Page 41

Mirage

Dinner was five-star restaurant quality.

Mirage was so turned on he’d had to escape to the bathroom after Grace stood and began to clear the dishes.

The domestic shit had Mirage’s mind twisted.

Grace was a puzzle he couldn’t solve, no matter how many pieces he put together.

Mirage washed his hands, splashed water on his heated face, and then gargled some mouthwash to rid the taste of garlic and shrimp lingering on his tongue.

Nerves swam like minnows in the pit of his stomach, aggressive and erratic, but it didn’t overshadow the intense throbbing in his groin.

Mirage had fought his urges and needs for so damn long, and every day that he painfully craved his partner, he wished he’d never altered his serums.

Mirage was aroused to the point that he wanted to go out there, throw Grace on the couch, and rub against him until he was sated and no longer aching.

When he left the bathroom, everything was returned to its place in the kitchen, and the island was spotless, with a bowl of fruit sitting in the center.

The rest of the apartment was dark except for a low-watt bulb over the stove and the golden lights encased in the wet bar in the living room.

That was where he found Grace. At the window, his shadowy gaze scanned the cityscape. He had a snifter of brandy in his left hand and his right propped against the glass.

Mirage approached him, his heart pounding but his gait easy and smooth. An invisible thread pulled him closer until he was where he belonged.

Covered by Grace’s sweet-scented darkness, Mirage pressed his chest against Grace’s back.

Their unique connection was dramatic but always comfortable.

He cleared his throat. “Dinner was amazing. Thank you.”

“Mm,” Grace answered, taking another sip of his drink.

Mirage pressed closer, wanting Grace to feel the deep pulsing in his heart and the emotions pouring from it.

Feelings he’d never lost because he hadn’t been willing to allow them to be stolen.

He only wished he could’ve altered Grace’s serums as well. But he’d taken a big enough risk with diluting his own.

Mirage eased one arm under Grace’s and wrapped it around his waist.

His sudden breath wasn’t audible, but Mirage felt it.

“We shouldn’t be… Fuck , what are we doing?”

Mirage glided his other hand up the center of Grace’s back until he was at the base of his neck.

He pressed the tips of his fingers against the Jianjing muscles to release the tension that’d been lingering there for days.

Grace’s growl melted into a sexy groan as Mirage dug deeper.

Grace bowed his head with a soft sigh.

Mirage caressed Grace’s spine and asked, “How do you win every battle you fight but can’t win the war within yourself?”

“I don’t know, Mirage.”

“I think you do. Turn around and face me.”

When Grace hesitated, Mirage held the back of Grace’s neck and turned him.

“Look at me and tell me what you see.”

Grace was a man of no words. But every now and then, Mirage needed him to speak.

Grace stared at his face, his forehead, his eyes, his lips.

It made Mirage’s blood flow south.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

“I see you , Mirage.”

Grace gazed down on him through soulful, vulnerable eyes, exposing himself with silent expressions Mirage read like his favorite mystery book.

You have all the answers you need, love.