Page 3 of Man of Lies (Vendetta Kings #2)

Chapter Three

SILAS

When our lips met, I knew I'd been right—he needed this just as bad as I did.

His body locked up for a single heartbeat before he broke, fisting my shirt like he couldn't decide whether to pull me closer or push me away. I chose for him, wrapping an arm around his waist and hauling him straight into my arms.

That answered my first question: he was slim but tight with lean muscle. So, he didn't spend all his time in the office.

I pressed him back against his bike, sliding a hand into his hair to wreck whatever careful styling he'd done that morning. It was softer than I’d expected. The way he shuddered under my touch woke the primal monster deep inside me. My other hand settled on his hip, tugging him flush against me as I deepened the kiss.

"You don't make things easy, do you?" I murmured against his damp lips. "So damn stubborn."

"Shut up," he growled, nipping at my bottom lip and glaring when I pulled back enough to meet his gaze. Color spread down his neck, but I knew it wasn't embarrassment. His breath was coming fast. I'd barely touched him, and he was already primed to explode. I grazed my teeth over his jaw, then bit down just hard enough to win a hiss from between his teeth.

"You're trembling, gorgeous," I whispered, biting down harder this time. "Go ahead, tell me to stop. I dare you."

Before he could gather his pride enough to argue, I spun us both, putting myself between him and the bike. Leaning back against the leather seat, I locked my hands around his biceps and pulled him down to his knees. A flare of pride had him resisting, but just for a second. I didn't ease up, and the fight drained out of him as he hit the gravel.

"Good boy," I said, and I meant it, but my teasing lilt had his lips pinching tight.

"Don't push it," he warned, but his hands were already clutching my thighs.

I combed my fingers through his ruined hair, tugging just enough to tip his head back. Holding his gaze, I wordlessly unzipped my jeans. Mason's eyes flared, and his gaze dropped, watching hungrily as I pulled my hard length free of my boxers.

"This is why you keep coming back, isn't it?" I murmured, leisurely stroking myself just to watch his eyes go dark. "You kept pushing, hoping to force the issue, waiting for me to take the choice from you.Tell me I'm wrong."

He didn't. He couldn't. The flush creeping up his throat was answer enough.

I hooked a finger under his chin, forcing his gaze back to mine. "Say it."

His lips parted, but no sound came out. His throat worked, then finally, "Yes," he bit out, raw-voiced and furious. "Goddammit, yes."

A low growl rumbled in my throat as I applied gentle pressure under his chin, coaxing his lips apart. "Open up," I rasped, dragging the swollen head of my cock along his bottom lip.

Mason's breath hitched. His lashes feathered against flushed cheeks, eyes slipping shut as he surrendered to the inevitable. Then he did as he was told. His lips parted, his pink tongue flicking out to wet them, and a warm rush of breath fanned over me.

"That's it," I groaned, pushing into his mouth as he moaned around me, the vibration shooting through my spine like lightning. I gripped the back of his head, angling him just right, and started sliding in and out of that perfect mouth. His fingers curled into the leather seat, nails biting the seam as he let me take what I wanted. His tongue flicked along my length, teasing the sensitive cleft, each slow drag setting off a burn in my blood.

This was a mistake, and we both knew it. The kind of crazy that got people hurt. But knowing better didn't mean a damn thing when he was right there, on his knees in the dirt, nostrils flared because his mouth was too full of cock to breathe. The sight hit me like a drug; a fantasy I hadn't even known I had until now. Until him.

God, he was hot. Worth every bit of trouble he was about to bring me.

"Look at me," I commanded sharply.

His eyes snapped open, glassy with lust even in the dark. I fisted a hand in his hair, guiding him deeper until I hit the back of his throat. He gagged but didn't pull away, determined to take whatever I gave him.

"That's it," I murmured, giving him the approval he craved. "Take it all."

The slick, obscene sounds spilling from his mouth set a pulse of heavy need throbbing in my balls.I reached down, fingers tracing the stretch of his lips around my cock, skimming over the bulge pressing against the soft curve of his cheek. He tried to moan, but the sound was muffled, nothing but a desperate vibration against my skin. Sweat slicked his temples, his breath steaming from his nostrils in short, ragged bursts. Bathed in moonlight, flushed and wrecked, he was so goddamn beautiful I nearly came on the spot.

"You want this," I hissed, bucking my hips. "You've been gagging for it for months. Ever since we met."

Mason's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed convulsively, pulling off my cock long enough to gasp, "Yes," and then plunging back down on it.

I cradled his head in both hands, guiding his movements until he was working me faster, his pace turning desperate. Precum smeared his lips and chin, shining in the moonlight as he moaned around my length. His cheeks hollowed, dripping saliva down my shaft, lost in the sheer pleasure of surrendering—for once. If he'd ever done this before, it hadn't been recently. I'd put money on that. He was wound so tight that I could probably get him off with only words.

"You're gonna make me come," I warned, throwing back my head and fighting to hold out just a little longer.

I didn't want this to end too soon. Once it was over, the post-nut clarity would be a killer for both of us.

But I couldn't last forever.

"Fuck," I groaned, tipping my head back and staring up at the stars spinning overhead. I let go, spilling into Mason's soft, waiting mouth. When I looked down, he was still there, eyes wet, throat working, taking it all. He didn't pull away until I was wrung dry.

I slumped against the bike, panting, and finally managed to loosen my grip on his hair, giving him room to breathe.

Still, I couldn't take my eyes off him, kneeling in the dirt like some kind of fallen angel, chest heaving, sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat. He licked his swollen lips, and my spent cock gave a lazy twitch at the sight of my release glistening on his tongue. His face was blank, shuttered tight, but his body told the truth. He was as hard as an iron bar, straining against the zipper of his fancy slacks, so thick that the fabric looked ready to bust.

I wanted to see him. Wanted my hands all over that pale, untouched skin. But forcing him to give in against his better judgment was even better. He needed it. And I loved giving him what he needed.

"Unzip," I ordered in a voice that had gone guttural.

He moved to obey, but he froze just as his fingers grazed the button at his waistband. His hand dropped, bracing against the ground instead. His head bowed low, hiding his expression, but I didn't miss how his fingers spasmed around a fistful of gravel.

Silence consumed us. Even the cicadas sounded distant. It hit me then that he'd barely said five words since we parked. The most important one had been 'yes'—I'd made damn sure of that—but suddenly, I had the sinking feeling I'd missed something crucial.

And that wasn't like me.

"Angel," I said softly. I reached for his hair, but my hand froze midway. This wasn't something a touch could fix. Not with a man like him. "Hey. Look at me."

He didn't. Guess he was done taking orders. Instead, he deliberately swiped his thumb over the corner of his mouth and stood. He brushed the dirt from his palms and shoved them deep into his pockets, like that would hide the shaking. When his eyes finally met mine, they were ice cold.

"I have work in the morning," he said in a voice so hollow I barely recognized it. "I need to go."

"Whoa," I protested, buttoning my jeans and catching him by the bicep when he tried to circle around me. "Hold it, slick. You don't have to?—"

"I said I need to go," he cut me off, slipping free like vapor and swinging a leg over the bike. His back was to me as he grabbed his helmet and jammed it over his head, movements mechanical but not angry. It would've been better if he were angry. Anger was something I understood, something I could diffuse. Not this.

His hands had steadied by the time he adjusted the chin strap. He only looked at me once his face was safely hidden behind the reflective visor.

"Don't worry," he said, voice low and muffled. "I'll drive safe."

He didn't wait for a response. The engine roared to life, shattering the stillness and drowning out whatever I might've said. He twisted the throttle and pulled out so cautiously that I knew it was a show for my benefit. So I wouldn't follow. Then, just as the red glow of his tail light began to fade, the Ducati shrieked. He gunned it, vanishing into the night.

I sighed and dropped onto a half-rotted log by the roadside. I sat there long after the sound of his bike faded, staring at the empty stretch of highway, trying to figure out where the hell I'd gone wrong.

I'd thought—I'd been sure—this was what he wanted when he started sniffing around my bar. An outlet. A way to let go. But the look on his face told me I'd misjudged him.

"Shit." I dug a cigarette from my pocket and lit up. I hated the taste, but the habit was reflex at this point. The nicotine steadied my hands.

For the first time in years, I had no idea what my next move was.