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And it was sure as fuck no one’s business that the guy had turned out to be so damn perfect—both taller and younger than I’d expected, with sun-streaked hair that reminded me of summer in the depths of a New York winter, skin so tender he moaned at the lightest touch, and a heady mix of submissive and defiant vibes that made my dick hard and my balls ache—that I’d found myself calling him baby and wondering how many times he’d let me take him before the night was over.
No, I was damn sure no one would ever find out about any of that.
Because for this one night, I was going to slake my lust on the handsome, pliant man in my arms, unleash every sordid fantasy I’d ever dreamed up, and tomorrow, no one would be the wiser about what the real Thatcher Pennington craved.
But then the man in my arms pulled back, opened his magnificent eyes for the first time without the concealing shadows of his blue-feathered mask in place… and gasped in horror. And with an icy-cold shock of recognition, I realized that my very secret, very anonymous hookup was actually neither.
“Reagan?” I breathed.
Jesus Christ.
Of all the fucking people fate could have sent to torment me… Reagan fucking Wellbridge?
Trent and Patricia’s son? Brantleigh’s friend? My goddamn employee, since I’d rashly offered the kid a low-level position as a mea culpa last August?
This was so disastrous on so many levels my mind scrambled to latch onto one. Warnings tumbled through my head like falling rocks: Danger! Steep drop ahead! Turn back!
My hands gripped his hip and his shoulder, wanting to shove him as far from me as possible… but I was so stunned I couldn’t even do that properly. With our lower bodies still entwined, all I did was set him off-balance so his shoulders hit the door and his cock pressed against the hard heat of my thigh, making us both gasp in unison.
Aquamarine eyes lifted to mine, glassy with lust, and for a crucial moment, I hesitated.
Fuck, those eyes did things to me.
They were the color of sea glass at the beach. Of precious stones. They shifted hue with the light and Reagan’s mood, revealing tantalizing glimpses of secrets in their depths.
I’d done a piss-poor job of ignoring those eyes last summer when I’d visited his parents in Honeybridge. For the first time in all the years since our families had become friendly, I’d caught myself staring at them—in the moments when I could force my gaze away from his perfectly rounded ass, his well-developed pecs, his prominent Adam’s apple, and his ever-present sexy smirk—and I’d gone out of my way to avoid talking to the man precisely to avoid a situation like this one.
I’d avoided doing all the things I’d have done for any other son-of-a-friend I’d employed, too—no offer of a spare room in my huge penthouse, no friendly lunches, no cushy job in the Executive Office—because I’d known those eyes were a temptation I couldn’t resist, though every tenet of friendship and several pertinent employment laws required me to.
And staring at them now, filled with heat and longing and the slightest bit of hesitation, even with the truth of our identities sitting like a bloated elephant between us, I couldn’t look away. I was frozen with indecision when I most needed to act. Captivated by their depths when I most needed to be rational.
Move away, I instructed myself firmly. Tell him to get his clothes on. Kick him out. Show some fucking control. Don’t be a fool. Disaster ahead.
I opened my mouth to put a stop to this, but before I could say a word, a low sound of need escaped his throat. And just like that, my decision was made.
Mentally cursing both of us, I lunged at him, gripping Reagan’s shoulders and shoving him onto the bed before following him down and covering his gasp of surprise with my mouth.
Fuck control. Fuck doing the right thing. And fuck Reagan fucking Wellbridge for putting me in this position in the first fucking place.
It didn’t occur to me until later that evening, when I could spare enough blood to work my brain, that the man on the hookup app had brown eyes. That the identifying pic he’d sent me earlier in the evening had shown an aquiline nose beneath his blue-feathered mask, not at all like Reagan’s perfect freckled one. That I’d intended to meet someone else entirely, and none of this should have happened.
At that moment, I was too far gone to think. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I pushed aside all thought of the future and took what I wanted. And what I wanted was my dick inside Reagan Wellbridge, my hands all over his fit body, and the sound of his pleas in my ears.
One night only, I told myself. A time out of time in which we exchanged orgasms and then went our separate ways, never to speak of it again. And I would make it count.
I shoved his hands above his head and held both wrists in one grip.
“Stay still,” I warned him between nips of his jaw and chin.
His breath hitched in a way that went straight to my balls.
He was so fucking responsive, so perfectly willing to let go and let me be in charge. I wanted to take advantage of whatever time I had with him to see exactly how good the sex could be between us.
I shoved a knee between his legs and pressed into his erection with my hip, rolling up and down his hard length and relishing the feel of him through our pants.
Reagan threw his head back with a groan. “Stop fucking teasing me.”
He might as well have waved a red flag in front of me. Now, all I wanted to do was tease him, edge the hell out of him until his cock leaked and his eyes watered.
