The Dangerous Seduction (10 page)

Ryan shudders, tightens his grip on Joseph’s neck to steady himself. His breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling erratically. His stomach muscles quiver on each pass of Joseph’s hand over his shaft, each glide of Joseph’s fingers, up and down. He bows his head, presses his mouth to the top of Joseph’s head, right into his sweaty hairline, and breathes in and out in time with every jerk of Joseph’s wrist. He closes his eyes, then opens them again, terrified of missing anything
—
of not being there
—
not experiencing every single beat of this. Joseph’s face is in shadow, but he’s concentrating so diligently, the same look on his face as when he’s reading a tricky brief. They’re both so quiet, the only sounds their heavy breathing and the steady, fap-fap, slippery sounds of his cock sliding through Joseph’s fingers.

“Joseph,” he mutters, and then because he can: “Joseph, Joseph, God, Joseph.”

Joseph says nothing, but he tilts his head back, looks up into Ryan’s eyes with that dark, glittering gaze. His right hand strokes up and down, up and down, ceaseless and relentless and pushing Ryan closer and closer to the edge. Ryan’s stomach dips and falls away, his body shakes and shudders, the sensation resonating through every pore and every cell, and then he’s shaking, cursing silently, and spurting into Joseph’s—
his boss’s
—fingers. Joseph tugs him through his last helpless twitches; then he slides his hand away with one last caressing, almost petting motion. He wipes his sticky fingers off on Ryan’s belly, and Ryan’s stomach muscles jump at the touch. He releases his hold on Joseph and takes a couple of shaky steps backward. He exhales, fingers going unconsciously to the sticky mess smeared over his stomach.

“Joseph, God, I can’t believe that we just—”

“C’mon,” Joseph murmurs. He places his palm in the middle of Ryan’s chest, pushes him backward. “Move,” he says.

Ryan swallows and complies, doesn’t take his eyes off Joseph’s face as Joseph walks him backward until the backs of his legs are hitting the bed. He stumbles and sinks down onto the bed. Joseph looms over him, and Ryan notices the tent in his pants for the first time, Joseph’s cock swollen and straining against the fine, expensive material. He licks his lips and tilts his head back to look up at Joseph.

Joseph just shoves him backward. “Move,” he says tersely.

Ryan scoots up the bed, the soft comforter plush and thick underneath him. He’s still wearing his suit pants, though they’re stained now with his own jizz. He only has the one pair with him—it wasn’t like he had time to pack a change of clothes—but the thought barely registers. It’s not important, not right now, not when Joseph is yanking his undershirt off over his head, unbuckling his belt, and tugging down his zipper. Joseph strips matter-of-factly, his eyes never leaving Ryan as his fingers work. Ryan wonders suddenly how many men Joseph has jerked off over the years. But once again, the thought barely registers, not when Joseph steps out of his pants and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs, his dick outlined in the skintight material like it’s wrapped in cellophane. He’s absolutely gorgeous, and Ryan really wants to touch him.

“Take off your pants,” Joseph tells him.

Ryan fumbles to obey, arching his back to bring his hips off the bed as he pushes down his ruined pants. They catch around his left ankle and he kicks them off, letting them tumble in a heap to the floor. Joseph’s eyes go to his cock, spent but still half-hard, curled up over the crease of his thigh. Joseph’s gaze gets heated as he pushes down his underwear to let his own cock spring free. Ryan licks his lips, staring at the other man and feeling completely turned-around. He’s never gotten this turned-on by another guy’s dick before. All those other times, with other guys, it had never been about the size or shape of their junk, but about what they could do for him, how they could make him feel, heady and terrified and filled with self-loathing but unable to stop himself, caught and held by the maleness of it all.

Joseph crawls onto the bed and looms over him. He places his hand on Ryan’s chest and pushes him into the soft, giving covers. He bows his head and licks a pattern over Ryan’s belly button, making Ryan’s stomach muscles flutter and his legs twitch, raising a swell of gooseflesh up and down his arms and across the nape of his neck. Joseph’s tongue swipes along the grooves of his abdominal muscles, and Ryan thinks hopelessly of the drying come on his body, of Joseph licking up his drying come. It should be disgusting, but it’s one of the filthiest and most erotic things anyone’s ever done to him.

Joseph raises his head, licks his lips, tongue slicking pink and challenging over his glistening bottom lip. This time Ryan knows that the hooded, provocative look in his eyes and the arrogant curl of his mouth is deliberate. Whatever momentary loss of control Joseph had in the doorway to his room when Ryan pushed him back against the wall has completely vanished. Joseph is definitely the one in charge now, and Ryan likes it. His body is starting to feel like it’s ready to get hard all over again. Joseph smirks at him and bows his head again, sliding down the bed and down Ryan’s body. He kisses the inside of Ryan’s thighs, nuzzles his face into the crease between his thighs and his groin.

He breathes in deep and raises his head to growl, “Next time, don’t shower first. I want to smell you. I want to see what you smell like after a day’s work. You got that, Ryan?”

And he has to nod again. The thought that there’ll be a next time—that Joseph wants a next time—makes his belly swoop and churn.

Joseph kisses up his body, nuzzles into his skin, breathing in his scent. His hard cock rubs against Ryan’s thigh, burning a white-hot brand into his skin. He raises his head from Ryan’s stomach, crawls up him, body uncurling, elbows bracketing Ryan’s head and hips pressing down. He stares into Ryan’s eyes like he’s trying to cross-examine him with his mind.

“You like this, you want this,” he says, and it’s not a question.

Ryan nods, groans, “Yes, yes, God, yes….”

Joseph smiles, that arrogant, knowing smile, and then he’s leaning in, sucking Ryan’s bottom lip into his mouth. His hand squirms between their bodies, finding and thumbing at Ryan’s thickening cock. “C’mon,” he growls, “c’mon, do it, get hard again, Ryan, c’mon.”

Ryan’s breath hitches and he can feel the arousal building, and Joseph cursing and urging him on. He feels drained and exhausted and he can’t believe that he is actually getting hard again. He’s thirty-two, not seventeen, and he’s not used to recovering this damn quickly. But Joseph isn’t letting up, and he’s so hot and firm and demanding. His lips graze over Ryan’s face, their mouths find each other again, and they’re kissing, furious and frenetic and
male
, so very male. He feels his orgasm build once again, hotter and more painful than before, a deep resonating ache throughout his body.

Joseph pulls back and blinks at him. “What will get you there? What will help?”

Ryan shudders, his eyes locking on Joseph’s bruised, plush mouth. “Maybe… you… your mouth… on me… down there.”

Joseph’s lips twist up into a smile. “I bet,” he says, and he laughs, jagged and breathy, but he’s already slithering down Ryan’s body. He breathes hot, damp puffs of air over Ryan’s aching, sensitive cock, and then he’s gliding his mouth down over the thick length. Ryan arches up from the bed, clawing at the mattress and feeling his cock head brush the roof of Joseph’s mouth. Joseph sucks him with the same expertise and single-minded intensity he used to jack him off, the same expertise and single-minded intensity he brings to everything he does. He’s sucking so hard on Ryan’s cock that it feels like Joseph is drawing his very essence out of his body, pulling him out and swallowing him—taking all of him.

Joseph draws off him and exhales. “Christ, you got a nice dick. You taste so fucking good, Ryan.”

Ryan gulps, completely floored by the compliment. “Uh, thanks. That’s… nice.”

Joseph laughs, flashing him a dazzling grin. Then he’s sliding up Ryan’s body again, kissing him with that same burning pressure, grinding his cock into the crease of Ryan’s thigh. They’re dry-humping, rutting like horny teenagers now, sweat and spit sliding their bodies and cocks together. Joseph nuzzles his face into the crook of Ryan’s neck and pants scalding-hot breaths into Ryan’s skin like steam soaking into a towel. Ryan feels the moment Joseph comes, feels the spasm, the shuddering release of the other man’s body. The wet, sticky heat of his come smears between them, and then Ryan’s dick is pulsing once more, and unbelievably, he’s coming again.

Joseph exhales and collapses on top of him. Ryan can feel the wetness between their bodies, the wetness on his throat from Joseph’s saliva and breath. He’s shivering—the intensity, aftershocks, and effort of coming twice in such a short time making him shake like he’s just finished up a two-mile sprint. He feels sticky and sore and disgusting and completely destroyed.

Slowly, Joseph lifts his head and looks down at him with flushed, hazy eyes. His irises are dark, a glassy green color in the room’s soft lamplight. Ryan blinks back at him, and stares at the individual features that make up his face. He wants to touch them, to trace his eyebrows and smooth his fingertips over his lips, to run his fingers through his hair and scrape his fingernails against his stubble, but Joseph is already drawing away from him. His hand lingers behind, cupping Ryan’s cheek, giving him a couple of pats, an oddly affectionate and bizarrely platonic sort of a gesture considering what they’ve just done. Joseph rises off the bed, walks into the bathroom, and closes the door behind him.

Ryan collapses back into the sheets, closes his eyes, and draws his fingers through the cooling come on his stomach.

H
E
FEELS
disoriented when he first wakes up, his mind heavy, his head aching. He opens his eyes, squints up at the ceiling, and tries to remember where he is. Slowly, as if from far away, the familiar beeping of a cell phone penetrates his foggy consciousness. He flails around with his right hand, trying to feel for his phone on the nightstand where he always leaves it, but there’s nothing there, just empty air. He remembers suddenly that he’s not at home, he’s not in bed with Daisy, he’s in bed with Joseph Van Aardt. Or at least, he
was
in bed with him, because Joseph is not there now.

The ringing stops and he hears Joseph’s voice say, “Yeah?”

He cranes his head up from the pillow and sees Joseph step out of the bathroom. He’s naked save for a towel wrapped around his hips, his skin flushed and wet, his hair plastered to his skull. Ryan stares, feeling his cock, already half-hard with morning wood, start to thicken as he takes in Joseph’s nearly naked body. He slides a hand under the covers, palms it distractedly, eyes locked on the rise of Joseph’s shoulders, the elegant curve of his back, and the swell of his ass under the towel as he paces the room.

“What? You’re fucking kidding me?” Joseph grinds to a halt, expression creasing up in annoyance. “What? Yeah, yeah, okay. Soon as you know.” He thumbs off the phone and tosses it to the bed where it falls into the thick comforter.

“What? What is it?” Ryan asks.

Joseph turns, noticing him for the first time. “Phil Cartwright hanged himself,” he says. His tone is flat, pissed. He raises his hand to his face and runs it over his clean-shaven jaw. “Fuck! This is not good news.”

“He
hanged
himself?” Ryan repeats. “When? Where?”

“Last night. His wife found him hanging from a beam in their garage.”

“Oh my God,” he breathes, scrambling into a sitting position, the covers falling down around his hips. “Shit, Joseph. This could be… I mean… the way he was acting yesterday. He seemed terrified. Do you think there’s a chance—”

“That someone got rid of him?” Joseph shrugs. “It’s possible. Though, it’s more likely he did it himself. The dude wasn’t in the healthiest mental state yesterday.”

“No, no,” Ryan says thoughtfully. “God, I just… I can’t believe it. Christ, we just saw him!”

“Yes,” says Joseph distractedly. He runs a hand over the back of his head, through his wet hair. He stalks back into the bathroom, calling out, “I’m going to see if I can meet with the detective in charge of the case.”

“Oh, okay. Do you want me to come with you?”

Joseph leans around the bathroom door, raises an eyebrow. “You need to go buy some new pants.”

“Oh, right, yeah. I guess I should do that,” he says slowly. He slides out of the bed and pads across the floor to rescue his creased and stained pants. He holds them up to the light, says, “Yeah, I see what you mean.”

He tosses them onto the bed and looks around for his underwear. He feels suddenly dirty, no, not dirty exactly, grubby—that’s the better word—scrambling around to locate his underwear on the floor of the hotel room where he screwed around with his boss the night before. It takes him a few seconds to remember that he wasn’t wearing any underwear last night. He’d left his own room clad in just his dress pants and only his dress pants, so eager had he been to get to Joseph. The memory makes his stomach knot up and he raises his hand self-consciously to his temple, wincing when it meets the cut. Shit, he’d forgotten about that too. It feels like it’s already scabbed over now, sort of spongy and gritty under his fingertips.