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CHAPTER TWENTY

Gray

“Goddamn it!” I threw down the package I’d just opened in disgust.

“What now?” Bailey asked, voice weary. He’d been tagged in as my assistant when it became clear I couldn’t get all this shit done before the bikers would need to roll out for Sturgis in two days.

“I was waiting for these pistons, and they’re the wrong fucking size.”

Bailey joined me at the table. “For the Indian?”

I rubbed at my eyes. “Yeah. We need oversized to get a good seal on the cylinder. Fuck, this stupid bike is gonna be the death of me.” I checked the clock. “And it’s after five, so I can do fuck all about it. I should have checked earlier.”

“You need to take a break anyway, man. Maybe it’s a good thing.”

I glared. “A good thing would be getting a start on this tonight. Now, we’re going to be down to the fucking wire.”

“I know, but you’re running on fumes, man.”

“We need this to work. We need this business, Bailey. I can’t afford to screw it up for everyone. I can’t let everyone down again!”

Bailey’s eyes widened as I word vomited my anxiety all over him. “You’re not letting anyone down, Gray. You’ve been killing yourself to get this done. We’re just worried about you.”

“It’s a few shitty days. Then it’s done, and we have a reputation for doing quality work.”

“Is it going to be quality if you’re half-dead while doing it?” he challenged.

I drew a breath to argue, but suddenly, I was all out of words. I slumped down onto the nearest toolbox and dropped my head in my hands. I was so fucking tired. Bailey wasn’t wrong there. Finishing the cylinder job was going to require meticulous focus. Maybe it was a good thing I couldn’t do it tonight. But I really couldn’t afford to wait days for parts. I was going to have to reorder it and pay an overnight shipping fee.

“Am I interrupting?”

My head snapped up. Emory stood just inside the open garage doors, a bag dangling from his fingers with the Silver Spoon logo on the side.

“Why the hell were you at the Silver Spoon?” I blurted, jealousy flaring. “Isn’t that the romantic hotspot for rich brats in Riverton?”

“Um, it’s takeout.” He ducked his head. “I got it for us…to eat. Here?”

Shit. Of course it was. What did I think, that he’d walk in carrying leftovers from a hot date with someone else? Even if Emory got tired of waiting around on me, he’d never be so insensitive.

“Oh. I should have realized…”

He raised his free hand, chewing on a fingernail. “But if you’re too busy for dinner?—”

“He’s not,” Bailey said firmly. “I’m going to head over to the house.” He shot me a look. “Relax. It’ll do you good.”

When he left, an awkward silence descended.

“Little brothers, huh?” I joked. “Thinks he’s in charge of me.”

“You look tired,” Emory said quietly, extending the bag to me. “I can just leave this and go.”

I caught hold of his wrist instead of taking the bag from him. “No, stay. Eat dinner with me. This was really nice of you.”

His lips quirked. “Even if I’m a rich brat?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that how it sounded.” I took the bag from him. “Come on. We can eat in Holden’s office. Just don’t tell him we were in there, or he might have a coronary.”

“If he doesn’t want us there?—”

“Nah, it’s fine.” I opened the door and set the food in the center of the desk. “We eat lunch here pretty regularly.”

Emory unpacked two boxes that contained full entrees. “I got chicken marsala or steak frites in a garlic butter. I like both, so you can choose.”

“Well, if you’re going to let me choose…” I snagged the carton with the steak, sliced into thin medallions, mouth already watering. On the side was fresh roasted summer squash, along with buttery mashed potatoes sprinkled with chives.

Emory handed me a set of silverware. It was real, not plastic.

“I brought my own, just in case. Eating steak with a plastic fork doesn’t always work out.”

“Thanks,” I murmured. “You thought of everything.”

“Well, not everything.” He scooted a chair closer to the desk and sat down. “I didn’t really consider what you might think of me bringing you dinner from the Silver Spoon.” He blushed a little. “It doesn’t mean I think this is a date or anything. I just thought you’d like something that wasn’t fast food.”

I snorted. “Is that what you think my little comment was about?”

I took the chair beside him, so close our knees brushed. I could have taken Holden’s chair, but I didn’t want a metal desk between us.

“Wasn’t it?”

“No, golden boy.” I cupped his jaw, brushing my thumb over his lower lip. “I was afraid you were tired of waiting around on me this week. Thought maybe you really had a hot date over there.”

He rolled his eyes. Actually freaking rolled his eyes at me.

“Do you really think I’m that needy?” He sounded offended. “Or unreasonable? I know you have a big job, and it’s important to keeping this place in the black. Maybe I shouldn’t have barged in tonight, but I just wanted to surprise you. I know how hard you’ve been working, and I just?—”

I pressed my mouth against his, silencing his tirade—justified as it was. Emory was stiff and unyielding for a moment, and I wondered if I’d really fucked up. Then his lips parted, a sigh gusting over my lips, and he leaned into the kiss.

I kissed him long and sensuously, tasting his tongue, basking in the small whimper of pleasure that escaped his throat and the way his fingers drove into my hair, holding tight.

I was tempted to skip dinner and dine on Emory’s flesh instead, but he’d been thoughtful enough to bring me a meal. I didn’t want to dismiss it.

We broke the kiss, our mingling breaths hot and humid between us.

“I’m so sorry,” Emory said, raising a hand to cover his mouth. “I shouldn’t have gone off like that.”

“No, Em. You’re right. It was stupid of me. I’m not thinking straight. I just… I’ve been working too much, and my brain is fried. That’s my only excuse.”

He looked dubious. “Did you really think I’d go on a date with someone else?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about expectations, have we? This is casual.”

“Yeah, I guess not.” He looked suddenly stricken. “Have you been sleeping with other people?”

“No! God no. When would I have the time?” I chuckled.

He didn’t look reassured.

“No, golden boy. I really don’t want anyone else right now.” My eyes locked on his. “I haven’t gotten my fill of you.”

He exhaled, relaxing a fraction. “Same.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Would you like us to be exclusive while we do this? No other partners?”

I asked like it was for him, but the truth was, my flare of jealousy tonight had told me I fucking hated the idea of Emory with someone else. Maybe this was just a sexual journey for him, but I wanted to be his only tour guide.

“Yeah,” Emory said hesitantly. “Is that…asking too much? I know this isn’t supposed to be serious.”

“The whole point of this is that you get what you need. Ask for anything you want. It’ll never be too much.”

“What about what you need, though?”

I let my gaze travel over him. “I’m getting exactly what I want out of this. Don’t you worry about that.”

His breath caught. “Yeah? I know I’m new to this. I want it to be good for you too.”

“Oh, it’s very good. Good enough that if we don’t change the subject, all this beautiful food will go to waste.”

He smiled tentatively, and goddamn, he was a beautiful man. Such a strong jawline but full, lush lips. His eyes were a blue that I used to think was cool and aloof, but like pools of water, they actually contained depths I hadn’t understood before now.

My heart gave a startled kick at the turn of my thoughts.

“Let’s eat,” I said gruffly.

Emory nodded and turned to his dish, cutting a piece of chicken drenched in marsala sauce. I wouldn’t have been sad to eat that either, but I popped a bite of steak into my mouth. Damn, that was so fucking good.

Emory flicked sidelong glances my way, laughing a little as I moaned over my food like a goddamned porn star.

“No wonder the rich brats eat there,” I said.

“Still calling me a brat after I fed you steak?” he teased. “I guess I’ll just have to try harder to earn your regard.”

Before I could respond, he slid to his knees. I watched, words caught in my throat, as he pushed his chair out of the way and settled between my legs.

“How about now?” he asked, looking up at me through his eyelashes. “Am I still a brat?”

I held my thumb and finger a millimeter apart. “Just a little bit.”

He leaned forward, laying his head on my thigh. My cock stiffened in my pants as his face got closer.

“How about now?” he asked.

“A little less.”

He pressed his face directly into my crotch, mouthing over the bulge in my jeans. I groaned. “Fucking hell, Em.”

He looked up at me, eyes playful. “How about now?”

“You’re about to become more of a brat unless you get my dick down your throat right the fuck now.”

He laughed, delighted, and popped open my jeans. I helped him wrestle my clothes out of the way, tugging my cock loose and brushing the tip over those lips I’d just admired.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I managed.

He looked surprised. “Want me to stop?”

“No.” I bucked my hips forward, pushing into his wet mouth with a deep groan. “Your mouth is too hot to resist, golden boy.”

He made a muffled sound, then pulled back. “See? Not a brat anymore.”

“Suck it, baby, or you’ll get a spanking.”

He chuckled. “Tempting me to be bad, huh?”

Before I could come up with another threat, he plunged down on my cock, taking it deeper than I expected. I gasped, pleasure flooding me. “Damn, you’re a quick study.”

He hummed happily as he worked his tongue up the underside of my shaft, teasing and sucking at the same time. His eyes closed as he concentrated, long lashes fanning across his cheeks.

For a second, I couldn’t make sense of the picture before me.

Emory Gold—the fucking golden boy I’d thought hot but unattainable so many years ago—was on his knees, blowing my mind with how much he seemed to love sucking my dick.

Then Emory dipped his tongue into the slit of my cockhead, and my eyes rolled back. Sensation swept me away.

“Gonna come,” I rasped.

Instead of pulling away, Emory took me deeper, and I shot down his throat.

He sputtered and choked a little, obviously not used to swallowing. When he came up for air, though, he was smiling, lips wet and swollen.

I bent down and kissed him hard. “That was so fucking good, golden boy.”

He beamed. “So I’m not a brat anymore, huh?”

“You never were, sweetheart. You’re the least bratty person I know.”

I kissed him again, sweeping my tongue in to taste the cum on his tongue.

“My turn.” I unsnapped his jeans and shoved my hand in, grasping the hot, velvety length of him. He gasped against my mouth as I stroked him.

There was too much friction. I pulled my hand out and held it up. “Lick it.”

Emory tentatively licked my palm.

“More, Em. Get me wet so I can make you come.”

He groaned, licking me more enthusiastically until my hand was coated in saliva. When I reached for him this time, he shoved his jeans and underwear down, baring his cock and giving me more space.

I yanked him into another fiery kiss, fucking my tongue into his mouth while I fisted his cock. I could have dropped to my knees and blown him, but I needed these kisses like I needed air. Needed to feel each little whimper and groan of pleasure vibrating against my lips.

I jerked him hard and fast, without much finesse, but it didn’t matter. Emory fell apart in my arms in a matter of seconds. He arched into me, cock pumping cum over my knuckles.

When he slumped back in his chair, I raised my hand and—holding his gaze—licked my fingers clean.

He gaped. “That’s not… You don’t actually like that, do you?”

I chuckled at his shock. My golden boy was so damn sheltered. “It’s more of a turn-on than a tasty treat. How did you feel watching me doing it?”

He shuddered. “Like I wanted to come all over again.”

“There you go,” I said with a saucy grin. “Now you know why I do it.”

He leaned in and kissed me, his tongue tentatively sweeping out to taste his cum in my mouth. He hummed thoughtfully. “Sexy but nasty. I get it.”

I laughed as I tucked myself into my jeans, then stood to grab a couple of sodas from the minifridge. I tossed him one. “Palate cleanser.”

“Thanks.” He cracked the tab and took a long drink. I did the same. Sucking cock was thirsty business, even when you didn’t mind the lingering taste of cum.

He’d cleaned up with a few napkins while I fetched the soda, and we were both respectable again when the sound of Holden’s voice called out from the garage.

“Gray? You in here?”

I hopped up and emerged from the office, hoping he wouldn’t want to go in. It reeked of sex, and Holden would hit the fucking ceiling. “Hey, man. Emory brought me dinner. We were just using your desk as a table.”

His forehead creased, but when Emory emerged with the Silver Spoon bag—repacked with our trash—he merely nodded. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Wanted to make sure Gray wasn’t working himself into a coma.”

“Bailey set him straight already,” Emory said.

“Did he?” Holden looked surprised. “I guess the kid is growing up.”

I raised my eyebrow. “You mean, he’s getting bossier. Like you.”

Holden cracked a grin. “I’m proud of him.”

“Sure, until he starts telling you what to do.”

Holden snorted. “I’d like to see him try.” He started to turn away, then paused. “Don’t have sex in my office.”

“Who, us?” I said.

Emory’s blue eyes looked big and innocent as he said, “We would never!”

Holden glanced between us, looking skeptical, then nodded. “All right. Have a good night.”

When he walked out, I turned a look on Emory. “Had no idea you could lie so well, golden boy. Do I need to watch out for you?”

“Me? You lied first! I would have confessed everything, but I didn’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Uh-huh.” I took the bag from him, setting it on top of our cluttered worktable, and pressed him against the wall to nuzzle at his throat. “I think you’re a really good actor.”

“Me? No.”

I pressed tiny kisses up and down the creamy column of his throat. He shivered and craned his neck to the side, silently begging for more, even though we’d just had sex.

“I’ve never been a good boy,” Emory murmured. “Nobody knows the real me. That’s all.”

There was an odd vulnerability to the statement. Enough that I raised my eyes to meet his.

“I want to know that guy,” I said. “The real Emory Gold. Will you let me?”

He hesitated a beat. “You already know me better than almost anyone else. So, yeah, Gray. I want you to know me too.”

I kissed him again. “Good. Can I see you again this weekend?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I should be done with this god-awful job, and if I’m not, I’ll need you to console me.”

He stroked my thick scruff verging on beard. “You’ll be done, and I’ll congratulate you instead.”

I hoped he was right. My brothers were counting on me. I didn’t want to ever disappoint them again.