Page 62 of King of Pain

The sound of my name on his full, sinful lips leaves me stunned. Then, in an explosion of tensed muscle, Chance arches slightly off the bed and comes with a throated moan that sounds a lot like my name. The first shot hits his chest, then his abs, and finally pools near his belly button.

I’m paralyzed. I don’t know if I’m more shocked by the raw intensity of what I just witnessed or the fact that my sweatpants are now soaked. I just came. Completely untouched.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and I look up and see Chance’s face. His eyes are open, crystal blue piercing through the darkness, and I swear they are locked directly onto mine. His lips part slightly as if to say something, but he doesn’t. The moment is suspended in a tense, unspoken exchange.

I can’t tell if seconds or minutes pass before I finally force myself to look away, my face burning. My heart pounds so hard it echoes in my ears. Reacting on pure instinct, I whirl around, pressing my back to the wall, and hold my breath. Minutes pass, though it feels like hours, before I force myself to move, darting toward the bathroom and gently closing the door behind me.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Leaning against the sink, I splash cold water on my face, trying to calm the storm raging inside me.A little frantically, I turn the water to warm, grab a washcloth, and clean my dick as best I can.

What the hell just happened?

I don’t know if he saw me, if he knew, or if it was all in my head. All I know is that I can’t go back to the couch yet. Not until I’ve convinced myself to stop thinking about the way he looked in that bed.

Then there’s the matter of my name falling from his mouth. I’m not sure what’s more unnerving—whether he said it becausehe knew I was watching, or if I was just the focus of his private fantasy.

I groan myself awake, the events of last night rushing back in vivid detail. My pulse starts to race with a mix of embarrassment and something I don’t really want to admit flooding my chest. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why did I just stand there watching him like that? I couldn’t look away, though. The way his body arched and flexed in a muscular display of masculinity as he shot ropes of cum everywhere… I can’t even think about it without my cheeks flaming.

Fuck, he was a sight.

I shake off the memory, trying to focus on the present. The apartment is quiet except for Little G snoozing in his bed, which is now near the couch, one ear twitching in response to my movements. I could go to the team training facilities for a workout and avoid facing Chance this morning. But that’s ridiculous. He probably has no idea I was even there. Right?

I scrub my hands over my face and take a deep breath. Time to get up and face whatever this day has in store.

After taking Little G out for his morning business, I step into the kitchen and pull the coffee grounds out of the freezer—stored just the way grandma always insisted—fill the maker with filtered water, and assault the brew button with unnecessary force, as if that’ll somehow get caffeine into my system any faster.

While I’m waiting for the coffee to brew, I check my phone and shake my head at the first notification on my screen.

Mom:Anthony, I wish you would answer my calls and texts. What are you doing for Thanksgiving? Will we hear from you?

Nope.I think, as I toss my phone on the counter.

As the last drops of coffee hit the pot, I hear Chance’s bedroom door open, perfectly timed, like he somehow knew. I’m already breaking a sweat at the thought of facing him, dreading the possibility of having to explain my creepy peepshow attendance last night.

He saunters in, shirtless as usual, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. His golden skin seems to glow in the soft morning light, and his hair is frustratingly sexy with that just fucked— Nope. Not going there. Not thinking about that.

Chance pours himself a cup of coffee, humming softly to himself. Mug in hand, he looks up and flashes me one of his disarming grins.

“Morning, Beautiful,” he says, his voice warm and easy.

Relief floods through me. He’s acting completely normal. He doesn’t know. Thank God.

“Morning,” I mumble, trying not to meet his eyes for too long as I move toward the coffee pot.

“Sleep okay?” he asks, leaning casually against the counter. His tone is light, almost teasing.

“Uh, yeah,” I say, pouring myself a cup and taking a long sip to buy myself time. “The couch is, uh, still comfortable.”

“That’s good,” he says with a wink. “I see Little G stayed with you all night again. Traitor,” he scoffs, glancing at the sleeping dog with mock disapproval.

“Yep, he stayed put.”

We fall into a comfortable moment, each sipping our coffee in silence before Chance breaks it.

“So, Friendsgiving,” he says, setting his mug down. “What can I do to help? Tell me I’m not just the pretty face invited for wit and aesthetic.”

I snicker, the tension in my body easing a little. “You can pick up the hard alcohol. I also put in an order with the vendor from V&V for some wine, and they’re dropping it off at the shop. Frank and Kathy said we could borrow the event tables and chairs they use for V&V, along with some tablecloths.”