by Anyta Sunday
“It’ll be spring before he gets it right.”
“Probably.”
They chatted and listened to old hits all the way to the Greenville manor. The songs had sent his mind spiraling back to when Rohan and he had spent time dissecting the—usually ridiculous—meanings of lyrics. Rohan had been a fan of Tepid Creek’s classics.
Duke had teased him mercilessly.
Casey prodded his shoulder. “You’re daydreaming.”
He flashed her a grin that he didn’t feel. He should be focusing on the now and the soon to be, not the never will be. Except, this last week with Rohan . . . .
“I brought materials for sewing cushions,” Casey said as Duke parked his car next to Rohan’s Lexus in the garage. “Maybe tomorrow?”
“You bet.”
“Rohan will need s-supervision with the scissors.”
Duke climbed out of the car and frowned at Casey over the roof. “Why?”
“Haven’t you seen his finger? Where he cut himself sewing?”
Rohan had cut himself.
Rohan had been sewing?
They were welcomed in the foyer by Rohan.
Duke would have lounged against the chaise and watched the siblings’ joyous greeting. Would have hidden a touched smile behind a sarcastic comment and herded them toward that wonderful smell of pumpkin and cumin.
Would have enjoyed making fun of the clump of food stuck in Rohan’s hair and the smudge of flour across his cheek.
Would have. If it hadn’t been for the shockingly beautiful Irish woman who clung to Rohan’s side.
Wavy red hair, freckles on a sharp nose, a warm smile—and legs that didn’t seem to stop. She was taller than Duke by an inch, but that wasn’t the reason he felt small and insignificant.
Seeing Bianca the Beard there, in real life, hearing her easily laugh and joke with Rohan—it slammed the truth into him.
Whatever flirting he might be doing with Rohan, it was one-sided and it always would be. Rohan had his life mapped out. SmallQ, making his family proud, and Bianca.
Rohan’s smile brightened as he introduced Bianca to Casey. To Duke.
Duke’s handshake was limp like his heart.
“A pleasure,” he said, though sounded more ominous than he intended.
She quickly smoothed a quirking frown. “Sure is.”
“Food,” Casey said.
She led them into the dining room to Casey’s favorite one-pot pasta bake. Everyone’s plate was coupled with a glass of water adorned with slices of lime. Rohan had gone out of his way to start her weekend off perfectly.
Duke sat across from Rohan in what had become a familiar tradition this week. But the view of his cousin was disturbed by the cheerful beauty at his side.
“You’re my brother’s most perfect match!” Casey said.
“Oh, really?” Bianca said, sharing a surprised smile with Rohan.
Rohan picked up his fork. “Better eat while it’s hot.”
“He told me himself,” Casey said, beaming.
Rohan’s gaze flickered over the table to him. Duke stared back while Casey explained the quiz that he and she had taken. She segued to asking if Bianca liked sewing.
Bianca touched Rohan’s sleeve. “Not as much as Rohan does.”
Rohan looked at Casey and laughed. “Do you hear that sarcasm?”
“It’s deserved,” Bianca said. “Seriously, you should have heard him cursing when he sliced his finger open. At the office. Not exactly the place to be sewing a quilt, I might add. Nevertheless . . .”
They all laughed and Duke stabbed his pasta. How long had everyone known of Rohan’s sewing accident?
Bianca cracked a joke with Casey and suggested they play a game after dinner.
Why the hell did she have to be so nice?
He shoved back from his chair.
“You haven’t finished,” Rohan said.
“Not hungry.”
Bianca said something that stole a chuckle from Rohan as Duke left the room.
It was simple. Duke hated her.
Duke pushed through the club of teeming, half-naked men. It reeked of beer, sweat, and sex.
This time he wouldn’t hold back. He’d find a willing dick and fuck until he was numb of all thoughts of his cousin. He knocked back a shot of tequila and scanned the pulsating dance floor. Strobe lights flashed like a beacon. Platter of dick. Take your pick.
Duke headed toward the dance floor. Tonight he wanted to show off everything he had to offer.
Guys quickly latched on to him, pressing hard from both sides. Duke shut his eyes and tried to disappear into the zone. Tried to forget the soreness in his chest from seeing Bianca in their manor and watching Rohan’s face light up.
Duke had barely managed civility. And that was only because he didn’t let himself speak. He’d shrugged it off like he didn’t give a damn, snapped headphones on his ears, and spent a good couple of hours pretending to watch TV.
Clearly they had a lot to catch up on. They didn’t creak up the stairs until close to eleven.
Duke had waited for two sets of doors to close before calling a driver to pick him up and drop him here.
A man wearing leather pants and sporting a dragon tattoo on his chest caught his eye. His eyes glittered with the promise of a quickie, and Duke held his eye as he weaseled out of the crowd and waited in the dingy hallway leading to the bathrooms.
He faced the wall, eyes glazing over the hundreds of posters glued atop each other. His face would soon get intimate with rock star, Indigo Wolf. He loved to be taken this way. Slammed up against a wall, a guy grunting into his neck as he pumped into his ass.
A heavy hand clasped his shoulder and his front gently smacked against the wall. Mr. Tattoo’s heat came up snugly behind him.
Duke undid his pants. Just a fuck. Purge his cousin from his mind.
Except he’d already failed, hadn’t he?
He loved to be taken from behind because he could close his eyes and imagine it was Rohan.
A hand slid between the wall and his fingers that struggled to shove his pants to his thighs.
Fuck it. Duke closed his eyes and called images of Rohan to his mind.
“Fuck me. Use a condom. Don’t speak.”
Don’t break the illusion of my fucked-up fantasy.
Hot breath hit his ear. “Zip up. We’re going home.”
Duke’s heart lurched to his throat. He jerked around. Rohan stood in front of him, gray eyes burning into him. Gray eyes that every second person would instantly recognize. Rohan Lawrence-Decker was about to become the head of SmallQ, one of the leading tech companies in the country. He couldn’t be seen in this club. Career suicide.
“I told Dragon Tattoo not to bother following you,” Rohan said. “Let’s go.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No. I took extreme satisfaction in telling him to back the hell off.”
Duke grabbed the lapels of Rohan’s unbuttoned coat and pulled himself close. “I meant coming in here.”
Duke’s gaze bounced over his shoulder, scanning for snitches. For people with phones.
Two guys rounded into the hall, and Duke shielded Rohan’s face with his hands. He shoved Rohan toward the fire exit. Duke’s heart raced. There was no way of mistaking Rohan’s face. Unless.
Duke rocked forward and pressed their lips together as he steered them to the door.
A staged kiss, but that didn’t stop Duke feeling the warmth of Rohan’s bottom lip nestled between his. Didn’t stop him tasting the faint beeswax lip balm Rohan used during the winter. Didn’t stop his body lighting with desire and begging for more.
Rohan didn’t return the kiss though. He gripped Duke’s waist, fingers burning at the skin where his shirt had ridden up. He let Duke push them through the fire exit.
They stumbled apart, and Duke yanked Rohan around the corner to a dark alley. Green neon light shafted into it from the dilapidated sign.
Duke swung around. “What the
hell?” He yelled at Rohan for being such an idiot.
Rohan reached out and hauled him close, cutting him off. “Duke, stop.”
They stood, chest to chest, gazes clashing, breaths clouding between them.
Duke’s coat was inside, but he wasn’t feeling cold. Not in the slightest.
What the hell had Rohan been thinking? Entering that club, risking his reputation. Duke had finally crossed the line and kissed his cousin to protect Rohan’s stupid reputation. He’d tasted how sweet those lips were, how firm and giving. He wanted more.
Duke cursed him again, angry words pouring out of him.
Damn, he needed to kiss Rohan again. It was the only thing that could take away the hurt.
Kissing wouldn’t change the facts, though. Rohan and Bianca would be engaged by Christmas. SmallQ would be in Rohan’s hands.
Duke would drown his sorrows and screw his way through Greenville.
His eyes prickled, his words sharpened.
He’d kiss his cousin once more before that. Rohan was right here, an inch away, his lips lightly parted. His eyes held Duke’s with patience and a spark of frustration.
You’re frustrated, Rohan?
So am I.
Rohan might not have returned the first kiss, but it didn’t matter. Duke wouldn’t deny himself the chance to take a second.
Rohan narrowed his eyes, the glint of anger unmistakable.
He didn’t care. Duke would sink his tongue deep into that mouth and demand Rohan take the kiss.
One last kiss, and he’d pack his shit and leave the manor. He couldn’t handle being so close to Rohan yet so far from what he wanted with him.
“Fuck, Rohan—” Duke said.
Rohan dipped down and kissed him.
Duke gasped.
Rohan’s hot tongue slid against Duke’s bottom lip. It dipped inside, flicking into a deeper kiss. He pushed Duke toward the wall and twisted them at the last second, Rohan taking the cold concrete to his back.
He jerked Duke’s hips close, and Duke whimpered with surprise and relief as his hard cock pressed against Rohan’s.
Duke snaked his hands around Rohan’s chest under his coat and sank into the kiss. His cock pulsed in time to his hammering heart. Rohan groaned into the kiss and Duke clutched him harder, moaned louder.
God, he was kissing his cousin. Everything he’d always dreamed of.
It felt better than he’d ever imagined. Rohan wasn’t just his cousin; he was kissing the man who had always been there for him.
He was kissing the man who wasn’t afraid to tell him when he’d crossed a line.
He was kissing a soft heart and a gorgeous body wrapped in a hard shell of no-bullshit.
Duke never wanted to stop.
Rohan should stop.
This kiss was wildly out of control. Intimate in a way that tangled Rohan’s gut.
Duke rutted against his erection and Rohan clamped his hands on Duke’s ass to push him in harder.
They needed to stop.
Rohan pulled back. Neon light cast a fluorescent green glow over Duke’s face. Those beautiful lips looked swollen. He kissed Duke again. Swore. Did it once more.
Stop!
Rohan grabbed Duke’s arms and gently pushed him off. Duke stumbled and Rohan gripped tighter, steadying him.
He slid out of his coat and slung it around trembling Duke. “Come, let’s go home.”
Duke couldn’t believe Rohan had kissed him back. Butterflies flapped up a storm inside his belly and he shivered.
Rohan cranked up the heat in the car and drove quickly through the city.
Quiet tension filled the space between them, and Duke palmed his thighs, telling himself to calm the fuck down.
They’d kissed. Rohan clearly found him attractive. It didn’t mean anything more.
Who knew, maybe it was the universe gifting him the wish he’d made with his eyelash.
Was that all it was? Would they return home and pretend like it never happened?
Duke thumped back against the headrest and glared out at the dark street. They crested a hill and the city glittered before them. Rohan steered the Lexus to the side of the road and parked. The engine died.
Rohan dropped his hands from the wheel and swiveled. He reached across the console, pinched Duke’s chin, and turned Duke to face him.
Duke’s pulse spiked. Rohan looked like he wanted to pull Duke into the back seat and press his thick cock into him. Looked like he wanted to drop Duke off here and tell him never to come home again.
“You were protecting me.”
Rohan sounded as surprised as Duke was that Rohan had risked his reputation.
Rohan waited for an answer but Duke had none to give him without exposing too much. He shrugged.
Those fingers tightened on his chin. “Not good enough, Duke. You were shielding my face in that club. You care about my reputation.”
He didn’t care about Rohan’s reputation. He cared that Rohan cared about it. “Of course. You’re family.”
Family. Probably not the best word to throw out there while both their cocks bulged in their pants.
Duke admired the city lights, glad for the dark, because this blush couldn’t be hidden with bratty will.
“Tell me why you took that video.” It was spoken softly. Calmly. Rohan must know—might have always suspected—that the video had nothing to do with SmallQ.
Duke struggled to keep his voice light. “I’m all kinds of depraved. It turned me on. Deal with it.”
A long moment passed before Rohan spoke. “How long have you wanted to fuck me, Duke?”
Duke couldn’t meet his eye. Couldn’t bear the nervous shivers bolting through him. God, he felt like he was being turned inside out, and it was too much. He needed to pull back.
He hitched a brow at Rohan and smoothed on a smirk. “Most of the time I imagine you fucking me.”
Rohan sucked in a breath, gripped the wheel, and started the car.
He was still hard, though. Duke could see the outline of his long cock on the inside of his thigh.
“We shouldn’t,” Rohan finally said, and the butterflies died in Duke’s chest.
“Why not? I want to. Clearly you want to or your dick wouldn’t be hard and you wouldn’t have stopped me getting laid tonight.”
“I told you. I don’t like you fucking just anyone. I’m sure it would be different if you were dating someone worthy of you.”
Worthy of him? The butterflies flickered to life again.
“Are you saying you only fuck people you date?”
Rohan’s gaze landed heavily on him. “At the very least I know their names. Jesus, I hope you get tested regularly.”
“Fuck you, I get checked every month. Haven’t fucked anyone since the last test.”
Rohan flicked on the turn signal and turned. “You’ve been at this club a handful of times since we returned from your parents’ place. Don’t tell me no one came on to you.”
That wasn’t the problem. Getting his dick to say yes was the problem.
Rohan was the problem. “What can I say? I was unlucky.”
“Probably intimidated them all.” Rohan eyed him. “You are a lot to handle.”
Duke preened. “Dare you to handle it.”
“No.”
“Why not.”
Rohan ticked the reasons off his fingers. They came out fast, like this was not the first time he’d thought about it. “We’re cousins. We live together. I’m eight years older than you. I don’t want to complicate our relationship. And mostly . . . .”
“Mostly what?”
“I don’t want to hurt you. Your dad is announcing my position as the head of SmallQ over Christmas. Bianca and I will be—to the world—betrothed.”
All good reasons why they shouldn’t.
Still, it didn’t stop him countering them. “We’re not making babies. We have great access to each other whenever we are horny—no tabloids to worry about. You have experience and I
have stamina. What relationship isn’t complicated? And finally . . . .”
Rohan didn’t need to know the depth of Duke’s feelings. “It’s just fucking.”
Rohan frowned, and said nothing more the rest of the journey home.
Casey had gone to bed before Duke had left, and Bianca apparently had needed to crash. Jet lag.
They tiptoed up the creaky staircase. Outside their bedroom doors, in the dim light of the hall, Duke snagged Rohan’s gaze. “Sneak in and do anything you want with me. I’ll keep my ass lubed.”
Rohan hissed in a breath, eyes steel. “Good night, Duke.” He whisked inside his room and shut the door.
They shouldn’t. Moreover, they wouldn’t.
Rohan reined in his lust and stayed firmly in his bed. He tossed and turned, jerked off twice. It did nothing to quench the fantasies exploding in his mind. The doors to everything he wanted had been thrown wide open, and it was up to Rohan to keep his head.
A hard task over the next two days and two nights with Duke doubling his efforts to rope him in.
Not for a second did he believe it was coincidence when he walked in on Duke wet from a shower, a towel slung teasingly low on narrow hips.
He was smooth everywhere—all tight muscles and lightly tanned skin, dark nipples and a quickly tenting towel.
“Lock the door when you’re in here,” Rohan growled. “You’re not the only one in the manor.”
A blessed thing Casey and Bianca kept his mind out of the gutter during the days.
Nights, though.
The brat jerked off like he was shooting a porn film. Bed springs. Slick sound of a lubed fist. The hum of a vibrator. His debauched groans.
Rohan’s cock had never been so hard, but he refused to touch himself while Duke played his little game. He’d survived the last two nights, and he’d endure this one, too.
“Ro.” His name on a quiet groan had Rohan stilling. It echoed through him. He’d had a lot of sex in his life. Some with serious partners; most stolen sessions overseas where fewer people recognized him. No one had ever said his name while coming.
He clenched his fists in his sheets. Forced aside images of Duke prone and naked in his big bed . . . .
