Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Stunned, he stilled.
This hadn’t felt like any fuck he’d had in the last few years. Or, if he were to be honest, any fuck he’d had in his life. That realization so unsettled him, he pulled too fast out of Marc, who hissed and fell to the bed.
“Sorry,” he said softly, laying his hand on his back before he lowered it to massage his well-used hole until Marc relaxed.
“That’s nice,” he said softly as he turned his head. “Lie down next to me a minute while I catch my breath.”
“Hold on.” Royce walked to the bathroom to take care of the condom. He snatched a hand towel off the counter and swiped at the sweat dripping down his neck and matting the hair on his chest. He stared in the mirror, uncomfortable with the shock in his eyes. He blinked until it went away, took a deep breath, and walked back to Marc.
He’d turned onto his side, his body just as shiny with sweat, and still flushed, and so fucking gorgeous, Royce couldn’t find his voice. Or the will to refuse the invitation when Marc patted the bed beside him. He lay down on his back and stared up at the ceiling.
Marc ran his finger down Royce’s shoulder. “I love your ink. Whoever does the work is incredibly talented.”
He could talk about this. This was a safe subject. “Her name is Albany. Coolest woman I’ve ever met. She has a shop here in town.”
“She do anything other than tattoos?”
“Not that I know of. She’s popular, so she stays booked out for months. She’s been working on my sleeve for years. Slowly adding to it.” God, the man smelled good covered in sweat and semen. “I’m sorry, I forgot to grab you a towel.” He started to get up.
“No, I’ll do it in a second. Stop being in such a hurry to run.”
He turned a narrowed gaze onto Marc, who gave him a smile. Fucker.
“Yeah, I’m reeling over what we just did, myself. So give me a minute, too.” He traced the hood over the bearded face of one of Royce’s two Greek tattoos. “So much detail. It’s like he’s living in your skin. “Hades. Greek god of death. I can understand the draw there, but why the serpent?”
“A reminder not to trust.”
“Big reminder.” Marc stared at him a moment, then traced his finger around his biceps, following the sinuous snake to the beautiful man on his forearm. “And the archangel? Which one is he?”
He closed his eyes, too raw for this. “I don’t want to talk about that tattoo.” And that was the reminder Royce needed to crawl out of bed and get back to his job. He ignored the cracking pain in his ribs as his heart pounded harder. Too fast, as the memories of Michael came crashing into his head. He stood, and one look at Marc’s flat expression had him taking a deep breath. “I need to check the cameras, and you need some sleep.”
He turned and yanked a pair of sweat pants out of his satchel, then moved to leave the room.
“Royce?”
He stopped.
“It was really damn good, wasn’t it?”
He shut his eyes, the pain in his chest threatening to suffocate him. But Marc didn’t deserve to take the brunt of his issues, so he gave him the truth. “Yeah, Marc. It was really damn good.”
Chapter Eight
Royce set his laptop on the couch in Marc’s family room, then walked back through the house to the courtyard. He stepped outside and closed his eyes as the cool night air dried the sweat on his body.
He’d just screwed up. Royally.
After years working at Ward Security, this was the first time he’d ever been tempted by a client and instead of handling it with his usual strength of will, he’d just busted through all his own personal rules as well as those his company set. Not that anyone ever lost their job for fucking clients—but still, it pissed him off that he’d given in. Damn. Just…damn. Marc Foster was so sweet in bed, he made Royce’s teeth ache.
Lifting his eyes to the night sky, he didn’t see the moon and stars; he saw the sensual curve of Marc’s back and his tight, perfect ass. He saw the way the man had rolled beneath him with a grace Royce had never seen, and he’d spent a year living with the most graceful man he’d known before this.
He ran his fingers over the archangel tattoo, tracing a face he knew from memory. It had been five years, but he still missed Michael just as fiercely as he had in the beginning. The universe had taken him from the world, viciously snatching him away before he’d reached his twenty-sixth birthday. Before Royce had a chance to give him the ring he’d taken a few extra rougher jobs to pay for.