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“Fine.” Benoit sighed, swirling the contents of the glass in his hand. “Is it complicated? Apparently so. But no one needs to know what happens behind closed doors.”
That sounded so much like what Preston had said about no one having to know that I startled a bit.
“It’s not like you’ll be parading him for everyone at the Winter Ball, for Christ’s sake. So I say enjoy that tight, smoothass while you can. You’re not getting any younger. Well, until you agree to a little Botox.”
Something about his words stung, and it wasn’t the reference to my age. Sure, I kept my personal life under wraps, but it wasn’t because I was hiding anything. Whatever this was with Preston was the first time I’d actually need to keep things a secret.
The thought should’ve turned me off, so why was it that a thrill shot up my spine just imagining sneaking around with him? It was wrong on so many levels, but the thought of bending him over my desk the same way he’d practically lain across it the other night had my cock stirring.
I hadn’t felt such an intense reaction to anyone in so long, so why shouldn’t I indulge myself this once? Or twice.
No one had to find out. Preston was a master at keeping a secret, that much had become clear.
He wanted me. And God knew I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Shirt spread wide, pants around his thighs, that mouth-watering dick in hand…
“You’re right.”
Benoit’s eyes widened, and he almost choked on his cigar. He coughed, waving at the smoke. “I am?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“Because you gave in so easily. I had at least two more rounds of reasons for why you shouldn’t deny your dick.” He blew on his nails and polished them against the shoulder of his shirt. “Haven’t lost my touch.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell Benoit that it was Preston’s image and the idea of touching himagain that had been the deciding factor here. No, I was going to let my friend bask in his hand at my undoing. That way, if I fell flat on my ass, I had someone other than myself to blame.
“Well, then.” Benoit picked up the bottle of cognac and poured us both another glass. “Cheers to you,mon ami. What are you doing here with me? Go get yourself some of that hot young ass.”
ELEVEN
preston
I DIDN’T USUALLY get roped into dinner with my parents more than once a month, but my father was trying to woo a new senator into his clique and seemed to think having me there somehow helped. It’d been a last-minute request, and Serena already had plans, which meant I’d be suffering through the next couple hours on my own.
Lucky me.
As my father droned on about why the latest bill was shit, and my mother made small talk with the man’s wife, I reached for another oyster. At least for the moment I was able to sit there in my thoughts, which had been all over the place in the two days since I’d left Archer’s and confessed all to Serena. We hadn’t talked about it since—not that there was an update, because I hadn’t seen or heard from Archer. I knew I’d be seeing him this weekend, since I’d volunteered all the guys to help out at the Elysium on Saturday, but I wasn’t sure if I should be the one to make the first move. Hell, I’d already shown up on his doorstep, so was it wrong that I wanted him to come tome?
“Isn’t that right, Preston?”
My father’s tone indicated it wasn’t the first time he’d asked me that question, and I brushed my lips with my napkin before answering.
“I’m sorry?”
His colleague glanced at my father before smiling gently at me. “Senator Abernathy tells me you’ve got plans to work in his office next term.”
Inwardly, I sighed, not ready to have this conversation yet again, but now wasn’t the time or place for that argument. So I smiled back like the good son I was and gave a polite response.
“It’s been discussed. My classes and volunteer work take up quite a bit of time here, but we’re trying to work it out.”
The man seemed satisfied, even impressed, with my answer, but I could feel the narrowed eyes of my father boring into me.
Unbothered, I reached for another oyster and washed it down with champagne. At least tonight I wouldn’t be leaving this place starving and in need of pizza, not with what I’d seen on the menu.
“Oh, look who it is,” my mother said, and I glanced at the entrance behind me—only to do a double take.
Sometimes it felt like this city was overwhelmingly big, and other times, like now, it felt confined to a small group. Averysmall group.
Because standing just inside the entrance was the man I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about, wrapped up in a dark wool trench coat and scarf, a pink tinge to his nose and cheeks from the cold.
