by Beth Bolden
“Xander and Nate both know we’re together,” Kian said, trying not to roll his eyes. Bastian wasn’t all that concerned about keeping their relationship a secret, so Kian didn’t get why he’d even care if they heard them. It wasn’t like Kian hadn’t had to lie awake some nights, listening to one or both of them have sex in their respective rooms.
“Yeah, I know,” Bastian admitted. “You trust them, that’s enough for me. But I wanted . . .” A look of uncertainty that Kian had never seen crossed Bastian’s face. “I want you to fuck me.”
Bastian had hinted once or twice that he shared Kian’s versatile interest, but he’d never expressed a desire for Kian to fuck him before. It didn’t surprise Kian that he wouldn’t want anyone around if that was really what he wanted. Bastian would equate it with a loss of control, with the resulting vulnerability.
“Okay,” Kian said, and squeezed Bastian’s hand reassuringly. He knew better than anyone else how difficult typical and utterly normal relationship milestones were for him sometimes. He’d assumed they would come easier, once Bastian had insisted he take over Terroir, because Kian had always believed that the restaurant represented all of Bastian’s control in one brick-and-mortar structure. But maybe that wasn’t entirely true, because Kian had never seen the shadowy fear that he saw in Bastian’s eyes tonight—or his clear need to relinquish control while he fought against it at the same time.
“I’m not good at this,” Bastian murmured.
“At trusting someone else or being fucked?” Kian asked archly. “Because you keep saying that, and I keep not believing you.”
Bastian cracked a tiny smile. “Are you going to lecture me again about sexual politics? Because I’m not going to lie, that was hot the last time you did it.”
“Probably because I was half naked while I did,” Kian said, and hated how all it took for his breath to catch was a few words. Bastian, for all his hang-ups and control issues and occasionally dickish behavior, was the key to every lock inside him.
“I can arrange that.” He hesitated. “Where’s your bedroom?”
It hit Kian then that this was only the second time Bastian had ever been in his house, and that they’d never even kissed inside it. Their entire relationship had played out in the starkly luxurious confines of Bastian’s house. He’d never dried off after a shower with one of Kian’s threadbare towels. He’d never seen his bare bones room, with its mattress that lay on the floor. He could have upgraded—he had some money saved—but it had never seemed important. He was barely ever home, and then he and Bastian had taken their relationship past mere pining, and then he’d never been home at all.
For all his vaunted internal boasting that their relationship was more equal than ever, it wasn’t, was it?
“This way,” Kian said, walking Bastian down the hall, opening the door to his bedroom. He wasn’t worried it would be a mess; you’d have to live in a room for it to be a mess, but he’d barely even been in here the last few weeks.
“Save your breath,” Kian said wryly, “there’s no real compliment to be found, but that’s okay.”
Bastian raised an eyebrow. “It is?”
“This is just a place I sleep. And not even that, lately.”
“But not tonight,” Bastian said, reaching out and pulling Kian to him. “My house is a soulless box and I’ve never felt that as acutely as I did tonight.”
Fuck it, Kian thought. “I don’t care where we are, I just want to be with you,” he admitted, and afraid of what Bastian might—or might not—say in return, kissed him.
They’d shared so many different kinds of kisses: undeniably passionate, sweet and tender, filthy and lustful. But none of them had ever felt like this one had, an echo of what Kian had just gone out on a limb to claim; kissing Bastian felt like coming home.
The kiss deepened and lengthened, drawing out like a golden thread that Kian didn’t want to break. Maybe instead of fucking, they could just make out all night, their hands moving restlessly over each other, swallowing their mutual groans.
But Bastian had admitted to wanting something that he never had before, and Kian wouldn’t be a very good lover if he selfishly ignored that. So he tugged Bastian closer to the bed, and finally pushed him down on it, climbing on top of him and fitting their mouths back together.
Even if he was trying to be generous, it was impossible not to take some pleasure for himself, he thought as he rubbed his hardening cock against Bastian’s thigh. It wasn’t like he had a lot of experience to compare this to, but with Bastian, everything always felt like the first time, but better.
The novelty hadn’t worn off, not in the least. If anything their desire for each other had only increased once they’d let it free of the restraints, and everything was better because they’d begun to learn each other.
Kian stripped off his t-shirt and wiggled out of his shorts without even climbing off Bastian. He hadn’t realized he was so flexible, but it turned out that needing to be naked ASAP made all sorts of things possible that never had been before. Bastian lifted his head and pulled his own t-shirt off, leaving Kian rutting helplessly against Bastian’s jean-clad crotch, with only his briefs as a barrier.
“Fuck,” Bastian whined helplessly, “you feel so fucking good.”
Kian already felt on the edge—the kissing and the touching felt goddamn perfect, it was impossible not to be—but to fulfill Bastian’s request, he’d need to find some sort of self-control. And get on with it, because he knew his own wasn’t nearly as ironclad as Bastian’s.
Leaning over, he sorted through the crap in the drawer of his bedside table. Bastian’s hands skated up his sides, fingers tickling the sensitive skin, and his mouth found a nipple, making Kian’s concentration waver. He needed a condom and some lube, and he needed to stop trembling so he could find them and do this properly.
Bastian had always deserved his best, and that was never more true than this moment.
Finally, he managed to put his hands on what he needed, barely managing to shut the drawer, before Bastian had them flipped over, lips coasting down his chest and towards the straining cock in his briefs.
If Bastian put his mouth on him . . . it didn’t matter how much Kian wanted to keep his composure, it would be completely gone. There was something insane, still, about seeing his cock between Bastian’s lips, and the wicked way he used his tongue coupled with that mind-blowing sight always unwound him desperately fast.
He needed to stay focused. Kian reached down, his hand skimming over Bastian’s skull, to the close-cropped dark hair, sprinkled with silver. The silver at his temples was still one of the sexiest things in the world to Kian. He squeezed his eyes shut—that was not something he needed to think about right now. Instead he inserted a reminder of how, the last time Nate had brought someone home, they’d sounded like a drunk rooster.
It helped, and he was able to regain focus, hands reaching down to tug on Bastian’s shoulders. “Not now,” he said even though there was definitely a part of him that wanted it—desperately.
It was too simplistic to say tonight was supposed to be about Bastian, because it felt like a lot of their nights had been about Bastian. But then, a lot of their nights had been about Kian too. They were a self-centered, mostly egotistical pair of chefs who believed they were more like gods than men. It wasn’t a surprise that their sexual escapades often took on an indulgent, worshipful side.
Kian pushed Bastian onto his back, and quickly divested him of shoes, socks, and pants. His fingers trembled over his briefs, finally reaching up for the waistband to also pull them down.
“I want this,” Bastian said, and though his voice was gruff and deep and he was in as much of a sexual thrall as Kian, he still wanted to reassure him.
That was the Bastian Kian knew and loved—the one that so many others had never been privileged enough to see. Once, Xander had told him that there must be more to the man, for Kian to be so wild about him, and Kian had merely said yes, that was true. Hadn’
t gone into detail and hadn’t wanted to. What he experienced, what he saw that nobody else did, that was for him and his eyes alone. It might be selfish, but he wasn’t going to share it.
“Then I’m going to give it to you,” Kian said lowly, slicking up his fingers as Bastian spread his legs.
Bastian was tight and tense, and Kian took longer, certainly longer than Bastian would have liked, considering how he swore and begged, loosening him up. First just rubbing around the taint and his hole, not teasing exactly, but not giving him anything Bastian wanted either. Finally, he slid in a single finger, coaxing it in deeper, searching for the spot that would make Bastian swear even louder.
He’d promised Bastian they were alone, with the unspoken vow that nobody would hear him scream, and he had every intention of fulfilling it.
“Come on,” Bastian begged in a high-pitched whine. “I’m not made of fucking glass.”
He wasn’t, but he was still precious, and Kian could tell that he hadn’t done this in awhile. He wasn’t going to rush him.
“Remember when you said you weren’t sure you’d had good sex before,” Kian said in a breathless rush.
“I hadn’t.” Bastian’s eyes were dark and intense on his face. “I have now.”
Kian slid in another finger next to the first, pushing them both up against his prostate. Bastian yelped, his entire body bowing in pleasure on the bed.
“It always will be, with me,” Kian swore. “I wanna make it good for you, every time.”
“You fucking blow my mind,” Bastian said. “Every time.” His voice shook, and Kian took advantage of his sudden relaxation to slide in a third finger, pumping them carefully but with purpose.
He’d wanted this for so long—figuratively and literally. He’d dreamt about being deep under Bastian’s skin, so far in that Bastian didn’t know he was even there, Kian was simply a part of who he was. An inseparable, impossibly necessary piece, and without him, Bastian would be like a clock without one of its gears.
With shaking hands, Kian opened the condom, and finally managed to slide it on, slicking himself up after. He took a deep breath, and felt, not for the first time this evening, that once they took this step, nothing would be the same after.
He was okay with that—much more than okay, if he was being honest with himself—but he needed Bastian to be, even though he’d been the one to ask for it.
“Please,” Bastian finally said, as Kian smoothed a hand down his thigh. “Please.”
Kian pushed in slowly, steadily, inexorably. Bastian’s cock jumped on his muscled stomach as Kian’s cock slid home, Bastian’s eyes never leaving Kian’s.
He’d always known that being inside Bastian would be overwhelming, but it was so much more than he’d ever thought. Bottoming out finally, he thought joyfully, I’m here now, I’m never leaving.
“I wanted you like this. Forever.” Bastian’s voice was guttural and deep, wrecked with pleasure. He wrapped his hand around his cock, and Kian’s hips stuttered as he clamped down around him.
Kian prayed he was close, because he didn’t think he could last either. It was the most overwhelmingly intense experience he’d ever had in bed, and it didn’t seem to end, just went on and on as he continued thrusting, pleasure sizzling through his nerve endings. He realized he was actually whimpering, as he desperately tried to hang on.
But Bastian seemed determined to wring his orgasm out of him, just the way he’d tried to wring every last ounce of determination out of him during their last two years at Terroir. He was stroking his own cock in earnest now, face contorted, and Kian dug his fingers into Bastian’s hips, holding on for the ride.
Bastian tipped over the edge with an actual yell, splattering his chest with come, and Kian followed only a second later, as the contractions practically pulled the orgasm right out of him.
Kian slipped out and collapsed next to him, Bastian wrapping an arm around him, his expression sleepy and blissful.
“Thank you,” he said.
Bastian rarely apologized—he’d already admitted to Kian that he was the only person he’d ever apologized to, barring his own mother—but an expression of gratitude? That was completely unheard of.
“You’re welcome.” Kian paused. “I do love you, you know.”
Bastian’s expression was relaxed as he rolled over, facing Kian. “I love you too. Even when I’m not good at this.”
“I don’t know if anybody is,” Kian admitted.
“You seem to be.” Bastian’s tone was contemplative, like he hadn’t figured out yet how that could be.
“I just hide it really well,” Kian admitted. “Most of the time I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. I just know I love you, and I start there. The rest? It is what it is.”
“It is what it is,” Bastian repeated, a wrinkle appearing in his dark brows, like he was trying to puzzle out what that really meant. But, Kian thought, it meant what he’d said it meant. You just had to figure it out, one step at a time, and he’d always hoped, they’d do that together.
Maybe that’s what Bastian really coming over tonight was about, Kian thought as he finally sat up and went to the bathroom to grab them a damp towel to wipe down with. Maybe Bastian was finally figuring out that doing things together was better than struggling in vain alone.
He’d missed seeing him every night at Terroir, and even though the evenings after service were always wonderful, it was like losing an arm, the phantom feeling following you even though it was already gone.
Kian had been clear that he wanted a separation of their work and personal lives, but he hadn’t ever said that he wanted Bastian to remove himself.
Maybe, he thought as he settled into Bastian’s arms to finally go to sleep, Bastian had finally discovered he felt the same way.
Chapter Fourteen
Mark was dumb, but he wasn’t stupid. The next day during family dinner, Kian offhandedly mentioned to the staff that they might see Bastian a little more. “He’s working on the menu for the new restaurant,” Kian had said, even though Bastian hadn’t been entirely clear about what he’d be doing. Still, the announcement bought Kian what he wanted, which was a reprieve from Mark on his bullshit.
He might push Kian when Bastian wasn’t around, but the threat of him suddenly appearing made him take a step back.
A week passed, with Bastian dropping by nearly every day, usually during prep, almost always staying for family dinner. Most days he left when service began, though once or twice he’d actually retreated to his office, and when Kian walked by, it was obvious he was doing work on his computer.
The kitchen definitely ran better with more of Bastian’s presence, which rankled Kian a little bit, even though he tried to tamp down the feelings of inadequacy. Bastian was a figure of monumental proportions, and he’d spent twenty years developing a fearsome reputation to augment it.
He had his Michelin stars, he had a temper, and he had an insane commitment to perfection that nobody, even Kian, could match. That, Kian kept telling himself, was fine. He was good. They were doing better than ever. Despite Bastian’s clearly uncomfortable feelings about hanging around Xander, and to a lesser extent, Nate, he’d even made the effort to spend some time with Kian at his house.
Everything felt good, if not great, but Kian couldn’t seem to shake the sensation of impending doom.
At first, he’d assumed it was because he felt guilty at hiding just how shitty Mark was from Bastian. Then, when Mark, no doubt terrified of Bastian and his inexorable retribution, had taken a step back from his normally shitty attitude, Kian justified that the problem had fixed itself and there was no need to confess that it had ever existed.
That wasn’t entirely true, but it was true enough that Kian knew that couldn’t be the issue that kept him up nights, long after Bastian had fallen asleep beside him.
Something was going to go wrong, and because of the pressure cooker nature of their jobs and their tempers, it was inevitably going to be a huge fucking
mess.
Bastian continued to battle with Nathan Hess on every point of the contract they still hadn’t signed. A week in, as Kian was preparing to leave for Terroir, Bastian leaned against the bathroom counter and said, “I’m not going to be in today. Hess and I have what should be the very last fucking meeting on this contract.”
“Good,” Kian said. The ongoing contract negotiations had obviously exhausted and annoyed Bastian, even though mostly he seemed to argue with his lawyer over conceding anything.
“Maybe if it actually goes well, we’ll come to Terroir for dinner to celebrate.”
Kian grinned. “Isn’t it a little tactless to rub your perfection in the face of the man you’ve just defeated?”
“Is that what that is?” Bastian asked, but he was smiling too, the giddy, gleeful smile of a man who knew he had his opponent’s number.
“Prevarication isn’t your strong suit,” Kian said seriously, reaching out and brushing some invisible lint off Bastian’s shoulders. Today he was dressed not for the kitchen, but for business in a dark navy suit with crisp white shirt underneath, a few of the buttons popped open in deference to the more casual tone of Napa.
“No,” Bastian admitted. “I see what I want and I take it.”
For a second, Kian considered reminding him that out of the two of them, it had definitely been him who’d done the lion’s share of the demanding. Demanding credit, demanding respect, and demanding Bastian in his bed. But Bastian looked so adorably smug and certain of Hess’ upcoming defeat that Kian refrained.
“Good luck,” he said reluctantly brushing a single kiss across Bastian’s mouth. “Own his ass, please.”
“Done.” Bastian really was unbearably egotistical sometimes, but at least he’d never directed it at Kian before. Kian didn’t know exactly why, but he imagined that Bastian knew better than to try.
* * *
Prep started out like most prep did, an interminable parade of mostly dull tasks, all to be completed with efficient speed and measured against exacting standards.
