating scene in the bedroom.”
“Does that happen very often?”
Oh god, he wants to know how often I have wet dreams. He choked on his
own spit.
Stig snorted. “Not that, you perv. Obviously, you’re a healthy guy in that area.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m talking about not knowing things or remembering, because you didn’t know me at all last night and that seems really dangerous. I’m sorry, I really don’t know the parameters of your injury.”
“Totally fucked up just about covers it.”
Stig shook his head as he scowled. “I don’t think you get how serious this is. You. Didn’t. Know. Me. I took you out of the bookstore. I could have been anyone, taking you anywhere, and you wouldn’t have known any different. That’s dangerous.”
While he got what Stig was saying, he must have misread the situation. His brother had been there last night. “Wasn’t Tommy around?”
“Of course, he was at the bookstore, but you wouldn’t let me go get him. You didn’t want to ruin his night. Instead, you willingly left with me. You were practically unconscious by the time we got out of there and definitely didn’t know who I was. Don’t you see how dangerous that could be?”
Ryder doubted it was as bad as Stig made it sound. He almost always had someone around him that he trusted anyway. Lord knew he had very little of his own autonomy and no social life to speak of. If he went out, usually he had is personal assistant, Cari, with him, or he was with his brother.
“I appreciate your help, but I’m sure I would have been fine, regardless.” He gave a low chuckle. “As you found out, I’m not exactly at my most attractive when my brain decides to glitch.”
And that’s why he’d always be alone.
“How often does that happen?” Stig asked.
Too much lately, but he didn’t tell Stig that. “It comes and goes. I can control it some by not letting myself get tired or stressed. Last night was just a bit too much with the excitement from the engagement and then the crowds, but I didn’t want to miss it.”
“Of course not. But I can’t believe Tommy was so reckless to let you go alone like that.”
Ryder clenched his teeth. “I’m not a child. I’m twenty-six years old. I can take care of myself.”
“I beg to differ. If I hadn’t been there last night, there’s no telling what could have happened to you.”
“I would have been fine,” Ryder gritted out.
“We can agree to disagree. Drink your coffee, and then you can tell me about your art.”
Ryder had been in the process of swallowing his coffee. Instead he began to cough on the liquid. Fuck, fuck, fuck. When his brain glitched, it was a possibility that the art would kick in.
One glance at the light in Stig’s expression confirmed it. He’d been around Stig enough to know, he only got that certain gleam when he was about to have sex or discuss a new artist.
Damn. He’d created last night.
To top off the complete fucked-uppedness of the entire night, he just had to paint while Stig—Mr. Art Gallery Owner himself—was there. “Did you see it?”
Stig nodded and watched Ryder curiously. “I watched you paint for over an hour.”
Icy fear and horror swept over Ryder. Sweat slid down his back.
“Why does that seem to bother you? You’re very talented. In fact, I’d like to do a showing for you.”
“No! Absolutely not.”
“Why not? Talent like yours should be shared. I can almost guarantee that I could sell enough of your work to make you a very rich man, and then you wouldn’t have to worry about being alone. You could hire someone to go with you to things like that event.”
And they were once again back to this. “Stig, I appreciate that you helped me last night. Thank you, but I think you should go now.”
An expression of pain and confusion crossed Stig’s face so quickly, Ryder almost thought he imagined it. But regardless, he couldn’t be some sort of pity project for Stig. He refused.
“Ry...”
Ryder shook his head. “No. End of discussion. What I do— No, I’m not even going to talk with you about this.”
He didn’t want to discuss how he never ever remembered painting the pieces. When he saw them, it physically hurt to look at them. The images featured so much of the pain and isolation he tried not to ever acknowledge.
No one knew about his creations besides Tommy and Cari. They only knew because they had to help him get them into storage. He’d tried to have them wrapped before they did that so they couldn’t see the pieces. The ones hanging in his apartment were the ones he couldn’t bury because they were reminders he needed to anchor him in reality. This was his life. He couldn’t continue to fantasize about more.
That just led him to the heartache and down the path he’d been mentally last year when he’d tried to kill himself.
Showing them to others was like parading naked down the middle of Main Street with all his flaws and vulnerabilities showing. To know that Stig saw one of his pieces as he created it... He felt sick and exposed.
“Okay, I won’t push it,” Stig relented. “Not today.”
The unspoken words that they would be talking about it again just made Ryder’s muscles tense in anger.
“I’ll go change into my clothes and get out of your hair.” Stig walked out of the kitchen while Ryder vibrated with fury.
The futility of the anger pulsing under his skin mixed with the sense that there was a new art piece in his studio, waiting to tear out another part of his soul.
Shit, he hated his screwed up, fucked up brain.
Chapter Four
Stig
Stig tried to bury himself in work after the confusing start to his day. It had begun with so much promise. Watching and feeling Ryder rub off in his sleep had been one of the most erotic experiences of his entire thirty-eight years of life. That in itself was unsettling for so many reasons...mainly that Ryder was straight and had no idea Stig had even been there at the time.
That had been supremely pervy of him.
Which meant it was time for Stig to take care of the itch under his skin. It had already become an issue after Mac’s engagement yesterday, but last night with Ryder just exacerbated the need. He needed to find his center again, his balance.
He glanced around the virtually empty gallery. The walls were filled with their art stock, but they were getting ready to begin a new showing for the holidays, so this was the lull before the storm. Lola sat at the reception desk to the side, working on her laptop. The young couple meandering through the pieces were simply enjoying the art, not serious buyers.
Stig strode over to Lola’s desk. “When does Anton come in?”
Anton was their part-time help on the gallery floor. His official title was concierge, but in all honesty, he simply freed up Stig and Lola to handle the scheduling and installation for their many gallery-hosted events.
Lola glanced at the clock on her desk. “In about fifteen minutes.”
Stig nodded. “When he gets in, can you bring the upcoming schedule for the end of the year and the first few months for next year?”
“Sure.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I know that look. You found a new artist, didn’t you?”
“I did, but it’s going to take some persuasion to get him to agree to a feature.”
She sighed. “Why are all artists so eccentric? It would be nice if we could have just one who’s a normal person.”
Stig laughed. “True, but if that’s what it takes so that the rest of us mere mortals get to enjoy their genius, then we need to just accept their nature,” he added with a smirk, “and then drink liberally after we’ve dealt with them.”
After growing up with his mother, who was a famous artist in her own right, Stig had become an expert at dealing with eccentricities. That’s why his galleries were so successful. He’d grown up immersed in artistic endeavors, but hadn’t inherited any of the talent. So he’d taken his knowledge and abilities and schmoozed his way into the art world’s hearts. Now, he was considered one of the leading experts.
If only that smoothed the way with people like Ryder. But he’
d make it work. That was another reason he was so successful. He never ever gave up once he had a goal in sight. The only place he’d ever truly failed was with Mac.
No, he wasn’t going to consider that right now, or he’d spin right out of control. He needed to save that energy for tonight.
Which reminded him. He closed the door to his office and pulled out his cellphone. His cock jerked in his dress pants, anticipation thrumming. Yes, he needed this. Hitting his contact’s speed dial, his hands suddenly became clammy.
“I haven’t heard from you in a while,” the male voice answered, his tone low and menacing. “I thought maybe you were through with our arrangement.”
Stig almost laughed out loud. He had tried, really he had. He’d stayed away for almost a year, but all it had taken was one night to deconstruct every wall he’d built around his heart. He couldn’t imagine that this pulsing need would ever really go away completely. “No, Sir. I need you more than ever.”
“Tonight. Eclipse. The black room. Nine thirty, and you better be ready.”
“I will. Thank you, Sir.” Stig ended the call, his breath coming out in harsh pants. He had to readjust his rock-hard cock. Yeah, this would be good.
Lola knocked on his door. The only thing he’d managed to accomplish was getting his erection under control. That had been surprisingly simple. He’d only had to remember Ryder unceremoniously kicking him out this morning, and he’d deflated completely.
He said, “Come in.”
She opened the door and strode in with her iPad tucked under her arm. As always, she appeared cool and collected, the utmost in professionalism. On days like this when he felt so ragged around the edges, she inspired him to do better, to sit up straighter, to remember that in this business appearance was everything.
“You know, Lola, hiring you twelve years ago was one of the smartest things I ever did.”
Her footsteps faltered and a surprised expression flitted across her face. She never showed emotion. He really should show his appreciation for her more often and not be such a selfish bastard all the time.
