“That’s so good,” Forrest cooed. “You’re so hot, boss.”
Rourke shivered through the remainder of his pleasure before he tugged himself out of Forrest, collapsing onto his leather office chair. He petted his twitching dick and sighed. “Jesus Christ.”
Forrest pushed himself off the desk and looked down at the mess he’d made. His spunk painted across his belly and squished on the wood where he’d laid. He smiled at Rourke. “No, honey, my name is Forrest Brassard.”
Rourke snorted. Forrest counted that as a win. A prim man like Rourkeneversnorted like that. “You’re spectacular.”
Forrest’s eyes widened. “Did you just call me spectacular?”
Rourke raised his eyebrows, his fingers still stroking his tired cock. “You know I did. I give you compliments when it matters most.”
“You never give us compliments, only lectures about rules.” Forrest fell to his knees and kissed the head of Rourke’s cock, eliciting a hiss from the other man. He stroked his fingers along the length of the flushed and satisfied dick. “But you have an amazing cock, and I can forgive the lectures if I can have it more often.”
Rourke narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “We shouldn’t be doing this, but….” He hooked his finger under Forrest’s chin and raised his head so that they stared at each other. His lips quirked in a cute half smile. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“My lips are sealed, boss.” Forrest made a zipping motion over his mouth.
Rourke’s expression turned serious. “This must stay between us. I made Terrance give up his relationship with Alice for the Virtue. I’m not one who doesn’t practice what I preach.”
Forrest ran his palm over Rourke’s thigh. “I know. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”
“Good, because I won’t risk my position in the company for you.”
A sharp pain stabbed at Forrest’s chest, but he forced himself to smile. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”
Rourke cupped his cheek and leaned down to lay a gentle kiss on Forrest’s lips. Forrest closed his eyes, basking in the taste of Rourke’s mouth and the smell of his masculine sweat alongside the scent of sex that clung in the air. “I’m going to hell.”
Forrest laughed. “At least you’ll have me for company.”
“Get dressed, we need to talk.” Rourke waved at Forrest’s clothes as he gathered his own. He slid on his pants, without underwear, and then his shirt without bothering to button it up.
Forrest sighed and did the same. He knew what Rourke wanted to talk about. If anything could be said about Rourke Tormey, it was that he didn’t forget about conversations he wanted to have.
Rourke strode over to the bar and grabbed two tumblers. He poured whiskey into each, and when he’d made it back to his chair, he handed one off to Forrest. Forrest rested against the desk, not bothering to take a seat in the wingback chair on the other side. If they were having this discussion, he wanted to be close to see Rourke’s reactions.
“Bruises,” Rourke said.
Forrest took a large swig of the whiskey, shaking his head at the burning sensation as it slid down his throat. He swallowed around the smoky flavor and stared at the now half empty glass. “It was an accident.”
Rourke’s eyes hardened. “How?”
“One of my clients. He got a little rough, he didn’t realize. It happens, you know it does.” Forrest forced himself to smile. “Sometimes they get caught up in the heat of the moment and they hold too tightly.”
Rourke pointed at him. “Those bruises aren’t from holding on too tightly, Forrest. They have purpose. He meant to hurt you.”
“He didn’t,” Forrest protested. “He’s a nice guy.”
“Who was it?”
“I can’t tell you because then you’d kick him out. He pays well,” Forrest said, gulping down the rest of the drink.
“So he’s a regular, then.” Rourke took a sip of his own drink, eyes watchful. “A regular should know the rules.”
“I told you, it was an accident.” Forrest stared down at his empty tumbler. He needed more alcohol for this conversation. Embarrassment flooded his cheeks and shame stopped him from going to the bar to get another one, especially after what happened on the roof.
“Fine, I won’t kick him out, but I want to know who it is so I can talk to him about being careful with our property.”
Rourke always talked like that, everyone in the Killough Company did, so Forrest didn’t know why it hurt so much to hear Rourke calling him his property right now. But the words fucking stung, and Forrest hated feeling the vulnerability that stirred in his stomach. He had a lot of labels—whore, property, slut—and he’d taken it with a grain of salt, but this felt different. They’d fucked, but Forrest was still only property, something Rourke could replace if Forrest went missing—or got broken.
