10. Ford

CHAPTER 10

FORD

The Black Door had always been my favorite place. It had a good atmosphere, strong drinks, and generally great company. Even if my friends found little toys to entertain themselves with and wandered off, I'd always been content to admire the sights…and more often than not, the sounds. I also couldn't think of a single night I'd left the club without a companion, and I wasn't sure how I was going to get out now without arousing suspicion.

"Are you ill?" Brooks asked, collapsing into a chair beside me.

We'd been out for a couple of hours already. After drinks and some mindless chatter, Kale had taken Christian off somewhere, Alex had disappeared to sulk, and Brooks had found a brawny-looking little thing who wanted a spanking. My dear friend had been more than willing to oblige, but now found himself unentertained and plenty sober.

"Do I look ill?" I asked, raising a brow at him from behind the brim of my whiskey.

"You look alone," he said .

"I look like the whole pretense of this little outing was a waste of time," I countered, rolling my head from side to side to crack my neck. "Kale is too far up his little prince's asshole to notice, though."

"Don't act like you'd be any different if you met someone new."

I thought about Boston and checked my watch. It was almost eight, which meant I had another half hour to endure their escapades before I could try to make an escape.

"Just like Beamer did with that West Coast husband of his?" I asked. "I suppose it could be worse. Kale could have absconded to a Mediterranean island to rule alongside Christian."

"Christian is too far back in the line of succession to ever take the throne," Brooks said.

"You've done research?"

"I told him," Kale said, coming to sit on the small loveseat opposite the matching chairs Brooks and I occupied.

"Where's your boyfriend?" I asked.

"Taking a piss." Kale gestured toward the bathroom. "Which he is allowed to do without my attention."

"Sounds like you're missing out on a real opportunity," Brooks teased.

"I see his cock plenty," Kale said. "I don't need to hold it for him while he takes a leak."

"Wouldn't it be the other way around anyway?" I tilted my head to the side, nose scrunched in thought.

"Cock holding is entirely unnecessary," Kale grumbled, "much like this entire conversation."

"Don't blame us. We were left to our own devices," Brooks said .

"I was just commenting that you're the one who invited us out, but you haven't even been bothered to spend any time with us," I said, finishing off the amber liquor in my glass.

"You've always been fine on your own."

"That's not the point."

"What is the point?" he snapped.

"You're acting like Beamer, and we all remember how butt hurt you were over his behavior with Dalton Fox," I said.

"I didn't relocate."

"You didn't have to."

At that moment, Christian sauntered over to us, sliding down onto the couch and tucking himself against Kale's side. His eyes were barely more than hooded slits, his cheeks flushed and his lips swollen.

"You sure he was taking a piss?" I asked.

"I know what he was doing," Kale said, brushing Christian's hair back and kissing his forehead. "The question remains, though, what are you doing?"

"I just asked if he was ill," Brooks offered, entirely unhelpfully.

I'd not only had enough of the conversation, but also enough of the company. I would rather sit home alone and twiddle my erection while I waited for Boston to show up than endure another minute of this drivel.

"I am feeling a bit feverish." I set my drink down on the table between my chair and Brooks' and stood. My fingers were steady when I buttoned up my suit coat and smoothed my hand down my stomach. "I think I'll call it a night."

"Don't say I don't spend time with you," Kale said, almost teasing but not quite committed to the bit.

"We can get lunch next week. "

I said goodbye to them both and made my way back to the street. It was getting too cold to walk, so I flagged down a cab and counted buildings as we headed uptown to my house. I got home at ten to eight, not surprised in the slightest to find Boston bundled up on my porch, a scarf wrapped around the bottom of his face and steam covering the lower half of his glasses with every breath. I tipped the cabbie and practically ran through the gate and up the steps to the door. Boston's hands were shoved into his pockets and the visible apples of his cheeks were pink from the cold. I fought every instinct in my body to yank the scarf down to expose his mouth so I could kiss him senseless on the spot. My hand was halfway raised when a shiver wracked through his entire body, making me aware of just how cold the evening air really was.

"How long were you waiting?" I asked instead, unlocking the door and giving him a shove inside.

"Not terribly long," he said.

"You should have texted me."

"Would you have gotten here any faster if I had?" Boston unwound the scarf from around his face, revealing flushed cheeks and a perfectly kissable mouth.

"I would have told you where the spare key was," I said, finishing the job of unraveling the scarf from around his neck. I hung it on the coat rack by my door, then carefully divested him of his coat and added it to the same hook. He was still dressed for work, with brown oxfords, navy slacks, and a white button-up rolled up to his elbows.

I shrugged out of my pea coat and hung it up, then stripped myself of my suit coat, which I dropped on the small cushioned chair beside my shoe rack.

"Did you want a drink?" I asked, rubbing my hands together to get them warm—and to keep them from touching him too soon.

"I want to kiss naked." Boston shoved a folded up piece of paper at me. "I'm all clear, by the way."

It suddenly felt like the Sahara Desert had relocated to my throat. It was dry and vast and impossible to swallow when I opened up the paper and read through Boston's thorough STI panel. I refolded it and handed it back to him without a word. Not because I didn't have anything to say, but because it was impossible for me to speak.

I'd spent the whole week thinking what Boston and I had already done together was the point of no return, but somehow with him here in my home again, it felt forgivable…unavoidable. This next step, though? Getting him naked and onto my bed where I had free range to touch the parts of him that up to this point I'd only imagined? It was far more damning than anything before it had been.

"And I want more of the rest of it," he said, clearing his throat and turning his attention toward my stairs.

"What's the rest of it?"

"The parts where you tell me what to do," he whispered.

I closed my eyes, angling my head toward the ceiling and biting my lips together to act as one more failsafe designed to stop me from saying something I had no right to even think about, let alone give voice to.

"Please don't change your mind," he said softly, reaching out and tracing the tips of his fingers over the top of my hand. "I still want this."

"I know you do."

"Do you?" he asked.

"Very much, sweetheart. "

How was Boston Sheffield so perfect for me? So willing and ready for everything? I'd been with eager men before, but it had always felt scripted, contrived. Like they were playing a part that they imagined I expected of them. There was none of that with Boston. He was honest and sincere, and he was just…horny. And curious, which was quickly proving to be a dangerous combination for me.

"Please."

"Right," I agreed, opening my eyes and letting myself look at him.

It was a mistake.

The fog had evaporated off his glasses, revealing dilated eyes that were dark with a want so tangible if I stared at him too long, I could imagine it wrapping around me and strangling us both. But he touched me again, a soft dance of his fingertips across my knuckles, up my hand, to the top of my wrist, and I was gone.

"Let's get you upstairs then," I said, words rough and unrecognizable to my own ears.

I turned my hand, threading our fingers together and leading him toward the stairs and up to my room. He held on to me tightly, all nervous energy and arousal…another risky pair. Not just for his feelings, but also the two of us. I did my best to ignore it, pulling him behind me into my room.

"I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this," he said, breath hot against the back of my neck.

He was so close.

I tried to see my room from his eyes, wondering how the wide plank wood floors and the four poster bed against the exposed brick wall would read to someone who didn't know me well. My bedroom was sparse, but comfortable, with expensive white bedding on the king size mattress, and a matching bedroom set. I found my space entirely ordinary and predictable.

"Did you think I slept in a sex dungeon?" I asked, pulling him ahead of me and deeper into the room.

"I did imagine there to be more leather."

I chuckled, plucking open the buttons on my shirt until it was halfway undone. Boston had his back to me, still surveying the room, from the plants on my dresser to the art on my walls, and the cat bed beside the door to the en suite. Milo, of course, was nowhere to be found.

"Sorry to disappoint," I murmured.

Boston spun, startled like he'd almost forgotten I was there. His stare quickly traveled from my face to the exposed V of my chest.

He shook his head, letting out a nervous breath. "I'm not disappointed."

I scratched my collarbone, and Boston's eyes followed the path of my fingers. The man was primed and ready, a live wire about to explode. I wasn't too terribly far behind him, the anticipation of the week proving to be more of a drug than I'd expected. I should have had him take his own clothes off, but I didn't seem to be able to make good decisions when it involved him, so I beckoned him closer. With far less space between us, I had to bite the inside of my cheek to slow myself down, to remind myself that Boston was practically a virgin and sex was definitely not on the table for us tonight.

"Can I undress you?" I asked, gently pressing my finger against the top button of his white dress shirt.

"You don't have to ask."

"I'll always ask," I promised him, popping open the first button.

He sucked in a quiet breath, and I worked my way down until I reached his waistband. I went for him with both hands then, giving the tails of his shirt a tug until they came free of his pants. We worked together to get the rolled cuffs back down his forearms, and then his undershirt, and then I reached for his belt. I couldn't look at him long, because Boston was unequivocally gorgeous, with a farmer's body that he'd never quite outgrown. He was muscular and broad, far stronger than his brother—I knew that from sight alone.

"Pants next?" I asked.

"That's part of undressing," he murmured.

"You're so brave," I said, giving his belt a tug until the tine popped loose from the leather hole, then I pulled the belt off of him entirely. Dropping it on the floor with his shirt, I undid his fly and let his pants fall to his ankles.

"Not brave," he said, mouth flitting into half of a smile. "Just ready."

I'd have to be brave enough for the both of us then, because this was the most terrifying thing I'd ever done.

"You do the rest of it, Boston," I said, gesturing to his feet, "and then you can do me next."