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“Did you want to suffer?” Why the fuck is my dick twitching? He’s not that pretty.
Okay. Maybe he is that pretty. But it’s all bought and paid for. It’s all surface. There’s nothing inside him worth admiring. He’s a picture on Page Six. Two-dimensional. Empty.
“Can I tell you a secret, Drew?”
“Of course. It’s my job to be discreet.”
“My parents are making me marry Elodie Lafayette or they’ll cut me off. I’m hoping they’ll come to their senses before I have to walk down an actual aisle, but I have to go along with the charade for now in return for their lawyer getting all my charges dropped.”
“Wow,” I say, faking sympathy. “You’ve just redefined first world problems for me in a way I never thought possible.”
He lets out a wry huff of amusement. “Here’s another one for you then, since you’re so entertained—I can’t stand her. She’s—unusual. Her tastes are—not like mine.”
“For example?”
“Golden showers,” he says without hesitation.
I bark out a sudden laugh. I can’t help myself. The idea of The Heir being pissed on is too inspiring. “What’s your point? Why are you telling me this?”
“Because no one will return my calls, Drew. My parents are angry with me, so no brunches. I have nowhere to go and nothing to do—besides Elodie—and I’m hoping maybe you’ll find it in your heart to take pity on me.”
This guy. Unbelievable. “Pity’s a stretch. Does she not want to fuck you?”
“She does. She insists on it.”
“I don’t see the problem,” I say.
“Would you like to have sex with Elodie?”
I don’t want to have sex with anyone. Jericho got lucky two weeks ago, but yesterday morning was the first genuine erection I’ve had since my parents’ bathroom remodel got underway. “She’s hot,” I say because I’m not as compelled as he is to lay all my cards on the table with a perfect stranger I have nothing in common with.
“I’d invite you to join us tonight then, but I suppose you’re working.”
“You want me to fuck your fiancée for you?” This is rich.
He shakes his head letting out a sigh so long it has weight. “I can fuck her myself. I’m just not looking forward to it.”
“Maybe it won’t be so bad.”
“That’s not the point.”
My patience is wearing thin. “What is the fucking point?”
“How was the blow job, Drew?”
10
OLIVIER
The look on his face. I’m not sure whether I’d describe it as indignation, resentment, or just good old hatred. It pleases me. That, along with the untucked shirt, the loosened collar, the suffering of his seams as they strain to contain his broad shoulders.
“Decent,” he replies.
“Decent,” I say. “Hm. Have you thought about it at all?”
Drew undoes another button at his neck. He runs a hand through his hair and glances at the door. “Why?”
Why isn’t no.
