“Thirty-eighth and fifth, the condos there. Unit forty-three.”
Zach jammed the elevator button for the ground floor. That was a ten-minute walk at most—and he didn’t plan to walk, so make that five minutes. He hoped Carson was there. He didn’t really expect that Carson would answer his phone if Zach tried to call him right now.
Eight minutes later, he stood in front of Carson’s door, his stomach in knots, all his usual confidence gone. It felt like an eternity passed before his knock was answered.
“What do you want?” Carson asked the moment he saw Zach. He was still in his work clothes, with his tie hanging loose and top two buttons undone. His eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks blotchy. He’d clearly been crying. And it was Zach’s fault.
“I don’t have time for this shit, Zach. I have to find a cheap place to stay and pack and find a storage unit and a new job. Or did you forget all that already?” His face was angry, his voice hurt, as he retreated into the apartment, leaving Zach alone at the door. “Come in or leave, you own the fucking place. But close the fucking door already before my cat gets out.”
Zach stepped in and closed the door as the cat in question appeared, immediately rubbing against his legs and leaving him covered in white fur.
“Traitor,” Carson grumbled.
“Hey there, what’s your name?” he asked as the cat allowed him to pick it up, purring loudly.
“Her name is Ophelia.”
“You never mentioned her.”
“We didn’t do much talking, as you might recall. What do you want, Zach?” Carson stood with his arms crossed, a wall of ice tangible between them.
Zach swallowed hard as he set Ophelia down.
“I want you to stay.”
“Just like that? Like you didn’t yell at me and throw me out just a few hours ago?” Carson wiped at an errant tear.
“I was wrong.”
“You fucking think?”
“I need you, Carson.” He took a few hesitant steps closer to him.
“You mean ZIM Tech needs me. But there is no other option, is there? Obviously, I can’t stay. I have to leave. I can’t work for you. Not now.”
“The other option is a whole lot of fucking paperwork in HR. Because God help me, I don’t want to give you up. And you are fucking talented, Carson. There’s no way I’m letting a competitor hire you.”
Carson sniffed and laughed bitterly.
“So that’s all this is about then. Keep the ace programmer at all costs. But what if I’m not willing to pay what it will cost me? I’m not going to slit my wrists every day just so you can make another couple of million dollars.”
“Goddamn it, kid, you’re not listening to me! I need you. Me,” he said, pointing to himself as he moved forward until he stood directly in front of Carson. “Because I fucking love you, too. And I don’t care what kind of a nightmare it creates in the office. I’m not losing you. I’ve never brought anyone to my home, let alone spent days on end with them. Don’t you get that?”
“You just bought that place,” Carson said. “Give it some more time.” Zach could see the faint glimmer of hope in Carson’s eyes, but he wasn’t giving in, and Zach couldn’t exactly blame him for that.
“You fucking smartass. You know what I am saying. I never wanted to have someone permanent in my life. Not with the hours I work and the secrecy I have to keep. But you understand all that.”
Carson looked up at him, and Zach slowly raised his hands to cup Carson’s face, making his movements clear so that Carson could stop him if he wanted to.
“The thought of losing you as my partner terrifies me. Being with you feels right, and to hell with the rest of it. Stay. Please.”
“What about all the others? The guys at lunch were talking about your … exploits. Why should I expect to be any different? I’m not signing on for that kind of pain.”
The clear hurt in Carson’s voice nearly broke him.
“I’m sorry you were made to feel that way. Yes, I’ve been known to play the field in the past. I won’t deny that. But I haven’t been with anyone since our first night together back in Detroit. I don’t want anyone else. I love you, Carson. And it scares the shit out of me, more than you can possibly know. But I will fight for you. For us.”
Carson exhaled a shaky breath.
“I’m a needy wreck, I should warn you. Product of the foster system. No discipline. Touch starved. Got a chip on my shoulder. Daddy issues and all that jazz.”
“Literally none of that is news to me. Kid.”
“Zach?”
“Mmm?”
“Get your goddamned clothes off and fuck me.”
Carson surged forward, his kiss full of need and desire, as he pawed at Zach’s coat.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he breathed against Carson’s lips.
“I want a raise for dealing with your shit.”
Zach chuckled as he nibbled along Carson’s jaw.
“I’m sure I can find a way to compensate your sufferings.”
They fumbled with buttons and belts and ties, leaving a trail of clothing to Carson’s bed. Zach was happy to let Carson take the lead, and he didn’t waste any time, grabbing the lube and slicking himself up as he ground their hips together, and Zach stroked Carson’s cock after sheathing his own.
Carson rose up and sank onto Zach, not stopping until he’d taken him in fully. Zach groaned and moved his hands to Carson’s hips. Carson let out a moan and rocked back, hands braced on Zach’s thighs as he slowly worked himself up and down.
“Fuck, Zach.”
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmured. He slid a hand up Carson’s chest and tweaked a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Carson hissed and fell forward easily when Zach tugged him down. “I’ve got you, baby.”
“Tell me again,” Carson whispered, eyes closed, forehead pressed against Zach’s.
“I love you,” he said softly, threading his fingers through Carson’s hair and holding it back from his face. “I love you.” He pressed soft kisses to Carson’s lips, his cheeks, his forehead. “I love you.” Carson shuddered. Tears slipped from beneath his lids, and Zach kissed them away.
Zach rolled them when Carson dissolved into sobs, soothing him and kissing away tears.
“Don’t stop!” he gasped, clutching at Zach and wrapping his legs around him. Zach rolled his hips slowly in long, languid thrusts that couldn’t be more opposite of their normal pace as tears continued to fall from Carson.
“I love you,” Carson whispered, one hand cupping the back of Zach’s head as their eyes locked. “I—fuck,” he cried, back arching up from the bed as he came, clenching around Zach, and he followed Carson with a groan, face buried in Carson’s neck.
“So now what?” Carson asked when their breathing had returned to normal but Zach still hadn’t moved.
“Now,” Zach said, and he drew out the word before kissing the tip of Carson’s shoulder. “You pack your stuff and move it to my place. And you come back to work with me. Tomorrow.”
“Can I call you daddy at work?”
“Little shit,” Zach laughed. “Absolutely not.”
“Mmm. Okay.”
Zach’s lips found their way back to Carson’s.
“I’m serious. I want you to move in with me,” he said between kisses.
“What about Ophelia?”
“What about her? Did I stutter? Of course she comes with you.”
“Okay,” Carson said with a contented sigh as Zach worked his way down Carson’s stomach and began to lick him clean. “Fuck that’s hot,” Carson whispered.
“Da—daddy?” he stuttered when Zach began to work his cock back to life with his mouth.
“Hmm?” he hummed, not stopping his ministrations.
“Can I have my gym duck back?”
****
One year later...
“Have you thought this through? Because I know you. You overthink everything. Are you one hundred percent su
re about this?” Carson stared at Zach.
“No, I’m terrified as hell, and I swear to God if you don’t answer me, I’m going to die right here.”
“Well, I guess this explains why you’ve been so weird the last few days.”
They were seated across from each other at the little Thai restaurant down the street from the house—their house, and even after all this time that still seemed surreal to him—where they’d had their first date. It was Carson’s birthday, and he was staring into the box he’d just opened.
Nestled carefully in the tissue paper was a duck, with its wings held up, tips pressed together. A set of rings hung from the wingtips.
“I have to admit, ‘Carson McAllister’ does have a nice ring to it,” he said as he lifted the top ring out and inspected it. It was narrower than the other band with a line of tiny diamonds going around the middle of it. The inscription inside read I love you … or something.
“Carson.” Zach’s voice was pleading.
Carson couldn’t fight the smile any longer. The relief and joy simultaneously flooding Zach’s face was adorable, and Carson laughed.
“Of course I’ll marry you, you giant dork.”
“Yes?”
Carson rolled his eyes and slipped the ring on.
“Yes.”
Zach surged out of his chair, and Carson rose to meet him as he stepped around the small table and swept Carson into his strong embrace.
“I love you, baby,” he said between kisses.
“I love you, daddy.”
Zach grinned as he reached down for the remaining ring and held it out for Carson to see. Inside was another inscription, and as Carson looked closer, he could see that it read Sweetheart.
“I don’t understand. They’re both for me?”
“Women get engagement rings and wedding bands. Why should my sweetheart be any different?”
Carson felt his face heat as he blushed.
“What about yours, then?”
Zach lifted the duck from the box, revealing another band. It was simple, the same brushed platinum as his, but bigger, clearly sized for Zach.
“Look,” Zach said, tipping his head towards the box with a suspicious twinkle in his eyes.
Carson lifted the ring and turned it until he could read the inscription.
“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, Zach, thank you.”
“Still doesn’t mean you can call me that at work.”
Carson laughed as he kissed Zach, ring clutched tightly in his fist.
There was only one word on the inside, the perfect match to Carson’s: Daddy.
The End
Find more books from author Loralynne Summers:
www.evernightpublishing.com/loralynne-summers
FALLEN ANGEL
Louise Collins
Copyright © 2020
Chapter One
Aaron pressed the ice on his knuckles, sighing in pleasure as the throbbing quieted. He hadn’t meant to be the one to take out Trey. Trey, whose loud mouth and careless attitude had drawn the spotlight onto them again and again. Trey, the loose cannon who lacked a loyal streak, who’d cost better men their lives because of his selfishness. Trey knew it was coming; Aaron knew it was coming; they all did. Aaron had only been there to watch, to make sure it went down with no problems, but as soon as Trey started threatening everyone Aaron cared about, telling him that one day they’d die like dogs, too, he’d lost it, punched him in the face, then pulled out his revolver.
“So?” Jett said.
Aaron shrugged. “So what?”
He was perched on a stool, and opposite him stood Jett the other side of the bar. He was in the club, his club to be exact, sitting inside the VIP room. The booths were full of groups of laughing clubbers, and one stag party had control of the karaoke machine. A window pointed towards the main dance floor of the club. It was packed out, and each time the door opened to the VIP bar, music blared, making Aaron wince.
“How did you bust up your knuckles?”
Jett wasn’t looking him in the eye but staring down at his hand with a sad expression. The concern amused Aaron, but it was no less adorable. All he wanted to do was lean over and kiss that look off his face.
“How did you do it, Boss?” Aaron corrected.
Jett looked up, smirking. His eyes were always so bright, so nice to look at. Aaron doubted he’d seen a horrific sight in his whole life, not like him, who’d seen endless nastiness. Looking at Jett was refreshing, so happy, so clueless, so cute Aaron just wanted to mess him up in the best kind of way.
“Okay, Boss,” Jett said, then saluted.
If anyone else had said it in that tone, with the stupid hand action, Aaron would’ve punished them, but not Jett. Jett was different from the others. Aaron liked Jett in a whole different way from how he liked the others. He had men that worked for him, men that killed, intimidated, lied, stole, concealed, destroyed, but not Jett.
“Some guy tried to steal my wallet.” Aaron said. “I punched him, and off he went.”
It was a lie, a complete lie, but Jett just accepted it, like he couldn’t imagine Aaron would lie to him. Amusing, yet adorable, and Aaron’s pulse quickened at how easily Jett just trusted him.
The door opened, releasing the music from the dance floor. Jett said something Aaron didn’t catch, and he curled his finger to encourage him closer.
“What was that?”
“I said, what a bastard.” Jett repeated.
He scrunched his brow, and Aaron took in his troubled expression, then frowned.
“Me or him?”
“Him obviously. You didn’t do anything wrong, but some people out there, they’re assholes.”
Aaron snorted. “Yeah.”
When Trey realized his time had come, he’d started spewing horrible, graphic descriptions of how his friends were gonna hunt down everyone Aaron loved, and torture them to avenge him. The truth was Aaron didn’t have anyone. No lover, only fast flings. No friends, only acquaintances. No family, they were already dead.
But when Trey had started spewing his threats, Aaron’s mind had gone to the man standing opposite him behind the bar. His brain had flashed up images of Jett battered, dying, calling out for him, Aaron’s blood had turned to ice in his veins, and he’d completely lost his cool.
Aaron couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it’d happened, but over the years, Jett had become the most important person in his life. Jett was pure escapism, and he longed for their chats, their brief moments together. Even if it was good for his heart, but pure agony for his desperate cock.
“You sure you don’t wanna go to the hospital, get it checked out?”
“Nah, it’s fine. Whiskey and ice, that’s all I need.”
He didn’t add that his third pain relief was Jett himself. He acted as a distraction, a very good distraction. The pain lessened in his hand when all his blood flowed south.
Once Trey was dealt with, Aaron had called a cab, and headed straight to the club to reassure himself Jett was fine. No one knew his secret. Jett didn’t even know it.
Jett greeted him with one of his signature cute smiles, and all was right again with Aaron. All was right, just frustrating as hell. He wanted Jett as more than just a friend but wasn’t going to risk messing up whatever it was they had. He wouldn’t risk making things awkward, and Jett possibly leaving or rejecting him. He wanted to fuck Jett, but he needed the escape of his smile and big blue eyes more.
“I still think you should report it to the police.”
“There’s no point. He didn’t get what he was after.”
“But he’ll do it to someone else.”
“No, he won’t.”
Jett’s eyebrows twitched. “Yeah, he will, it’s what people like that do. Who’s to say when I walk out of here later, I won’t get started on by him.”
Aaron curled his hand into a fist. His throbbing knuckles were tight, and he could see the skin darkening from the approaching bruise. If anyone cornere
d Jett, anyone hurt him in any way, Aaron wouldn’t use his gun. He’d use his hands, no matter how sore and bruised they were.
“Did you know there’s a link between men’s dancing skill, and their fighting skill?”
Aaron tore his gaze from Jett and looked out of the window, to the dance floor. A group of men were shuffling about, generally looking awkward. Aaron turned back to the bar and looked down at the icepack on his knuckles.
“Are you trying to irritate me?”
Jett laughed, “No, no. I’m only saying. I saw it on a documentary.”
“So it must be true.”
Jett smiled, Aaron stared at his lips, his cherry red lips. Aaron imagined them stretched wider, so much they got thin and lost their color. His cock throbbed, and he was so glad Jett couldn’t see it from where he was standing.
“It said dancing is like mock fighting.”
Aaron picked up his glass with his undamaged hand and knocked it back.
“Explain.”
“So potential partners observe a man dancing to see if he’d be good at protecting them and their offspring without them actually hurting themselves.”
“That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. What you’re saying is the better you dance, the better your fighting skill?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”
“I can’t dance for shit, but I can fight.”
“Your messed-up hand says otherwise.”
Aaron raised his eyebrows. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”
Jett rolled his eyes, then moved away to refill Aaron’s glass. While he was facing the other way, Aaron snorted. “The other guy” was dead in the sewers somewhere, and Aaron was very glad Jett hadn’t seen him. He doubted they’d be chatting if he knew the truth about him. Jett would recoil, Jett would be afraid, and that crushed Aaron’s heart and soured his stomach until he was nauseous.
“Okay, let me prove my point,” Jett said, turning around. “Who would win in a fight between Mary-Sue, and those bunch of guys on the dance floor?”
Aaron looked over to Mary-Sue, wrapped around a pole, holding her weight up with only her crossed ankles. Her red stilettos shone in the light, her stomach was taut, and her athletic body put the group of men salivating in front of her to shame.
Billion Dollar Love: Manlove Edition Page 13
