Page 29 of Fallen Rook

I couldn’t reconcile this fervent man with the same nerdy-ass FBI agent who couldn’t muster a smile to save his life. Then again, I also couldn’t see that nerdy dude killing someone like Cash and taking the risk, so maybe the Tom Rothwell the world knew was nothing but a shell of the man lurking beneath the surface.

His erection pressed against the slit of my ass through our clothes, and my eyes rolled inside their sockets. This was too much and not enough at the same time.

His moves were crazy hot. He knew how to touch a man, how to fuck, how to make me crave more, and I wanted to learn everything from him.

He was also the only motherfucker alive who could manhandle me, maybe other than Jeremie. The Russian was the size of a tank, but straighter than a ruler.

“Tom, I—”

“I said no talking.”

He cupped my nape, planting me headfirst into the grass. I didn’t know what to make of it, and I had a feeling the more I spoke, the more pissed he’d get, so I just panted quietly, caught between panic, paranoia, and uncontainable lust.

“If we’re gonna do this…” Tom’s lips found the edge of my ear from behind as he ground his cock against the slit of my ass deeper and harder now, making my body quiver with lust and anticipation. “We’re gonna play by my rules. You understand?”

I’d opened my mouth to say something when I realized he was holding me by the hair, and that I wasn’t just leaking precum—I was dripping it. I was about to full-blown come in my pants.

“Do. You. Understand?” Tom seethed behind me, enunciating each word.

Fuck, I couldn’t remember what he asked. I couldn’t even remember where I was.

Rules. It was something about rules.

“What are your rules?” I tried to keep my tone playful. Now that I knew this motherfucker was at least as unhinged as my brothers—if not more—I needed to make sure there were no weird-ass rituals or baby sacrifice involved.

“We only meet when my schedule permits, and we keep it very, very discreet.”

Yeah, like I was gonna call the press with the hot tip that I let an FBI agent fuck me. We were definitely on the same page when it came to confidentiality.

“I–I can do that.” I licked my lips. “Anything we do will be sub rosa.”

“Get on all fours.”

I did, way too fast. I didn’t know if he was going to fuck me right there, on the edge of a golf course, lube-less, but I didn’t even care. Having that dick in my ass was a matter of national urgency.

Tom got on his knees from behind, unbuckling me as he spoke. “You unblock me, and you never block or play games with me again.”

Wait, what? This motherfucker blocked me after eating my face like it was his favorite meal. I didn’t like hypocritical assholes.

“Hey! What about when you—”

My pants and briefs fell down to my knees, and he grabbed my cock by the root, squeezing it to a point I saw stars. My face planted into the fucking grass, my arms collapsing limply. My ass was still in the air—bare—and his hand was on my dick, choking it to death, but not moving.

He gave my cock another tantalizing squeeze—like he knew just the right pressure to apply—and I felt the clear liquid of my cum sliding down my shaft, snaking between his fingers. “To be clear, I’m not negotiating with you, Enzo. I’m laying down the rules.”

“Fine,” I whimpered, sounding like a complete wimp. “Just…”

“Just what?” he prodded.

“You know,” I whispered. I still couldn’t say it.

Make me come. Jerk me off. Prove to me just how fucking gay I am.

I knew the self-loathing would arrive as soon as we were done. Just as well as I knew the self-loathing had no business being there in the first place, because what we were doing wasn’t wrong. Two consenting adults, drawing pleasure from one another. And still, I didn’t care. This felt better than anything I’d ever done with all the women I’d been with, combined.

“You can come, if you agree to all the other terms. Spit.” His hand left my dick and appeared beneath my face. I spat. He spat into it, too. Then his hand was back on my cock. He gave it a leisurely stroke.

Aaaaaahh.