Ice Man (10 page)

“There’s water, milk and orange juice. Help yourself to anything you want.”

Rowan’s gaze roamed over Brett. “Anything?”

Brett’s cock twitched. “The rest will have to come later. I don’t know how much company I’ll be tonight but I’m glad you’re here.” He indicated his desk with a tilt of his head. “I have to get back to work.”

Rowan carried his drink to the couch and sat. “I can wait. If you don’t mind, I’ll rest on the couch. If I fall asleep, wake me when you’re done.”

Brett turned down the lights. “If my work keeps you awake,” he swallowed, “you’re welcome to go to my bed.” His stomach flipped. Rowan in his bed. Blood rushed from his head straight into his cock. “Do you want me to show you where it is?”

Rowan leaned forward and rolled the glass in his palms. “Yes, but I can wait. When I go to your bed, I want you there with me.” He set the empty glass on a coaster on the coffee table.

Damn, he had motivation for getting this project wrapped. If his team fucked this up, he’d lose it. If ever there was a night for a deal to be easy, this was it. He sat in his leather desk chair and swiveled around to the monitor. His fingers flew across the keys. Now his mind, like a steel trap, focused. He had his files open, his reports organized and once he finished the conference call, the outcome would be out of his hands.

And Rowan would be in them. He needed to touch, taste and hold. Brett groaned, remembering his fingers curling over Rowan’s shoulders, his thick cock, firm buttocks and strong thighs.

He glanced over his shoulder. Rowan had kicked off his shoes and sprawled out on the couch. Long legs encased in denim reached to one end of the cushions and his head rested on a throw pillow. His hair was mussed and sexy. One arm bent over his head and the other rested on his taut stomach. A tight, long-sleeved black pullover clung to his pectorals. The collar covered part of his neck. Damn, his kissable lips were slightly parted. Fringed lashes cast a dark shadow beneath his eyes. Soft breaths lifted his chest. He slept.

Emotion washed over Brett. For years, he’d imagined a life with a man, one he could laugh with—fuck with more purpose than reaching orgasm. He was almost afraid to wish for Rowan to be that man. His alarm pinged.

He spun back around. Time to work. He picked up the phone. He would initiate the conference call with his partner on the deal in New York then dial his Chinese counterpart.

James Cohen answered, excitement lacing his voice. “We’re ready, Brett. You’ve cast your line in deep waters this time. Now reel him in.”

Brett laughed. “I’m going to put you on speaker phone. Log into the network.” He wanted all his team to have access to his files. Then he dialed his Chinese contact, who would then bring the investor into the conversation.

“Hello,” his contact said.

“
Wéi
,” Brett said, using the informal telephone greeting. “It’s good to speak with you today.” Brett shifted his thoughts to Chinese.

James popped in a message to his IM window.
Do your magic.

He replied,
Time to close the deal.

* * * * *

Rowan stirred on the couch. He stretched, for a moment forgetting where he was. Papers rustled and a chair squeaked then the room was quiet. Rowan shifted and smiled. He was about to stand when Brett’s agitated voice filled the room. He didn’t know what had him upset but the tone was unmistakable. It was the words he couldn’t understand—something foreign. Brett had mentioned a Chinese deal. He spoke fast, fluently and he obviously wasn’t happy with what he heard. Another man spoke through the speakerphone. Then Brett again. A third man entered the conversation. Negotiations clearly weren’t going well.

Rowan quietly slipped from the room. He went to the kitchen. A man of Brett’s tastes had to have a bar. He opened cupboards until he found a small assortment of bottles. Kahlua, rum, brandy, the standard favorites and a few obscure labels. After a quick perusal of the stock, he grabbed a bottle of bourbon. Opening the fridge, he found half-and-half and the orange juice. He mixed a drink for Brett. At the bar, he didn’t get many calls for a Fat Lighter, but the combination had soothing, stress-relieving qualities.

He quietly entered the living room and crossed to the desk. Brett mouthed the words “thank you” and apologized with his eyes. He took the drink and sipped. A smile curved his mouth but wasn’t enough to soften the lines around his eyes or the tension in his lips.

Sidling around the chair, Rowan pressed against Brett’s shoulders, urging him forward a few inches. He shifted, rolling his neck and shoulders. Rowan rubbed his thumbs into the tension-tightened muscles. Damn, he was stressed and the pressure built in his strong shoulders and broad back. But Brett didn’t need the distraction of a needy lover now. Once he was off the conference call, he’d have him prone on the floor, sit on his ass and give him a full-body massage.

He stepped back but Brett stopped him from walking away. He put a finger to his lips to show they should be quiet. Then he reached for Rowan’s hand and pulled him closer.

Rowan gently turned the chair and braced his upper body on the armrests. His lips twitched as he shifted his hands to Brett’s thighs. Brett leaned back, silently giving him permission to continue. Slowly he lowered to the floor, knowing Brett couldn’t say anything, couldn’t do anything but listen to the conversation and watch his computer screen. Only his focus wasn’t on the numbers and data. His gaze bore into Rowan as he urged Brett’s thighs apart. Brett didn’t blink, but he swallowed. The Adam’s apple in his throat bounced. He reached up and combed Rowan’s hair behind his ear.

Brett said something in Chinese but his eyes remained locked on Rowan.

Muscles flexed beneath Rowan’s fingertips as he trailed a seductive touch higher on Brett’s thigh, closer to his groin, closer to the erection swelling beneath the thin fabric of his beach pants. Brett adjusted in the chair. Oh yes, he was primed and ready and not wearing anything beneath the gauzy pants. Rowan grazed his nails over the bulge, tracing the length. Moisture seeping from the slit dampened a spot. Rising onto his knees, he leaned over Brett’s lap and tasted the material, wetting the fabric over his erection. He was hot, hard and pulsing. Rowan was just as hampered as Brett. He couldn’t moan, couldn’t tell him how good his essence tasted. He gently scraped his teeth along the length, then lower. He spread Brett’s thighs wider, tugged the fabric tight and sucked his sac through the fabric.

Quivers rippled Brett’s stomach beneath his tank. He leaned forward, grabbed the hem and jerked the top over his head.

Rowan blew out a quiet, steady breath then licked his lips. He splayed his fingers over Brett’s chiseled stomach. His skin was like satin but with the strong maleness that stirred the lust simmering in his core. Heat raced over his flesh, yet chills chased down his spine. He was a bundle of electrified nerves.

With nimble fingers, he tugged on the tie of Brett’s pants. He needed his mouth on his naked flesh.

Brett scooted forward, pushed Rowan’s hands out of the way and hurriedly loosened the strings cinching the waistband. He lifted his butt. Rowan grasped handfuls of material and jerked the pants past his hips and thighs. The airy fabric gathered at his ankles.

Brett turned to the phone speaker and spoke Chinese. Clearly he could multitask. Follow a conversation, speak a foreign language and still grasp his cock at the root and stroke it. The cadence of his words didn’t alter but his breath puffed from his mouth.

Rowan wrapped his hands over Brett’s, stilling his movement. He smiled for the briefest moment then lowered his head and closed his lips around the crown of Brett’s cock. He sucked on the head. Brett stopped speaking and closed his eyes.

“Brett, are you okay?” One of the men on the phone spoke English.

“Fine.” He followed it with more Chinese. Rowan tuned out the words and listened to Brett’s body language instead.

Curling his tongue around the perfect mushroom-shaped head, he lapped at the salty secretions. He lashed at the length, swiping his tongue over the slit, swirling around the ridge to swallow the shaft again. Brett’s dick oozed, pearly drops beading on the tip. Rowan used hands, mouth and teeth. Tasting and sucking, unable to get enough of his musky flavor.

Rowan opened wider and laved his balls until they glistened then sucked them into his mouth. He applied pressure with his tongue, thrusting the silken sac to the roof of his mouth and rolling the small treasures within.

Brett grasped the armrest, his knuckles whitening.

Rowan stroked the shaft, squeezing harder, milking pleasure from Brett’s cock. He adjusted his position on the floor. His own dick ached, pressing into the zipper of his jeans, but he wouldn’t cease his ministrations to alleviate the pain of the pressure.

Licking Brett’s length from base to tip, he explored the hot, smooth texture. Ropey veins, infused with blood, pulsed beneath his tongue.

“I’m not sure we’re going to finish this tonight.” Brett’s words drifted through the fog of his mind but he was still speaking to his conference call. He was also incredibly close to coming. His cock was stretched taut, balls tightened and his hips rolled. Rowan continued to pump his fist while sliding his mouth up and down the length, whipping his tongue in fast, furious strokes.

Brett was fucking his mouth. One hand wrapped around the back of his head, the other fumbled with the phone. He jerked it forward, trying to reach the keypad, finally he hit the button. “Can you hear me?”

No one responded.

He growled low in his chest, bucked into Rowan’s mouth as he gripped the armrests. “Oh fuck,” he groaned, as if in agony. “I’m going to come.”

Rowan hummed his acquiescence and continued to feed his hunger for Brett’s cock. He sucked, stroked and savored the hot steel in his mouth. He grabbed Brett’s thigh, scoring his nails across the inner surface.

Brett jerked, spewing hot cream deep into Rowan’s throat. Each rhythmic spasm pulsed against his tongue. Once the contractions lessened, he slowly pulled his mouth away, sucking the length and cock head, drawing out every drop of cream.

The conversation continued without Brett. He smiled, hit the mute button again and spoke. His tone had changed. Worry lines on his face softened. His eyes sparkled and his posture relaxed.

Orgasms were the best stress reliever.

Brett couldn’t believe he’d just risked a two-million-dollar deal for a blowjob. But apparently his distraction had been the motivation needed. He didn’t think they’d ever come to terms, however, when he’d grown quiet, the investor had grown concerned.

He disconnected the conference call but James remained on the line.

“What the hell were you thinking?” James demanded.

“Negotiations had stalled. I gave the investor time to think.” Actually, Brett had been thinking about how intensely erotic Rowan’s mouth looked on his cock. It was the first time anyone had been considerate enough to see that he’d been on edge. The heated negotiations were quickly unraveling when Rowan had appeared with a drink and a neck massage. Then he had cautiously stepped back. He hadn’t been a distraction. Whether or not the deal fell through had everything to do with coming to terms over money, not his lover.
His lover.
When Rowan’s silken hair had brushed his thigh, he’d been ready to hang up the phone.

“Are you there? Brett, you almost cost the whole fucking deal.” James started to laugh. “You were brilliant, but then that’s how you make millions and why I put up with your eccentricities.”

“I’m glad I meet with your approval in some approximation.”

“Yeah, well, you scare me like that again and I’m coming to wherever you are these days and kicking your ass. All right!” He cheered again. “Fucking unbelievable.”

“What is unbelievable to me is the hour. It’s late.” He glanced over his shoulder at Rowan. He’d returned to the couch, looking casually replete, sprawled on the cushions. Not for long. “I need to go to bed.” In the best way possible.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, so congratulations, Brett. This is one for the records. Don’t know how you do it but I’m damn glad you bring me along for the ride.”

“Good night, James. Go celebrate.” After all, he planned to. He disconnected the call. Normally he wouldn’t leave his computer on or his files open but right now all he wanted was Rowan. He stood from the chair and stalked toward the couch.

Rowan shifted to sit. “So you take James along for the ride?”

“Not that kind of ride. He’s my partner in New York. We’ve worked together for years.”

“Sounds as if he gives you all the credit.”

Brett shrugged. “It’s my company. I suppose, because the failures are always my fault too, I get credit for our successes.” He didn’t need the spotlight as long as, at the end of the day, he closed the deal and made them all a lot of money. “I’m unusually lucky with money.” He sat next to Rowan. “Not tonight. I was going to lose this deal.” He closed his eyes and dropped his head forward. “There are a lot of people counting on me, expecting me to come through.”

“Maybe they expect too much from you.” Rowan leaned in and kissed his neck.

“I expect a lot of myself.”

“But you’re only responsible for you. Most people want something.” He flicked his tongue against Brett’s skin. “But it’s not always clear what they want.”