Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“Shh,” Amani whispered, pushing himself up as gently as possible, trying not to overstimulate Vic any further. “Be still.”
Vic subsided, panting; beneath Amani he was a mess of masculine beauty, sweaty and disheveled hair tossed against the pillow, face flushed, eyes darkly dazed, his entire body beaded in runnels and beads of sweat that clung lovingly to those perfectly sharp-edged chisels and ran into every valley and groove. He looked…looked…soft, as if everything defensive and rough and harsh about him had been stripped away to leave this obedient and messy and wonderful thing lying so well-used, so well-loved, submissive and utterly boneless in the aftermath, and Amani’s chest warmed as he curled his knuckles against Vic’s cheek, then trailed them down to gently lay his fingers against Vic’s throat to feel the race of his slowly subsiding pulse.
That…hadn’t felt like strictly business, money and services changing hands.
That had felt almost transcendent, and for a few heated moments there…Amani had utterly lost himself.
But Vic’s arms were still upraised, trembling subtly, and Amani stroked up over them, tugging carefully. “Lower your arms,” he said. “It’s all right. You can move. Are you in pain?”
Vic pulled his arms down with a slowness that said every movement hurt, his fingers twitching. “Sore as if my whole body’s been used as a punching bag. Fuck.” He took a shaky breath, then darted an uncertain look up at Amani. “But…it feels good.”
Curling his hands against Vic’s shoulders, Amani kneaded gently, working at the tense muscle. “Do you have any lotion or oil I can use?”
“There’s some moisturizer in the bathroom?” Vic answered after a dazed moment.
“Hold on. This may hurt a bit.”
It sure as hell hurt Amani, scoring him inside in deep, stroking friction as he tensed his thighs and lifted himself up, pulling his throbbing, sore body off Vic’s cock. Vic let out a soft cry, then clamped it behind his lips, breathing rapidly through his nostrils, trembling against the sheets. Beautiful, he thought again, as he collapsed to Vic’s side—then rolled upright, ignoring the pain in his own body to sit up and trace his fingers down Vic’s arm.
“Relax,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
With one last glance back, he left Vic there in a lovely, debauched mess, pausing only to scoop his caftan up and shrug it back on before padding into the bathroom and taking a moment to wash his hands in the sink. He found the lotion on a little steel shelf in front of a standalone mirror, a stone pump bottle labeled Amber and Onyx in curling script and lined up with shaving implements and Vic’s toothbrush. Amani pumped a tiny little dollop and dissolved it between his fingers, sniffing; the scent was pleasant, mellow with a bit of spice. He picked up the bottle, starting to turn—then pausing as he noticed the two orange prescription bottles at the end of the shelf.
He bit his lip. He shouldn’t be snooping, but curiosity was a wicked mistress…and with a glance around the screen, he caught up the largest bottle and turned it to read the label. Tiazac…?
“Hey.”
He jumped, and the bottle fell from his hand to rattle down into the sink; he grabbed for it, gasping out, “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy, it was just…”
“It’s all right.” Vic padded up behind him, still naked, unashamed and glorious, and bent to slip his arms around Amani’s waist from behind, pulling him in close. “It’s not some great, tragic secret. I have hypertension. Blood pressure like a boiler pump. Apparently, my life is stressful.”
Amani hesitated, then leaned back; it was strange and unfamiliar to lean into anyone this way, to allow this kind of casual closeness, especially when Vic bent his head and nosed Amani’s collar aside to kiss his shoulder. He curled his hand against Vic’s forearm, watching him in the mirror, and set the bottle back down on the shelf.
“How bad is it…?”
Vic paused, then admitted, “…one forty-one over ninety-two.”
“Vic.”
“You’d think I was seventy, right?” Vic let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh, riddled with forced diffidence. “The Tiazac helps. Two pills a day, like clockwork.” In the mirror, his reflection tipped his chin toward the other bottle. “The other one’s nitroglycerin. For emergencies.”
“Do you have emergencies often?”
“Almost never.”
Amani turned in Vic’s arms, looking up at him. There was something so perfect about that handsome, masculine face with his mouth turned swollen and pink and soft, succulent flesh full of intimate suggestions, and Amani stretched up on his toes to taste that mouth in a light kiss, lingering to trace the sweet bruised texture, the hot lush flavor, before letting himself sink back down.
“You act like you’re not even sick.”
Vic had closed his eyes, leaning into him…but now he opened them with a breathy sound, his hands curling against Amani’s body, heavy and strong. “I don’t really have a choice.” He shrugged almost helplessly. “I’m young. I still have a chance to turn it around. Just need a few lifestyle changes.”