Pricks and Pragmatism Page 8
Luc was quite possibly stricken with sudden love. If at least not love, it was definitely pants-splitting lust. He was so hard he could barely think for all the blood deserting his brain. He couldn’t see the colour of the man’s eyes. He thought that if he didn’t see them right then, he was going to die.
He got a grip on himself firmly. Concentrate. This is how you will sabotage this evening, with your dick consumed with this patron instead of with the matter in hand. There would be time for getting to know this man later. It would be his reward for pleasing Daniel Sheridan. Once the critic was going back to his hotel satiated, Luc would have all the time in the world to see what colour eyes the man with the black hair had when he was on his back beneath Luc staring up in adoration.
He let his glance trail the man lingeringly for a few seconds more as he crossed the room, following Guillaume, weaving through the tables nimbly. There was another person with the black-haired man, a shorter blond man who was attractive, too, but in a less arresting way, and Luc wondered briefly if the two men were gay and idly toyed with the idea of having them both.
Then Guillaume stopped at the table and pulled out a chair for the man with the black hair, and Luc’s heart about stopped on the spot. It was Daniel Sheridan’s table, and it was Daniel Sheridan’s neatly place-marked seat into which the man lowered himself.
Luc ducked back into the kitchen and pressed himself against the wall with the blood roaring furiously in his ears and his dick throbbing. No, he told himself, no. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. Why hadn’t someone warned him? All his staff must be in cahoots, that they hadn’t warned such a fearsome man-eater as Luc that Daniel Sheridan was the most exquisite specimen of masculinity on the planet. Even his manager and his agent had never remarked on Daniel’s obvious physical attributes, and surely they must have seen a picture of him before.
It was some cruel trick, designed to sabotage the evening, Luc was convinced of it. Someone somewhere wanted him to fail tonight. How exactly could he cook when all he could think of was his cock in the tight arse of his bitter nemesis?
He groaned aloud. He rushed through the kitchen and out the door, where he climbed the spiral staircase at the back to his office. There he threw himself into his executive leather chair behind his desk and rapidly pulled his cock free from his black-and-white-checked pants. He leaned back, eyes closed, fist gripping his swollen flesh, pulling hard while he saw the man in the tuxedo behind his eyes.
He adjusted his fantasies accordingly. This was Daniel Sheridan. Luc would have to dominate and possibly humiliate him. He imagined the other man down on his knees between his legs. Between sucks of Luc’s cock, Daniel would moan about how perfect the meal was and how it had made him so hard that he had been touching himself beneath the table all evening. Luc would grip that perfect hair hard and force his head down over his cock. Daniel would take it without complaint. When Luc pushed him over the desk and ordered him to take his pants down, Daniel would beg him for it, telling him he was sorry for all the wicked words he had printed about him and pleading with Luc to punish him like the bad boy he was.
Luc would find the nearest thing in his office—a ruler in his desk drawer—and strike Daniel on the bare arse several times until the food critic screamed in masochistic ecstasy. Then he would thrust into his depths, and Daniel would arch off the desk in delight, shouting that oh God, he was going to come right now and Luc was the best fuck he’d ever had in his life.
Luc growled and spurted over his hand and his starched white tunic. He settled back, panting, in his chair and then his eyes flicked open in panic. What in the name of God was he doing? His restaurant was full at seven-thirty on a Friday night and he was up here in his office spanking the monkey like a teenager?
“Mon Dieu…” He moaned aloud in horror at his lack of self-control and jumped up, tucking himself away and looking for tissues. The time for this was later, when he intended to make his fantasies come true. When he intended to take true revenge on the Englishman once and for all.
The head waiter was in the kitchen screaming for him. Antoine Anelka, a middle-aged overwrought Parisian native, had a temper to rival Luc’s and was the only one who dared to answer him back.
“Zut alors, what are you doing?” Antoine cried when Luc rushed back and threw his apron on over the stains on his uniform. “Monsieur Sheridan is seated awaiting his hors d’oeuvres and you haven’t even started cooking them!”
“Shut up and give him some canapés,” Luc muttered sullenly, opening the fridge and flinging out ingredients.
“He’s already got them!” yelled Antoine. “He shows no interest in them whatsoever. He merely sits there with a face like a slapped arse and glares at me. Merde! What am I supposed to do?” He wrung his hands, pacing, his face scarlet.
“Someone get Monsieur Anelka a Valium please,” Luc said, surprisingly calm. “The time for breakdowns is later, Antoine. Pull yourself together or so help me…” And he brandished his favourite and sharpest knife at the head waiter to make his point.
Antoine sank into an offered chair and mopped his perspiring brow with a spotted handkerchief. “Mon Dieu, you will ruin us all,” he muttered.
Luc put some butter in a saucepan and ignored him. Much to his chagrin, he was thinking of Daniel Sheridan’s bare arse over his desk again and silently agreeing with Antoine’s assessment of himself.
A little push and pull makes the heart grow stronger.
The Distance Between Us
© 2010 L.A. Witt
After ten years together, Ethan Mallory and Rhett Solomon are calling it quits. They’re more than ready to dump their heavy emotional baggage. The only thing they can’t seem to unload is the house. They’re stuck living as roommates with a hefty mortgage hanging over their heads…at least until they can bring in some extra money to pay it down. Solution: rent out a room.
Enter Kieran Frost. Suddenly, the only thing Ethan and Rhett both want more than getting away from each other is getting close to their single, young, hot roommate. Complicating things is the fact that Kieran doesn’t mind the attention from both, and he certainly doesn’t mind sharing.
Their combined chemistry ignites something else that Ethan and Rhett had thought was long dead—the mutual attraction that drew them together in the first place. Except bitter jealousy over Kieran could only push them even farther apart…
Warning: Includes multiple threesomes, angry sex, makeup sex, and a little peeking.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Distance Between Us:
I was somewhere in that hazy state between asleep and awake when something brought me back to full awareness. Blinking in the dark, I tried to locate the sound that had pulled me into consciousness.
Down the hall, the sliding glass door hissed, then clicked shut. Shuffling footsteps moved across the hardwood floor of the living room, toward the hallway. No voices, just footsteps. Uneven, almost stumbling. Bumping into furniture, struggling for balance. I wondered just how many bottles of wine Ethan had gone through. He wasn’t usually the type to get fall down drunk, particularly not while he was trying to lay the charm on someone. Or maybe it was Kieran. He wasn’t as familiar with the layout of the house, and since there was no strip of light under my door, he was probably trying to work his way through the darkness.
Fabric brushed against plaster. Again, with a little more force this time. Definitely Kieran. Between the dark and the wine, he must—
A low murmur, something I couldn’t understand, ending in enough of a lilt to indicate a question.
Then a response. The reply was deeper, quieter, so low I almost felt it rather than heard it. And it was a voice I knew all too well: The hoarse growl of a very aroused Ethan.
Fabric rustled again and they continued down the hall, past Kieran’s bedroom, toward the stairs.
You two didn’t waste any time, did you?
For the first time, I was aware of every creak of the stairs and wished we’d put down carpet. At
least then I wouldn’t hear their shoes tapping and shuffling, occasionally even squeaking, as they worked their way up to the third floor.
The house was absolutely silent except for the nearly—but not completely—inaudible sounds they made on their way into Ethan’s bedroom.
Ethan’s bedroom, which was directly over mine.
I closed my eyes and let out a frustrated breath. One of the selling points of this house was that it was in an exceptionally quiet part of Capitol Hill. Just this once, I wished we’d bought a place right beside the freeway. At least then the roar of traffic would have been enough to drown out the muffled sounds of my ex getting it on with our new roommate.
My eyes tracked across the ceiling, following the sound of their footsteps as if I could see them. Pulling off clothes, stumbling over each other’s feet, kissing like only Ethan knew how to kiss.
I shivered. It didn’t matter how or why we’d split or how we felt about each other, the fact remained that no one kissed like Ethan Mallory. Oh, Kieran, you lucky son of a bitch.
The lips were only the beginning. Right about now, Kieran was probably discovering just how many erogenous zones Ethan could find on someone’s neck, or what his perpetually stubbled jaw felt like when skin brushed skin, or what Ethan’s voice felt like when he moaned into a deep kiss. I ran my tongue stud along my teeth, remembering the way Ethan would tease it with the tip of his tongue.
Just wait until you find out what else his mouth can do, lad.
They stopped moving. I could hear nothing except for the beating of my own heart, but my mind’s eye filled in everything that was probably going on. If I knew Ethan, he was anything but silent right then, kissing his way up and down Kieran’s neck while whispering in great detail all the ways he’d make him beg for more.
And if I knew Ethan, he wasn’t exaggerating. Whatever he said he would do, he did. Promises of a rough, hard fuck, or a long, spine-melting blowjob, even a gentle, oiled massage that would no doubt lead to much more. I could almost feel Ethan’s lips and voice against my neck as he breathed all his promises.
The distant, muffled sound of a belt buckle made me shiver. Clothes hit the floor; jeans, I guessed, if I could hear it that clearly. Footsteps moved above me, then bedsprings creaked softly.
I closed my eyes again. I wanted to be angry, I wanted to be jealous, but just the thought of either of those men, naked and horny, made me want to be there. And whether I liked it or not, my body wanted to be there too.
Reaching under the covers, I closed my hand around my cock and stroked slowly, barely even breathing so as not to drown out the faint sounds from upstairs.
They were mostly silent now, save for the occasional gentle creak of the bed accommodating movement. Knowing Ethan, he probably had his hand and mouth around Kieran’s cock. He’d be stroking and sucking, his occasional enthusiastic, aroused moan sending Kieran into the stratosphere. The man gave head like he could feel everything he did on his own cock.
Biting my lip, I stroked my cock the way I remembered Ethan doing it: Slower, faster, slower, faster, pausing now and again just to keep me on the edge. I tried to imagine Kieran’s face, his eyes screwed shut and his lips parted with breathless, soundless cries, until he reached that point of no return and his eyes—those incredible, hypnotic green eyes—flew open just as he came in Ethan’s mouth.
I could barely breathe, taking uneven gasps whenever I could think to do so. Above me, more motion, more urgency and speed. Kieran was probably right there, getting close just as I was. What I wouldn’t have given to have been the one about to make him come like that.
Closing my eyes, I held my breath as the faint, distant vibration of Kieran’s voice slowly crescendoed into a moan, then a deeper sound and, just before I couldn’t hold back anymore, I realized it wasn’t Kieran’s voice at all. Ethan came with a whimper that I could barely hear, but it was enough, and in that same instant, I came too.
When I could finally draw a breath, my body relaxed and my spine sank back down to the bed. I hadn’t even realized I’d arched my back like that, but the force of my orgasm had nearly levitated my entire body. With a trembling hand, I reached for the tissues on my bedside table.
Above me, there were more sounds of movement. Then, the all-too-familiar sound of the nightstand drawer opening, then closing. I couldn’t help but shudder, imagining Kieran fucking Ethan. Not only that, but by the time Kieran was done, Ethan would probably have recovered. He may have been a few months away from forty-two, but he had the kind of stamina that rivaled men half his age.
If Kieran could keep up with him like I could, the sun would be coming up around the time they finally collapsed.
Ethan’s bedframe groaned in protest of more movement, then fell into a rhythmic creak, filling my mind with all manner of sexy, frustrating images.
If Kieran could keep up with him like I could, they were going to kill me before this night was over.
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