Page 63 of Total Creative Control

He smiled and ate his own sandwich.

Once they’d demolished their sandwiches, the sausage rolls, the crisps, and most of the chocolate, Aaron got up and put the kettle on. “Oh, and guess, what?” he said brightly. “I foundthesetoo.” He held up his prize: a handful of tired-looking hot chocolate sachets, the crappy ones you make up with boiling water. Aaron thought they tasted horrible, all thin and gritty, but they were the only hot drinks Lewis ever helped himself to in the office kitchen.

The smile that broke over Lewis’s face then was…hell, itwindedAaron. It was part pure happiness and part relief. Aaron felt his own smile falter, and he swallowed hard against a sudden lump in his throat. Quickly, he turned away, busying himself with pouring the sachet contents into mugs.

“Thanks, Aaron,” Lewis said behind him. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet while they ate, but he was sounding more himself now. “You’re a fucking magician.”

Aaron smiled at that but didn’t turn around.

Once he’d made their drinks, trying his best to squish out the lumps and adding an extra sugar into Lewis’s, he returned to the bed and handed Lewis his mug.

They sipped their hot chocolate in silence. Night had fallen and Aaron watched their reflections in the dark glass of the window, both sitting sideways on the edge of the bed, like bookends facing each other. It wasn’t comfortable; there was too much tension in the room for comfort. But it wasn’t awkward either. It was just...quiet.

Unsure what to do next, whether to broach what had happened at dinner or steer clear, Aaron was relieved when Lewis spoke first. “Did you…?” He cleared his throat, set his empty mug on the floor. “Did you hear what he said?”

“Charlie? Yeah.”

“All that stuff about making Faolán an orphan. Using my—my mum’s…” Lewis shook his head. “He called it my fuckingbackstory. Like it wasn't even real.”

“He’s an idiot.” That didn’t come close. “A narcissistic fucking arsehole.”

Lewis gave a big sigh and closed his eyes. Brow furrowing slightly, he canted his head to one side and began rubbing at his sore spot again.

Aaron’s eyes fixed on his hand, watching the way he kneaded the point where neck and shoulder met. He remembered what it had felt like during the workshop when he’d set his own hand there. How Lewis had subtly relaxed, his tension uncoiling beneath Aaron’s touch. How Aaron had felt that same sensation of relief as his own tension, held tightly in his chest, had eased.

He tried to think of something to say that would help Lewis now. But he couldn’t think of a single thing. All he could think to offer was what he’d offered before: his touch.

Well, it had seemed to help then, and it would be churlish—cowardly—to withhold the one thing he could offer Lewis now.

At least, that was what he told himself.

Carefully, warily, he slipped off the bed and padded to Lewis’s side. “Here,” he said, coming to stand slightly behind him, “let me...”

Chapter Sixteen

Aaron

Aaron reached out, brushing his fingers over the curve of Lewis’s neck and shoulder.

Lewis’s hand stilled, and his eyes sprang open as he glanced up in surprise. Their eyes met, his bruised and weary, and Aaron said gently, quietly, “It’s okay. I’m not exactly a pro, but Colin gave me some sports massage tips…”

Lewis made a face. “Fucking Colin,” he said, but there was no heat in it. He lowered his hand to join the other in his lap and slightly turned, presenting the sore spot to Aaron.

Aaron swallowed and stepped closer.

Pro or not, he didn’t need to be an expert to feel the tension Lewis carried in his shoulders, or the way he relaxed as soon as Aaron began to touch him, carefully exploring the tense muscle with his fingertips before digging in more firmly, eliciting a moan from Lewis that sounded positively pornographic.

If hehadbeen an expert, he probably wouldn’t have been quite so preoccupied by the pleasing contours of firm muscle and warm flesh beneath Lewis’s fine cotton shirt. Or by the way his dark hair curled charmingly behind his ears, or by the warm, arousing scent of his fading aftershave.

And talking of warmth, was it getting hot in here? Because Aaron felt flushed all over, his heart thudding alarmingly as he touched Lewis in ways he’d never dreamed might happen in real life.

When Lewis began unbuttoning his shirt, Aaron froze, hands stilling. His mouth was dry as he watched Lewis shrug out of the shirt, one golden shoulder at a time, before negligently casting it onto the floor and lowering his head to give Aaron better access to his neck and shoulders.

Aaron swallowed, his gaze moving over Lewis’s smooth, bare skin. Then slowly, carefully, he lowered his hands and began to stroke and knead again.

“Fucking hell, that feels good,” Lewis muttered, taking the words right out of Aaron’s mouth. Because yes, this felt good to Aaron too. His cock had plumped up and throbbed insistently as his hands worked. And Christ, that had to be wrong, didn’t it? He was supposed to be giving comfort to Lewis, not perving on him.

Lewis seemed oblivious to Aaron’s arousal, though. He angled his head to one side, opening up that vulnerable spot to Aaron’s touch, and when Aaron leaned in closer to firmly press into the sore muscle—heart beating wildly as he did so—Lewis gave another of those deep, masculine sighs of relief—ofpleasure—and…