The Billionaire Bad Boys Club(19)

“Take it,” Trey urged, his hips and his voice gone wild. “Fucking take your climax. Fucking come over my fingers.”

Trey’s own words did a number on himself. He shoved hard, his cum flooding Zane with heat. The final jump and swell of his cock pushed against Zane’s prostate.

“Zane!” Trey cried, pulling back two inches and slamming in again.

Zane’s heart thumped a mile a minute, the ache in his lower torso deliciously suspenseful. About to die if he didn’t come, he threw back his head and bucked as hard as he could into Trey’s next thrust.

The orgasm seemed to explode inside his brain.

He spurted over Trey’s fingers, spraying the couch, the rug—hell, maybe half of Boston. This was a colossal ejaculation, more than could be accounted for by the week he’d gone without. Trey had touched off a switch inside him, and possibly in himself. That they’d been fucking each other five years now didn’t seem to matter. The twists and turns of their kinks still had some surprises left.

They both were shaking when Trey sank over him.

“Jesus,” he said, dragging his lax mouth across Zane’s sweat-streaked skin. “Tell me I didn’t hurt you at the end.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Zane slurred obediently.

Trey pulled out with a groan, dropping from where he was to sit on the floor. “I don’t think I can stand up.”

Without his weight, Zane felt as light as air. He squirmed fully onto the couch, then turned himself around. Trey’s damp dark head was near enough to pet.

“Thank you,” Zane said. He meant for everything: the last five years, tonight, the future they were going to share together. Zane might not have cornered the market on introspection, but he knew this was a rare moment. In this moment, his life was very close to perfect.

As if he sensed his thoughts, Trey drew Zane’s hand down and kissed its palm.

Emotion overwhelmed him. How could he deserve this man? Trey’s kindness alone was humbling, his ability to forgive. Trey never held back his affection, no matter what Zane did. In the face of that, Zane had no right to deny him anything he wanted.

“We could go back to Wilde’s tomorrow,” he offered impulsively. “See if the lobster is fresh yet.”

Trey hesitated for one heartbeat. “No,” he said. “I expect we’ll be too busy to try their food again.”





CHAPTER FOUR



Chef

REBECCA’S heart pounded way too fast as she opened the passenger door and hopped out of the delivery van. Her head chef Raoul was driving, taking time off to help her. She owed him big for this, especially since—strictly speaking—he didn't work for her anymore. In the back of the van was his strapping son Dominic. They’d double-parked in the financial district, a busy area of Boston that mixed Colonial buildings and skyscrapers. Because Raoul couldn’t leave the wheel, Dominic was helping her offload her two shrink-wrapped six-foot-tall supply carts. Neatly packed onto the steel shelves was everything she needed for today’s menu. She knew this because she’d checked the contents as obsessively as her brother Charlie used to check his backpack for school.

She couldn’t afford to forget anything today. Every detail had to go perfectly.

She wiped sweaty palms on her clean black trousers, then grabbed the back end of the first cart to guide it down the van ramp with Dominic. He grinned at her, a nice kid who adored his talented father and seemed likely to follow in his footsteps. Once the second cart joined the first on the hot sidewalk, he flipped the ramp up and slammed the doors.

“Knock him dead, chef,” Raoul called out the driver’s window. Though they were friends, he often called her that. Coming from him, the title was a cross between “boss” and “hon.”

Grimacing at the butterflies in her stomach, she acknowledged his well wishes with a wave before he drove off. God, she hated being this nervous.

“You’ll be fine,” Dominic assured her like he was sixty and not sixteen. “You’ve done this sort of thing, what, two-and-a-half zillion times?”

“Pipsqueak,” Rebecca retorted as they shoved the carts toward the entrance of TBBC’s corporate headquarters. She might have done this a zillion times, but never with so much riding on the result. “If their kitchen sucks, I’m not letting you forget it for a year.”

The building’s doorman trotted over to open the non-revolving door. His charcoal gray uniform was sharp, his buttons bright enough to blind. Trey Hayworth and TBBC didn’t do anything half-assed. She’d need her A-game to get this job with him.