Page 214
ALICE
I’m so relieved when we step outside and I lock my front door, leaving the studio ready for Camilla in the morning. We’ve worked wonders, a joint effort, transforming my space of chaos into a gallery. A workspace that looks worthy of representing the Hammersmith auction house.
No thanks could ever be enough. I keep trying, but Jack swats my words away.
“You’ve been saying thanks all day, Soul Girl. Change the tune now, please.”
“Fine, I’ll shut up with the gratitude,” I say. “But at least let me get us a takeout in exchange for a hard day of labour.”
We detour to a noodle bar with five-star ratings. Bryce takes twenty-five minutes to study the menu like he’s analysing a merger report, while Jack sighs and checks his watch every two minutes.
“Come on, BT! We’ll be having the breakfast menu soon if you don’t get with it. I’m fucking starving.”
“Alright, alright.”
Soon, the three of us are crowded around Jack’s kitchen island, passing sauces and fumbling with chopsticks. We’re all on a high as we share a bottle of red, both guys in shirts with rolled up sleeves, top buttons undone.
“Here’s to the catalogue listing,” Jack says, like it’s already a done deal, and Bryce raises a glass along with him.
I’m done with arguing that the paintings might not cut it, daring for once to truly believe.
“To a catalogue listing.”
Jack’s eyes flick to Bryce when we finish the cheers.
“Come on then, BT,” he says. “Give us a proper rundown of your own personal success story. What happened with the face off?”
It’s bizarre to hear how Bryce managed to handle my dad with so much at stake for him. He sits upright as he recounts the conversation, basking in his own kind of pride as he shares how he used a half-truth for maximum effect and believability.
Sylvia. Needing space. Reconnection. Art circles.
And as for the outright lie. He grins when he tells us about the grand moment he stared William Parker in the eyes and told him Jack Reid wouldn’t be a problem.
Yeah, as if.
Jack runs his hand down Bryce’s back after the grand revelation, poking his way down his spine.
“Bloody hell, Bryce.” He laughs. “Is that a backbone I feel in there?”
Oh wow, how the mood takes a turn at Jack’s throwaway remark. Bryce’s eyes turn darker than I’ve ever seen them. But it’s not of malice, or combat. It’s lust. The level of lust that would bring me to my knees.
He takes Jack straight from his breakfast stool, lifting him from his seat like a judo pro to slam him down on the floor and pin him flat.
“How’s this for a backbone?” he says and grinds against Jack’s crotch like a man possessed.
I stare in wonder as Jack bucks back up at him, pulling him in for a kiss that’s off the charts.
Jack holds Bryce’s face as they kiss. Gentle yet fierce.
He doesn’t play jester, or try to switch things up, just raises his hips so Bryce can free him from his trousers, and fuck, how Bryce is on a mission. He tosses Jack’s trousers and boxers across the kitchen in one tangled bundle. And our playboy responds to the request as Bryce guides his thighs up to his chest and spreads them wide, Jack’s asshole on offer.
My God, I switch seats to get a better view. My clit is sparking so bad, I’d kick my jeans off and get involved, but I hold back as a spectator, letting their own scene unfold.
“Need some lube?” Bryce asks between kisses, but Jack shakes his head.
“Nah, backbone boy, I can handle it just fine.”
He’s not lying. There is no fake bravado as Bryce frees his cock and slicks himself up with a token round of spit. Jack keeps his legs spread and hips rocked forwards, offering himself like an open target.
