Page 66 of The One-Night Heist

So good…

I’d barely caught my breath when I heard the obscenely distinct sound of skin on skin. My dick attempted to rally as I glanced over my shoulder to find Rowen stroking himself, using my cum as lubricant with his gaze fixed on my ass.

“Will you come inside me again?” I whispered, daring to ask for what I wanted—needed—even though I didn’t have my plug handy.

His gaze snapped to mine, glassy with his impending orgasm. “Not this time,” he rasped. “I wanna give you the money shot first.”

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but I’d already decided I would let this man do whatever he wanted to me. Even if I’d wanted to ask him to clarify, I wouldn’t have been able to. I was too mesmerized with how the color rose to his cheeks as he neared release—the way his teeth worried his bottom lip and his gaze grew unfocused a few seconds before he moaned low and came all over my lower back.

Marking me as his once again.

It was doubtful he saw it that way, but the contentment I felt at this moment—the same as when his teeth were in my neck while he rode me—was undeniable. I wanted to belong to Rowen Quincy so badly, I could taste it, and as he lazily spread his cum over my skin while dragging a wet finger down my crack to rub some over my hole, I allowed my eyes to flutter closed, pretending it was true.

“Do you want to take the first shower?” Rowen’s voice abruptly roused me from my daydream.

“I don’t want to shower…” I sleepily mumbled before fully realizing what I’d confessed.

Shit.

I cleared my throat and straightened before turning to face him. “What I meant is⁠—”

“You want to smell like me,” Rowen replied, his gaze darkening as he stepped closer. “Careful, Luxford. You’re gonna make me start acting like a fucking caveman.”

I won’t stop you.

His gaze fell to my lips and I froze, dying for him to close that last inch between us and give me what I was craving, despite where his mouth had been.

Please kiss me.

“Was that a home theater we walked through on the way back here?” he said instead, disappointingly meeting my gaze again.

“Yes,” I replied, grabbing a robe from a nearby hook and covering myself up, suddenly self-conscious. “Would you like to watch something?”

“Sure.” He grinned, blessing me with that gorgeous gap. “How about The Thomas Crown Affair? For inspiration, of course.”

“Sounds good.” I nodded before walking past him to the adjoining closet, noticing how he watched but didn’t follow. “Let me just change into some leisurewear⁠—”

“Ohhh… so you do know how to relax?” he teased as I grabbed a pair of Brunello Cucinelli terry trousers, a tee, and a double-cloth sweatshirt. “Am I going to see a less snooty, more laid back version of you in Italy?”

“You will,” I replied, my gaze drifting to the rest of the closet’s contents, hidden from his view. “I do my best to embody the art of sprezzatura while abroad.”

A relief from the armor I wear on the Upper East Side.

“Yeah, well…” Rowen waved a hand in my direction as he breezed past, through the bedroom and toward the theater. “I hope the one suit I brought in my fancy, monogrammed garment bag is enough for this business trip…”

I stifled a grin, knowing now wasn’t the time to share that this closet had been stocked with clothing for him as well, before quickly pulling on my leisurewear. That all could wait. Right now, I was looking forward to several hours of forced proximity before our domesticity was forgotten—by him—in favor of “business” once again.

Twenty-Two

Rowen

I woke up with a start, realizing to my horror that not only had I fallen asleep on Giano, I’d been drooling all over his leisurewear for God knew how long.

Just fucking perfect.

“Buona sera,” he murmured as the pilot continued babbling something over the intercom about the weather in Rome and how we’d be landing in one hour. “Sleep well?”

“Like shit,” I snapped, even though it had been the best sleep of my life. “Whatever your leisure suit is made out of irritated my skin.”