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Caleb met every one of Roman’s drives with a push of his own, and their bodies found a rhythm born of raw, carnal synchronization. No finesse, no gentle lovemaking. This was primal. This was possession.
It didn’t take long for Roman to reach the point of no return, and why prolong it? He sent himself flying over it, crashing into his orgasm with all his muscles spasming and his vision going white. His cock spurted out its rich load, saved up from days without Caleb because Roman hadn’t touched himself. He’d wanted to wait for this exact moment. He slowed to a gentle pace, the squelching sounds of his wet cock sliding in and out of Caleb’s hole obscene yet so deliciously dirty.
Caleb lay panting, his fists clenched, probably from the effort to hold back his release. Should he fuck him again? Make him suffer for another round?
One day, he’d have the patience for that, perhaps, or maybe it was more a sense of cruelty. But now, he wanted nothing more than to reward his sweet, perfect boy for a job well done. He sank deep inside him and stayed there, pumping as he snaked his hand under Caleb’s body and circled his cock.
Caleb moaned, eagerly thrusting into Roman’s hand.
“It’s your turn now, my sweet boy. Come for me.”
Caleb furiously pumped into his hand, and then he stilled, his body tense as he spilled his load. Exhausted, Roman gently pulled out. He almost tripped over his pants and kicked them off, crawled onto the bed, and carefully dragged Caleb up as well, sparing his ass by letting him lie on his stomach.
He lay with his face a mere inch from Caleb’s, both still panting and their hearts racing—victors in the aftermath of their carnal battle. As his pulse slowly came down, the haze of his release lifted.
He was in love with him.
Somewhere along the way, he’d fallen in love with Caleb.
Precious, sweet Caleb, so eager to please and serve him but strong enough to take a stand when needed and say no when he had to. Smart, brilliant Caleb, so dedicated to his job and Roman’s safety that he’d been willing to enter the lion’s den and work for Isabella Coldrick. Brave, fearless Caleb, seeing in Roman what he’d never realized and awakening the Dom inside him.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly.
Caleb nodded, a languid smile curving his lips. “Yes, Sir…more than.”
The tenderness in those two words struck Roman harder than any physical blow could. A real, raw emotion that was as tangible as the leather that had snapped against skin. He’d also sensed it earlier that week, when they’d both admitted they’d missed each other. Hadn’t they promised each other they’d talk later? Now it was later.
But no, he didn’t want to rush into anything. Besides, Caleb needed aftercare. Rather than using words, Roman would show him what he was feeling.
With careful movements, Roman slid off the bed, every muscle in his body protesting. His feet touched the cool wooden floor, and he walked, slightly unsteadily, to the dresser and retrieved the bottle of aloe vera lotion. The green bottle cooled his hand, which was still hot from spanking Caleb.
When he returned to Caleb’s side, Roman knelt next to him on the bed and opened the cap. The gel flowed into his palm, cold and soothing. He met Caleb’s eyes, seeking silent permission before touching the reddened skin that mapped out the path of his desire.
“Let me take care of you,” Roman whispered.
Slowly, gently he rubbed the lotion over Caleb’s flushed ass cheeks. He massaged in circles, his touch light, allowing the cooling balm to work its magic. Caleb sighed, the tension unwinding from his frame as his body yielded not only to the discipline but also to the aftercare, the nurturing that mended more than just the skin.
“Thank you, Sir,” Caleb whispered. The gratitude in his voice struck a chord within Roman.
“My pleasure. You were so good, so perfect for me.”
As Roman continued the soothing motions, a sense of rightness settled over him. He might’ve lost his job, but he had found something much more important. He’d found his purpose. He’d found love.
22
The weekend had been amazing. Caleb had spent most of it with Roman and a good portion of it in Roman’s bedroom. He hadn’t even unpacked his duffel in his room because why would he when he had no intention of being there?
They’d talked too. A lot. More than Caleb had expected, and even more surprising was how much he’d loved it. The getting-to-know-you stage of a relationship had always been somewhat tedious, but with Roman, it all felt so natural. They’d shared stories about their families, their upbringing, how they’d gotten into their line of work, and the weird experiences they’d been through over the years. Favorite foods, colors, movies, everything.
Hell, if Caleb had to fill out a questionnaire about Roman, he’d come a long way in knowing all the answers. Yet he wanted to know so much more, had so many more questions to ask.
Driving back to Boston on Sunday evening had hurt. Not in the sense of it being hard, but it had physically hurt to drive away and see Roman grow smaller in his rearview mirror. The only consolation was that it would only be for five days, and then he’d be back. Still, despite his emotional turmoil, he’d focused on possible tails and hadn’t noticed any.
Monday morning, he pushed through the doors of the office building that housed Coldrick Law, among others, just as the city was waking up, its streets buzzing with the early rush of caffeine-driven ambition. The by-now-familiar clack of his dress shoes on polished concrete echoed in the empty lobby. He was early, deliberately. He swiped his ID and headed straight for his tiny office, still grateful he didn’t have to share it.
Would today be the day he finally found a link between Coldrick and Whitman’s illegal dealings? The investigation was stuck, and Caleb hated it like he despised having to tap out in a grappling match. He always went for the win. Always. And this was no different. All he could do was dig…and keep his eyes and ears open.
Settling into his chair, he cracked his knuckles and dove into the digital trenches. Fingers flew over the keyboard, eyes scanned line after line of file names, financial transactions, and emails. It was grunt work, but it mattered. Each breadcrumb could lead to Whitman’s unraveling.
