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“C’est bon,” Julien said, as Priest moved his cheek up and down his sensitive flesh, and judging by the sound that rumbled out of Julien’s throat, it felt really fucking good. “Suck me, Joel.”
“Ask me nicely, and I might.”
“Suck me, Joel. S’il te plaît?”
Troublemaker, Priest thought, and looked up at the mischief swirling in Julien’s eyes. He took note to later punish Julien for that as he moved to swipe his tongue over the slick pre-cum gathered at the head of Julien’s cock. That was when the intrusive sound of a ringtone echoed around the room.
Julien froze in place as Priest raised his head and pinned him with annoyed eyes.
“Je suis désolé. I thought it was on silent.”
“And you know better,” Priest said, as he got to his feet. “It should be off. This isn’t a movie theatre; you shouldn’t need reminding. For that, and your lack of manners a second ago, you can wait here like this until I’m done with whoever is on the phone. Then I’ll decide whether or not you still deserve to come.”
“That’s just mean. Even for you.”
“Keep it up,” Priest said, aiming his eyes at Julien’s erection as he walked over to the kitchen where the phone sat on the counter. “Or I’ll make it a week.”
“Salaud.”
“Yes, I am,” Priest said, and when he looked down at the screen, the name and number flashing across it had his annoyance somewhat dissipating.
“Well?” Julien asked.
Priest aimed a pointed look Julien’s way. “I believe you’re going to like this little turn of events.”
Julien looked down at his angry cock and shook his head as Priest walked back to him with the phone in hand. “Highly doubtful.”
Priest wrapped a hand around his husband’s stiff length, making Julien grab at the dining room table for support.
“Don’t you know by now, you should never doubt me.” Priest then hit accept on Julien’s phone and brought it to his ear. “Robert Bianchi. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that it’s poor form to call another man’s husband this late at night?”
Chapter Two
CONFESSION
French accents and bossy assholes make me stupid…and hard.
AS HIS NAME registered through the haze of alcohol, Robbie told himself to end the call. He’d known this had been a terrible idea from the second he’d hit Julien’s number, and now that Priest had answered, it was confirmed—worst idea ever.
He sat there with his phone plastered to his ear and tried to crush the jolt of awareness he felt at hearing Joel Priestley say his name. Ever since Robbie had met the jackass while he’d been trying his cousin Vanessa’s case, Priest had been busy calling him princess or sweetheart in that condescending tone of his. But my name, in that voice? Oh. My. God.
“Robert?”
Snap out of it. You hate him, remember?
“It’s Robbie. And didn’t you ever tell your husband it’s poor form to give out his number, if he’s not single?” he said, rather proud of the fact that his voice didn’t waver—not much, anyway.
“When we first met, you introduced yourself as Robert, did you not?” Priest said, ignoring Robbie’s little dig at Julien. “I like that better.”
That seemed like forever ago, but in the short months since, Robbie had managed to relocate his backbone along with his personality, and he wasn’t about to let Priest or anyone else start telling him what damn name he should go by.
“Like I care what you do or don’t like?” Robbie snorted. “It’s Robbie, and I didn’t call to talk to you anyway.”
“That’s right,” Priest said in an impossibly calm tone. “You called to talk to my husband.”
Robbie looked from either side of himself, suddenly feeling guilty for calling up a married man to see if he wanted to— Wait a second. Why should I feel guilty? I didn’t make Julien give me his number.
“Would you like me to get him for you?” Priest asked. “He’s right here.”
Wait, no. Somehow that felt…wrong.
“Robert?”
“No, I don’t want you to get—”
“Bonsoir, princesse. I’m so glad you called. Your timing is parfait.”
As Julien’s sensual voice replaced his husband’s, Robbie’s cock became instantly hard, and when he realized Priest was still over there somewhere listening, he had to press the heel of his palm to his groin in an attempt to squash the crazy arousal that licked through his veins.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, what’s the matter with me? This is not hot. They’re married, Robbie told himself. But then he pictured the both of them as they’d looked at Mitchell & Madison’s Christmas party, in their suits, staring him down with an intensity he’d never felt before and, yeah, okay, it’s totally hot.
But he had his pride, damn it, and Julien had recently made a fool out of him. “I don’t want to talk to you.” Can’t you tell, by the way I called?
“Non?” Julien said, and drunk or not, Robbie could picture the half smirk, half smile that had been splashed all over the television during Julien’s run on the reality show Chef Master.
