by Rachel Kane
“Stop trying to renege on your part of the deal,” he said with a quavering breath, as Dalton’s toe passed his knee and traveled up his thigh.
You’re going to regret this, if you sleep with him while he’s this vulnerable.
Yeah, but I’m going to regret it if I don’t sleep with him, too. We’re both grown-ups. We’re consenting.
That’s not the point. Look at the pain in his eyes.
Maybe they could talk afterward. Maybe, after a night of being impaled on Dalton, a night of taking him over and over, they could have a chat over breakfast, the sun rising over whatever penthouse apartment he lived in, a mimosa in-hand, nerves settled. Noah could ask him about things then.
Dalton was halfway up his thigh, and Noah was rock-hard. He didn’t know what might happen if Dalton started caressing his cock through his pants. Well, no, he knew exactly what would happen. Hopefully the restaurant had a lot of napkins on hand.
It wasn’t like he didn’t understand. Sometimes you went to bed with someone because you needed to work something out, something you couldn’t talk about yet. Sometimes you had to get all the emotion out, had to exhaust that side of you, so your brain could work again.
Noah’s brain was rapidly flickering, like a bulb about to go out. The sensation of Dalton’s toes—not to mention the smoldering look from those green eyes—was about to drain him of every thought he could ever have. Pretty soon he was going to be nothing but an animal, desperate to obey Dalton’s every command.
If he was going to talk, it needed to be right now.
There wasn’t going to be another chance.
When the waiter brought out a platter of bread with a stone tub of whipped butter, Dalton glared at him; the waiter quickly set it down, gave a brief nod, and backed away again. Dalton’s foot was between Noah’s legs…frozen into place. Noah squeezed his thighs together, trapping Dalton’s foot, and the smile came back to Dalton’s face.
“Why don’t you have some bread?” Noah asked, picking up a piece and dabbing it with the butter. The fresh-baked scent of yeast rose to his nostrils, and was such a welcome break from the lustful images in his mind. He put the bread on a small plate and slid it across the table.
“Let’s go. Let me show you my apartment,” said Dalton. “I’m not hungry. Not for…food.”
Noah sighed. Now or never.
“Listen.”
“No.”
“Listen.”
“If you’re going to tell me you’re not interested, go ahead and spit it out, okay? I’d rather get it out into the open rather than waste my time. But I thought you—”
“Slow down, cowpoke. I am interested. You have never seen anyone so interested. If I were in college, I’d change my major to studying you, studying what you’re doing right now, that’s how interested I am. But this whole thing started because we were able to notice things about one another, and what I’m noticing about you right now has me worried.”
Dalton’s face clouded, and he drained his glass. “Dangerous ground, Noah.”
“Trust me. I know that. I think any time your feelings get probed, it’s dangerous. You’d rather not have feelings at all.”
“I’m not in the mood for games.”
“I know what you’re in the mood for. Listen, I can’t talk like this, not with the waiter hovering over there like a ghost. Can we go?”
“You’re ready to fly back home?”
“No. Stop that. You and I are going to talk. We’re going to be grown-ups, and we’re going to have a conversation.”
Dalton groaned.
All thoughts of talking fled Noah’s head when the elevator doors opened onto Dalton’s apartment. He tried to keep track of those thoughts, though, because he knew he’d need to return to them, as soon as he was done being dazzled.
“You’d think I wouldn’t be easily impressed, living at Superbia Springs… I mean, it’s practically a castle. But this…”
The space had clearly once between two floors, but converted into one, with the ceiling soaring high overhead. One wall was entirely window, commanding a view of the city at night, glimmering lights like stars fallen to the ground. There was an easy elegance to the place, the suggestion that someone really lived here rather than kept it decorated like a showpiece, with furniture that was designed for comfort as well as beauty. He wanted to take his shoes off and dig his toes into the carpet; it looked soft as the first grass of springtime.
“It’s home,” Dalton said simply. He’d been silent in the car, but it had not been a hostile silence. More thoughtful than anything. His hand had rested just an inch away from Noah’s, as though he were afraid to touch it, afraid to break the spell between them. “Drink?”
“Daily.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have any fruity-flavored liqueurs.”
“I put my faith in your good taste.” Noah wandered while Dalton went to the bar and sorted through all the bottles and decanters. The place really was amazing. And it fit Dalton, too. It wasn’t ostentatious, it wasn’t meant to impress, except as a side-effect of being a rich man’s landing pad. The sofa was so wide that half of Superbia could’ve sat on it, and when Noah took a seat, he felt like he might sink all the way to the floor, like drifting into a cloud. He hadn’t been this comfortable since that night in the tub back in the spring-house.
Physically comfortable. Not necessarily mentally comfortable. Because they still had to talk. Even though he kept hoping his conscience would fade away and he could let Dalton rip these leather pants off with his teeth.
Dalton walked over with a couple of glasses, and handed Noah one. “Comfy?”
“I might fall asleep. Don’t deflower me if I do.”
If he had been expecting Dalton to sit next to him, he was mistaken; instead, the billionaire took the hard wooden chair nearby, one with a tall back and stiff arms. Like the world’s most elegant electric chair. He pressed his glass to his forehead and closed his eyes. “Let’s get this over with. I’m tired, Noah.”
“I know. That’s what worries me.”
“There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“Then why do you look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders?”
It was impossible to sink into a chair so stiff and imposing, but Dalton leaned back, taking a drink as he stared up at the ceiling. Noah had a sip of his drink too, surprised by the smoky burn that trailed down his throat. He wondered how much this whiskey had cost. Wondered what all of this was costing Dalton…emotionally, not financially.
Dalton said, “Look, if we talk about this, then the night’s probably over. Not that I’m kicking you out, I just… I just don’t know if I can talk about it and then continue the way we were going earlier.”
“I think you might need a friend right now,” said Noah. “More than you need a lay.”
“Are you the friend I need? We hardly know each other.”
“Hey, we had a contest, remember? I think we know each other pretty well. We’re both very perceptive people. With excellent taste in furnishings, wine and fashion.”
Dalton chuckled. “Okay. Granted. It’s a hell of a lot easier to talk to you, than to my brother, anyway. Jesus. Where to even start. You saw the news about my dad, obviously.”
“How… How is he?”
The chuckle died in Dalton’s throat. “Pretty bad. A lifetime of stress, alcohol, cigars, eating take-out in your office instead of healthy food… Apparently it adds up.”
“I’m really sorry.”
Dalton’s throat moved as he swallowed more of his whiskey. It was a stubbled throat, instead of the clean-shaven smoothness of the other day. Noah knew without thinking that it would be rough as sandpaper if he kissed it.
“Can I tell you a secret?” asked Dalton. “And it is really secret. If you breathe a word of this, and it gets to the wrong people—”
“Come on. You know me better than that.”
“I used to love my job,” Dalton said. He brought t
he glass to his lips but did not drink. “Love it. I would spend days in the office, literal days, not coming back here, too wrapped up in my projects. When we built the latest factory, you should’ve seen me. I had my assistant bring half my wardrobe to the office so I never had to leave. It was so exciting. We were building this huge space, there were so many complications, and each one was a challenge I relished. My dad was there, my brother, we were working together, and for once, nobody was fighting, nobody was jostling for supremacy. We knew this was going to be huge, make us even richer than we already were, and we dove in, all three of us.
“Then one night, Dad started complaining. He thought it was heartburn. Then thought it was exhaustion, or asthma, or maybe something to do with the air in the office. By the time we got his doctor on the phone, it was clear that it was his heart giving him trouble. Noah, I’ve never been so scared, as I was at that moment. I could command a multimillion-dollar project, could memorize the placement of every girder, every rivet, but when my Dad was that sick, I felt like a helpless little boy.”
Noah had risen during this, and stood next to the chair. Dalton put his head against Noah’s chest, and without ever thinking about it consciously, Noah began to stroke his head, running his fingers through Dalton’s hair.
He knew he should say something, but what first came to mind was, At least you cared about your dad. I’ve never even met mine. And I haven’t spoken to my mom in years. That strange bitterness that came any time he thought too much about his past. He swallowed it back down; there was no room for it here.
“I understand,” he said, and it was half a lie, because he couldn’t imagine himself watching his dad have a heart attack. Couldn’t imagine his dad at all, even though for years he had tried to picture the mystery man’s face. But it was only half a lie, because the pain in Dalton’s voice was something he recognized as well.
Dalton turned his head, pressing his face against Noah. The white fur of Noah’s sweater, which had seemed a little ridiculous when he’d put it on earlier, now seemed the perfect contrast to Dalton’s thick dark hair. “I’ve done everything I can,” Dalton said. “I built a hospital room for him at the company, so he could be close to the work he loved. The doctors are on call, and he has a staff of nurses attending him every minute of the day. But he’s so sick, Noah. And when he said he didn’t want to be with the company anymore, you have to know, it was like someone saying I don’t want to breathe anymore. I’m tired of oxygen. That’s what work was, to Dad. Oxygen.”
“And now you’re having to do all this work, even though you should be with him, working through your feelings about it,” Noah said.
“It’s not the same anymore. I go out on the factory floor, and I don’t feel it, you know? There’s not that same sense of excitement, adventure. I don’t feel like I’m conquering the world anymore. I feel like I’m going through the motions to honor Dad.”
There were things Noah could say to that. He thought, for instance, that Dalton had a lot of trouble feeling his emotions, whenever they were stressful or negative. He thought those feelings probably came out in other ways…like fights with his brother, or trying to sweep boys off their feet by flying them up here and feeding them fancy food.
But it wasn’t time to be a therapist. It was time to be a friend.
He put his arms around Dalton’s head and pulled him in closer.
Then he did a thing that maybe he should not have done. He bent his face and kissed Dalton’s hair. Dalton murmured against him, wordlessly.
“Look, will you stay?” Dalton asked, his voice muffled. He lifted his head and looked up at Noah. “I’m not saying you have to sleep with me. You can have one of the guest rooms. But I don’t want to be alone right now. If I’m alone, I might end up going back to the office, or fighting with Colby, or…”
“Of course I’ll stay. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’re going to show me where your bathroom is. You need to relax. You need to soak, and close your eyes, and not think for a while.”
17
Dalton
Dalton’s history with men could be summed up thus: First, you meet a guy and want to let your guard down around him. Then you do actually let your guard down. Then you get mad that he made you feel vulnerable, and you get in a fight and cast him out. Then you bury yourself in work for a long, long time.
He was thinking about that, as he walked down the hall towards the bathroom, decanter in one hand, glass in the other, arm slung over Noah’s shoulder. He’d just said something to Noah that he couldn’t take back. Just showed his weak side.
Oddly, what he felt wasn’t that instant resentment he usually did. He couldn’t have named what he did feel, but it wasn’t resentment.
He kicked off his shoes, resting the bottoms of his feet against the warmed tiles of the bathroom suite. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Noah take in the rooms, the marble sinks, the broad shower stall with its waterfall attachment, and beyond one open door, the huge tub itself. Noah didn’t comment, but nor did he look overwhelmed. Interesting. He studied the wall of shelves of soaps, shampoos, and hair products, as though walking through a shop. He touched the soft towels in their nooks. He glanced into the separate room which held the toilet and bidet. Finally he returned. “All right, let’s get you undressed.”
“That’s romantic of you,” said Dalton.
“Just pretend I’m a nurse,” said Noah, his fingers rising to Dalton’s shirt buttons. “This is a bath for your health, not some sensuous soft-core romp.”
“I don’t think nurses wear angora.”
“You’re clearly not hiring the right ones, then. Would you put your hands down? I know how buttons work.”
“Are you sure?”
What he couldn’t tell Noah was how every button, every touch, was sending electricity through Dalton’s body. He was so confused. He wanted Noah, yes, with an urgency that it felt unjust to deny. But there was something else there, a respect that he had not realized he’d feel so strongly. Noah wasn’t some little gold-digging twink in awe of the billionaire. He didn’t hop into bed. He didn’t ask for anything…except for Dalton to talk about what was going on.
“Somebody’s been to the gym,” said Noah, sliding the shirt off Dalton’s shoulders. “How do you have time to get a body like this, as busy as you are?”
Dalton grinned. “I make my assistant bring all my files into the gym. That’s usually when I dictate my emails.”
“It obviously works for you. Okay. Pants off.”
“Why Mr. Turnstock, if I didn’t know any better—”
“You don’t, trust me. Belt unbuckles like so, slips out of the loops like so…” Noah pulled the belt off of Dalton, and then suddenly snapped it in the air, like a whip.
“You’re not using that thing on me,” Dalton muttered.
“And vice versa. Come on now, unbutton those pants.”
So business-like. The pants slipped to the floor, and Dalton stepped out of them, feeling a little ridiculous in just his boxers and socks.
“All right,” said Noah. “I’ll get the water started, and then leave you alone.”
Dalton reached out and took his wrist. “Alone?”
“Well, sure. You need a good soak.”
It was clear Noah wasn’t going to look down. He was pretending to be unaware of the bulge in front of Dalton’s boxers, the bulge that signaled how ready he was to get things going again.
“You can stay,” Dalton said.
“I know I can,” Noah said. “The question is, whether I should.”
“The tub is big enough for two. For four, really, not that I’ve tried that many at once. Well, there was that one time—”
Noah put his finger against Dalton’s lips. “Shh, you’re so exhausted you’re hallucinating. You never had four men in that tub.”
“Come with me,” he said.
Noah shook his head. “I don’t want to. I mean, I want to, don’t get
me wrong. But if I see you like that, if I watch you, I might… I might not be able to control myself. And I think you need a break from all that. You need a break from everything. Everyone. Including from me.”
So Dalton did the only thing he could think of, to convince him. He put his thumbs into the waistband of the boxers, and pulled them down slowly. Not so slowly that it was a striptease; there was no teasing here, just an insistence that Noah look.
Those widening eyes told Dalton everything he needed to know.
“Oh my,” said Noah.
“See?”
“Trust me, I couldn’t miss it. Do all billionaires have cocks like that, or did you have to order that one special?”
It took every shred of self-control not to rip off Noah’s clothes right there, not to push him to the tiles, and have him on the floor. Now that he was fully exposed, there was no point in hiding how much he wanted the man in front of him; no way to hide it. His cock couldn’t keep a secret. It jutted towards Noah; Dalton felt his balls already tightening, felt precum beginning to drip from his slit. He was ready.
“Get in the tub,” ordered Noah. His voice had become husky and low. Sultry.
Dalton obeyed, peeling off his socks and stepping into the tub; underfoot, the tub responded instantly, its surface warming. Nothing in this room was ever allowed to be cold.
Noah busied himself with getting the water to just the right temperature, then gestured for Dalton to sit.
“Look, there’s room right beside me,” Dalton said, the water lapping over his feet and knees.
But the man ignored him and walked back to the supply wall, sniffing the selection of bodywashes, and grabbing a fresh loofah. “How do you feel about evergreen?” he said.
“I’m a fan of forests,” said Dalton.
“Clearly you enjoy having a little wood of your own. Lean forward.”
It was so strange, being in here, being in someone else’s hands. Dalton rarely used the tub, or even the pricier features of the shower he’d had installed. He’d run in, shower until he was clean, then it was back out, getting dried and dressed and onto the next meeting or dinner or whatever he had to do. When was the last time he actually relaxed in here? A hundred thousand dollars he’d dropped on this bathroom, and he hardly ever got his money’s worth.