Adriel moaned, head thrown back, unable to form words.
"Every time I look at you." Thrust. "I want this." Thrust. "Want you under me." Thrust. "Around me." Thrust. "You're everything, Adriel.Everything."
Adriel was beyond language. Beyond thought. He was sensation and sound and the feeling of Landen inside him and above him and all around him, filling every empty space. The voices that usually lived in his head, his mother's, Zach's, his own cruel relentless narrator, were silent. There was no room for them. There was only Landen.
When Landen finally growled, "Cum for me, baby. Let go. I want to feel you," Adriel did.
The orgasm tore through him so hard his back arched completely off the bed. Landen's name was ripped from his throat, a raw scream of it, his whole body locking and shaking as he came between them. His cock pulsed, stripes of cum landing on his stomach, on Landen's chest, the pleasure going on and on and on.
Landen followed moments later. Buried himself deep, groaning against Adriel's neck, the sound raw and animal and completely undone. His hips stuttered, pressed deeper, and Adriel felt him cum inside him, felt the heat of it, the pulse of it.
After a long moment, Landen pressed his lips to Adriel's throat.
"So good," he murmured. "So perfect. You're perfect, baby."
Adriel's eyes were still wet. He turned his head, found Landen's mouth, kissed him soft and slow.
Chapter 21
Adriel
The invitation had arrived three weeks ago.
Adriel had found it on his desk one morning, thick cardstock in a cream envelope, his name typed neatly across the front. He'd opened it standing there, still holding his coffee, and read the words without quite understanding them at first.
Grayson House Publishing requests the pleasure of your company at the launch of… and then the name of the book, the author, the venue.
He'd looked up, across the office, through open doors of Landen's office. Landen had been on the phone, gesturing at something, and for a moment their eyes had met. Landen had smiled.
That was three weeks ago.
Now the night was here, and Adriel was standing in front of his closet trying to remember how to breathe.
The event was a launch celebration for one of Grayson House's biggest authors. Important client, important press, important people. The entire editorial floor had been invited, which meantAdriel would be there, which meant Landen would be there. In the same room. For hours.
Landen had talked to him about it. One evening, a hand on his hip, steady and warm.
“We should keep our distance,” he'd said. “It's not that I want to hide this. Believe me, I do not. I just don't want to give anyone ammunition to use against you. You work for me. People will talk, and I don't want that to touch you.”
Adriel had nodded. Had understood. Does understand.
But now, standing alone in his apartment days later, choosing his clothes for the event, the understanding felt thinner than it had when Landen's hands were on him.
He pulled a dark jacket from the closet, held it against himself in the mirror. Adjusted it. Tugged at the hem. Took it off. Put it back on. Tried a different shirt underneath. Took that off too.
He thought about the marks on his body, faded now to faint yellowish shadows. He thought about Landen sayingminein the dark andMr. Alvarezin the light. He thought about how much space there was between those two things, and how he existed, always, in the gap.
He was staring at his fourth shirt option when Jenna appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with the particular expression she reserved for when he was being ridiculous and she was deciding how long to let it go on before she intervened.
"You're spiraling," she said.
"I'm getting dressed," Adriel said, tugging at the collar.
"You're spiraling while getting dressed." She took a stock of him. "You've been in here for forty-five minutes. I timed it. I was going to give you an hour but I got bored."
"I'm fine."
"You're wearing the same shirt you started with."
