“Quentin,” I said, staring into his eyes so I knew I had his undivided attention. “I am giving you explicit permission to use my first name. You can call me sir or Mr. Chamberlain whenever you want except for when my hands are on you like this.” I punctuated my sentence by gliding my hand down his arm until I reached his hand. I tangled my fingers in his. “When I touch you like this, I want you to use my name. Do you understand me?”
He searched my face. “Are you going to touch me like this often?”
My response was simple and to the point. “I want to.”
“Then, yes, sir.”
I tsked, pulling back a fraction of an inch. “Then what do you say? Hmm? What do you say when I’m touching you like this?”
He licked his lips as he took a deep breath as if he was working up the courage to call me by my name. “Yes, Nolan.”
I smiled as pleasure radiated out from my chest. Quentin’s gaze dropped in a flash. His eyes grew hazy as he traced the slight curve of my lips with his eyes. For a second, I wondered why he was so fascinated with my smile, but I couldn’t hold back my desire for him any longer.
My hand sent tingling shards of pleasure to my brain as I touched him. The fire he’d lit in my chest burned its way through me until my only thought was to feel more of him. My cock made itself known, demanding attention—Quentin’s attention.
Tightening my grip on his neck, I tugged him forward an inch as I dropped my mouth to his. Quentin’s body melted into mine. It was as if he had no will to keep himself upright, trusting in me to do it for him.
He moaned, and as his lips fell open, I sank into his heat. Taking what I wanted, I shifted my thumb until I was pressing on his jaw. I used the pressure of my hold to keep his mouth open for my invasion. Slipping inside, I swept my tongue against him. I groaned as need coursed through me.
I pulled back but kept my grip on him, forcing him to climb over his chair and into my lap. After watching Oliver cuddle in Marshall’s lap, all I’d wanted was for Quentin to do the same with me. It was better than I’d imagined. He felt perfect against me. Now that I had him right where I wanted him, my mind started thinking of ways to get him to stay.
As close to me as he was, I knew he could feel the hard length of my cock pressing into him. He mewled and ground his hips forward, letting me feel his answering arousal. I felt powerful knowing I could make a man like Quentin, a man so well-mannered and polite, fall apart in my arms with a kiss.
Pulling back, I dropped my head onto the back of my chair and tried to rein myself in before I did something neither of us was ready for. “Do you want this?” I asked before I lost myself in him once again.
“What?” Quentin shook his head as if trying to gain some clarity himself.
I couldn’t tell how well it was working since he was still grinding against me as if he had no control over his body.
“This,” I said, tightening my hand on his hips to still his movements. “You and me. Us. I need to know how you feel about all this because if I make you mine, I’m not sure I’ll be able to let you walk away without a fight.”
He moaned. He fucking moaned. “Now you sound like a stalker.”
I knew he hadn’t meant it in the actual sense of the word. His voice had dropped and turned desperate as if the thought of me stalking him was something that got him off.
“It’s not stalking if it’s consensual,” I said in a somewhat offhanded manner. I was too distracted by the wanton ways he was moving his body against mine despite my hold.
He chuckled. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”
“So, what do you say?”
“What does it mean when you say us?”
My mouth turned dry with fear. I was terrified that revealing the truth would scare him away, but it was a risk I needed to take. “I want what you promised me.”
He jerked back a bit in confusion. “Promise? What promise?”
“Well, it sounded like a promise to me.” I lifted my hand and brushed the backs of my fingers down his cheek. It felt so good to touch him how I wanted to. I knew a lot of people thought I was a cold, emotionless man, but I was a very tactile person.
“He’s a good man who deserves someone to love him and take care of him,” I repeated what he’d said in the break room to the letter as my hand trailed down his chest to stop over his heart. I pressed my palm against him until I could feel the beating of his heart. “A true partner in life. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To love and take care of me. To serve me.”
His heart erupted at a violent pace. Concerned, I looked up and studied his face. Fear and longing dominated his features.
“It’s what you’ve been reluctantly doing this whole time, right? Thinking I could never respond in kind.”
Then he did something I would have never expected. He started blinking rapidly as tears flooded his eyes. His nostrils flared, and he pursed his lips to stop them from trembling. He was trying so hard not to cry.
Lifting my hand, I wiped away the tear that clung to his bottom lid. “Why are you crying, little rabbit?”
“You really want me like that?” he asked, his voice wet and shaking. His question was so telling.
“How could I not?” I countered. “You have fascinated me from the moment you walked into my office. You’re so hardworking and dedicated, so sure of yourself, and then you walk into here looking so vulnerable. No one cares when I skip meals. Spencer and Marshall are the only ones who get on to me about it, but instead of ignoring it like everyone else, you brought me lunch. Then, you made sure I ate something every day. And seeing you Saturday night looking so… Quentin, don’t you realize how amazing you are? I would consider myself a very lucky man if you gave me the chance to prove I could give those kinds of things to you as well.”
His reaction shocked me.
Quentin folded his arms against his chest as if to make himself as small as he could and tucked himself into my body. He nuzzled into me with his cheek before stopping to rest against my shoulder.
I wrapped my arms around him and shifted my body in the chair to redistribute his weight evenly. Comfortable, I stroked his back. I felt the occasional shudder jar his body and the rare tear against my shoulder, but he seemed more content than distressed, so I let him be.
My mind kept circling back to the question he’d asked. He’d sounded so surprised. As if the thought that I could want him in more ways than strictly physical was outrageous. In fact, the idea that it had been a long time since he’d heard anything of the kind began to form in my mind. Quentin was so deserving of everything that it pained me to think he’d been begging for approval and validation in silence, finding it nowhere.
No, I thought as I untucked his shirt and slipped my hand under the fabric to stroke his naked back, his face when Foster had tasted his drink at the club had meant something. Losing myself in his skin, I traced meaningless patterns against his back as my mind whirled with thoughts and ideas. I discarded most and kept pieces of others until a picture started forming in my head.
I could see what he’d been doing at the club with more clarity. He’d blinded me with his presence, his appearance, and the ramifications of both that I’d failed to consider what he’d been doing there at all.