Page 7 of Wrecked (McIntyre Security Bodyguard #16)

I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. I’m beating myself up as I take the private elevator up to the penthouse floor.

I shouldn’t have taken him grocery shopping.

I sure as hell shouldn’t have cooked him dinner.

And now I’m on the hook to bake him chocolate chip cookies. The guy’s going to get the wrong idea.

When I walk into the penthouse, most of the lights are off. I guess Shane has already turned in. That’s good because I don’t feel like being interrogated right now.

Before heading to my own suite, I stop in the kitchen to get some water. I need something to cool me off, because right now my body feels like a furnace, burning at high temperature for a certain redhead with freckles and big brown eyes.

Damn, he’s beautiful.

I want him. I want every inch of him.

“Hey, where were you this evening?”

I jump at Shane’s question. “Nowhere.” Jeez, now I’m a fucking lying coward.

“You said you were just going out to run a quick errand, and you’ve been gone for three hours. It’s not like you to be so secretive, so I can’t help wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“If maybe you were visiting a certain new tenant in the building.”

Busted.

“Relax, Shane. I was just making sure he had everything he needed.”

“And that took three hours ?”

“He needed groceries, so I took him to Gracie’s. And when we got back, it was getting late, so I hung around and cooked dinner.”

“You made him dinner?” Shane makes it sound like I propositioned the kid. “For fuck’s sake, Cooper.”

“Don’t give me that tone, Shane. I’m an adult, and so is he.”

“Yes. And he’s an employee of our company. The last I heard, you don’t mix business with pleasure.”

“I don’t. Nothing’s changed.”

“Then why are you hanging around him?”

I shrug. “Beats me.”

“Cooper, I’m looking out for your best interests. If you don’t want people knowing your sexuality, then you have to keep your private life separate from your work life.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Right now, I have to wonder.”

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and stalk past him on my way out of the kitchen. “I know what I’m doing.”

Shane doesn’t reply, but I can guess what he’s thinking.

That I’m wrong.

And he’d be right.

I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.

* * *

I hide in my suite like the coward I am. After guzzling the entire bottle of water, I strip and walk into the shower.

I’m hard as a rock—have been most of the evening. It was a pain in the ass trying to hide that from Sam. And then from Shane.

Jesus, I wanted to grab Sam a dozen times and pull him into my arms. I wanted to kiss him until he was breathless. I wanted my cock in his mouth. Or his in mine. I wanted to put my hands on him.

Hell, I wanted to bend him over the back of the sofa and fuck him until he was a quivering mess, whimpering beneath me and begging for more.

But I can’t do any of that.

And it’s fucking killing me.

He’s so damn perfect. That red hair and those freckles, eyes the color of melted chocolate. His lean, muscular body. He’s an excellent shot, which is a turn-on for me. And watching him spar with Liam gave me a hard-on.

And one of the most enticing things about him is that he’s attracted to me .

I caught him more than once staring at me with a dreamy expression on his face as if he were imagining the very things I want to do to him.

Not just imagining them, but wanting them as much as I do.

I swear, if I’d made a move on him this evening, he would have been receptive.

I have never wanted someone as badly as I want Sam, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. The last thing I want is for the people I work with to find out I’m gay. So, seeing someone— fucking someone —from work is out of the question.

Shane was right to call me out tonight.

There’s no way I’ll be able to relax tonight with this raging hard-on, so I grab hold of it and stroke myself brutally until I paint the shower wall with cum.

And the entire time I’m jerking myself off, I’m picturing a certain redhead on his knees before me. Gripping his hair tight, holding his head in place, I deep throat him, and he takes every damn inch of me without complaint.

When I’m this worked up, I usually hit one of the gay clubs in a neighboring town—never too close to home—and find someone to help me take the edge off.

Occasionally, I’ll jump on Grindr to find a partner out of town, but I prefer to meet someone in person in the clubs. I guess that makes me old school.

But I don’t want to go out and find a substitute. The truth is, I don’t think I could find anyone who would come close to measuring up to what’s right in front of me.

Sam Harrison is a rare find, and I can’t stop thinking about him.

* * *

The next morning, I pull on a pair of gray sweats and a Marine Corps T-shirt and head to the kitchen to make breakfast. Thank goodness there’s no sign of Shane. I’ve had enough of his grilling.

I start the coffee maker, throw some bacon in a skillet, and whip up some eggs to make an omelet.

“Something sure smells good,” Shane says as he walks into the kitchen. He’s got bedhead. Like me, he’s dressed in sweats and a T-shirt. Clearly, he’s not going anywhere this morning.

“Coffee’s ready,” I say. “Do you want bacon and an omelet?”

He takes a seat at the counter and opens The Chicago Tribune . “That’d be great. Thanks.”

I pour him a cup, black.

The bacon and omelets are done soon. I make him a plate and set it in front of him.

“Thanks,” he says as he pops a bite of bacon into his mouth and chews.

I scarf down my own food. And while Shane’s eating and reading the Tribune , I get out a large mixing bowl and ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies. I preheat the oven and get out two baking sheets. I figure I’ll make a double batch, so there are plenty for Sam and some to keep here.

“What are you making?” Shane asks as he picks up his coffee cup.

Oh, good. Here we go again. “Chocolate chip cookies.”

“For us?”

“Sure.”

Grinning, he shakes his head. “Well, at least we know the new kid won’t starve.”

When I glance at Shane, he gives me a look that says he wasn’t born yesterday. I scowl at him, not bothering to reply

* * *

That afternoon, I take a round tin of cookies down to Sam’s apartment.

I have no idea if he’s home or not, but I knock anyway.

If no one answers, I’ll leave the tin on his welcome mat.

The cookies will be fine. Every tenant on this floor works for McIntyre Security.

If that doesn’t ensure the cookies’ safety, nothing will.

The door opens, and there he is. I scan him from head to toe, taking in his manbun, white muscle shirt, and a pair of gray knit shorts. I take in his long bare legs and bare feet and imagine them draped over my shoulders.

I hold out the tin. “Cookies.”

He grins. “You really made them?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

Sam takes a step back. “Come on in.”

“I can’t stay,” I say, hoping that if I say that out loud, I’ll feel obligated to follow through. I step inside and hand him the tin. “Fresh out of the oven. They’re still a bit warm.”

Sam opens the tin to find a dozen cookies neatly layered between round sheets of parchment paper.

I nod to the tin in his hands. “Leave the lid off until they’re fully cooled or they’ll stick together.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, meeting my gaze with something that looks very much like a challenge.

Coming here was a mistake.

He takes a cookie out of the tin and bites it in half. “ Oh, man. ”

He closes his eyes as he chews, and the sounds he’s making are driving me crazy. All the blood in my body heads south, leaving me lightheaded.

While he’s preoccupied moaning and groaning over the cookie, I indulge myself for a moment, taking in his lightly sculpted arms. His tattoos. His biceps, his forearms, and long-figured hands. I can just imagine what those fingers would feel like wrapped around my—

“Why do these taste so good?” he asks as he sets the tin on the coffee table.

I shrug. “I added some extra vanilla and a pinch of nutmeg. The nutmeg deepens the flavor.”

“Here, taste.” And then he offers me the other half of his cookie. He holds it out to me like it’s some kind of offering. I stare at the cookie. At his hand. And then at his eyes. It’s not just an offering. It’s a dare. A challenge.

My heart starts pounding, and my chest tightens.

I can’t.

When he brings the cookie closer to my mouth, my lips open automatically, and he slips it into my mouth. As I chew, I can’t stop thinking that my tongue is tasting something he just bit into.

It’s a simple thing, and yet it feels so damn intimate.

Sam reaches around me to close the door.

“I can’t stay,” I say as I swallow the cookie.

“Okay.” He remains standing right in front of me, in no hurry to move.

“I’ve got to get back.”

He nods to the door. “Go ahead.”

He is challenging me.

Neither one of us has moved an inch. And now we’re just staring at each other. “Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t hook up with co-workers.”

“Yeah, me neither. It can get messy.”

And still, neither one of us has moved.

“You at least owe me a kiss,” he says. “You know, just so I can make sure I like it.”

Have you ever kissed a man?

Did you like it?

God damn it.

I grab hold of his shoulders and turn us so that his back is up against the door. “One kiss. That’s all.”

His gaze is locked on mine when I grab his wrists and pin them to the door above his head. My mouth locks onto his, my lips forcing his apart, my tongue pushing its way into his mouth.

He melts in my arms, softening to me, obeying my unspoken demands. As I devour him, he makes a sound that goes right to my groin. My dick swells as my blood heads south, and my balls tighten. My pulse races.

I said just one kiss, but God, I want more. One kiss isn’t enough, and I should have realized it wouldn’t be.

I transfer one of his wrists into my left hand so I can slide my right hand down to circle his neck. I squeeze gently, not enough to restrict his air, but to get his attention.

He groans harshly, which makes me even harder. I grasp his lower jaw and hold him still for our kiss. My mouth eats at him as my tongue subdues his, stroking him until he’s panting.

And then I make the biggest mistake of all.

I slide my right hand down his torso to his groin.

He cries out when I press my palm to his impressive erection.

I start stroking him through the fabric of his shorts.

He shamelessly grinds himself against my hand, groaning desperately into my mouth, and it’s such a turn on.

I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t stop myself. I love the feel of him against my hand. I love his hungry desperation.

He tenses as his body shudders against me. “Cooper!” he gasps. His cock bucks and throbs against my palm, and then I feel the wet heat of his cum through his shorts.

He’s so damn responsive. I can’t imagine what he’d be like in bed. Immediately, I release him. We stare at each other, both of us in shock. Stunned at how quickly one kiss turned into a raging conflagration.

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean for it to get so—”

“You don’t need to apologize, Cooper. It’s been a long time since someone got me off. It was long overdue. Besides.” He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. “I liked it.”

In the midst of a volatile intimate moment, he still retains his sense of humor.

I’m shaken to the core. “I’m sorry, Sam. It’ll never happen again.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he says as I walk out the door, running scared like the coward I am.

When I get back to the penthouse, I’m relieved to find Shane gone. He left me a note.

Going to see my folks. Back later. Be good.

--Shane

I’m glad he’s not here right now because I’m not fit company. All I can think about is the feel of Sam’s erection against my hand.

Fuck!