“Gray,” he whispers, the first time he’s said my name since this started. It pushes me over the edge.
Pleasure spikes through my core as I come in thick pulses onto his waiting palm. I coat his hand with my release, making sure every drop lands on his skin. The sight of my cum pooling in his hand, dripping between his fingers, nearly triggers a second wave.
“Now,” I pant, still riding my orgasm. “Touch yourself. Use that hand.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes. He wraps his cum-covered hand around his cock and begins stroking, spreading my release along its length. It’s the filthiest thing I’ve ever seen, my cum glistening on his cock as he pleasures himself.
I’m still coming, the intensity of the orgasm prolonged by the sight before me. Or maybe it’s my second orgasm, I’m not sure. Spurts of white land on his face, his hair, his expensive shirt. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans into it, angling his face to catch more.
“Fuck, Gray,” he groans, hand moving faster. His head falls back, exposing the long line of his throat.
His cock pulses in his hand, shooting ropes of cum up onto his chest. His whole body shudders, mouth open in a silent cry.
I’ve had many partners in my life and have done a lot of things. But I’ve never seen anything as erotic as Wyatt Kingsley coming with my release coating his skin.
We both pant heavily as our orgasms subside, the only sound in the vast, empty penthouse. His eyes find mine again, that strange intensity still there, though softened now by the haze of pleasure. I should feel shame, regret, panic about what we’ve just done. Instead, I feel…calm. Centered in a way I haven’t been since before my last tour.
Wyatt breaks the silence, a small smile playing at the corner of his swollen lips. His voice comes out rough, wrecked in a way that does something to my chest.
“Well,” he says, still breathless. “That was fun.”
8
Wyatt
I shift in the chair across from Dad’s massive desk, trying to look like I give a shit about this conversation. It’s been three days since I found out Alyssa was fucking my best friend and three days since I ended up on my knees for Gray. Now I’m sitting here pretending my biggest problem is my girlfriend’s betrayal. Meanwhile, my mind replays what happened between me and my bodyguard on a loop like my brain’s favorite porn.
“Wyatt, are you listening to me?” Dad’s voice cuts through my thoughts. He’s leaning forward in his chair, fingers steepled in that way he does when he’s about to lecture me.
“Yeah, sorry.” I straighten up, trying to focus.
“As I was saying, this behavior from Alyssa is completely unacceptable. The Palmer family has been our business partner for decades. To betray our trust like this—”
“Dad, it’s not a merger gone bad,” I interrupt. “It’s just a relationship. People break up all the time.”
“She was having sexual relations with your friend, Wyatt. It’s a humiliation.” He sighs. “I’m having dinner with Thomas Palmer next week. I’ll be addressing this directly.”
My stomach drops. “No, Dad. Absolutely not.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t talk to her father.” I sit forward, suddenly fully engaged in this conversation. “It’s my personal business. My relationship. My fucking problem.”
Dad’s eyebrows shoot up at the profanity, but I don’t back down. The thought of him discussing my sex life with Alyssa’s father makes me want to throw myself out the window behind him.
“I understand you’re upset—”
“I’m not upset about Alyssa,” I say, surprising myself with how true it is. “I mean, yeah, it was shitty finding them together like that. But I’m more pissed about Zeke’s betrayal than hers.” I pause, realizing I mean that too. “I just don’t want this becoming some family feud or business issue.”
Dad studies me for a long moment, then leans back in his chair. “This is surprisingly mature of you, Wyatt.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. The bar is so fucking low that not wanting my dad to fight my battles counts as maturity.
“Please, just don’t say anything to Mr. Palmer,” I press. “It’s already humiliating enough without turning it into gossip for your country club friends.”
He sighs, relenting. “All right. I won’t bring it up.”
I know better than to believe him completely. Dad might not say anything directly, but Mom will definitely find a way to let Mrs. Palmer know what kind of daughter they raised.
