Just a Bit Bossy (Straight Guys 12)

It was a chaste, brief kiss, perfectly appropriate for an informal dinner outdoors. But Nate’s mind went utterly empty with that horrible dizziness-submissiveness again. He parted his lips, his hands gripping Ferrara’s shirt. Please don’t. Please don’t stop. He was chasing Ferrara’s mouth with his own, Nate realized with a sinking feeling, but he couldn’t stop. He needed—he needed—

He whined when Ferrara pulled back. Fucking whined. It was mortifying.

Ferrara studied him, his gaze so very dark. Bottomless. Nate had never known what it meant to drown in someone’s eyes until that moment. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Nate couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He could only look at him helplessly, dazed and lost.

Ferrara grabbed Nate’s arm and practically dragged him away from the table.

Nate let him, his mind hazy and his knees weak.

There was a small building nearby, some kind of kitchen used by the staff.

Ferrara dragged him behind it.

He let go of Nate’s arm and looked at Nate with his black, demonic eyes.

The moment stretched, the tension unbearable.

“Kneel,” he said, voice deep and low.

As if in a dream, Nate dropped to his knees.

He sucked him off right there, not giving a damn that they were just a few feet away from other people. All he wanted was this cock in his mouth, the heady, musky taste of it, the feel of it, the thickness stretching his lips. Fuck, it felt so good, the hands in his hair, bossy and demanding, the cock moving in his mouth. It felt just right. But he wanted more.

As though hearing his thoughts, Ferrara started thrusting, fucking his mouth in earnest. Nate moaned around the cock and fumbled with his own fly. Pulling out his own erection, he stroked it, hard and fast, while his boss used his mouth.

“Look at you,” Ferrara said huskily. “You’re the biggest cock slut I’ve ever seen.”

The filthy words caused a horrible mix of arousal and humiliation, and Nate came, moaning around the cock in him. Ferrara groaned and slammed his cock against his throat a few times before spilling deep into it. Nate swallowed greedily, every single drop.

And he wanted more.

Jesus.

What had this man turned him into?

Chapter 17

Nate couldn’t look Luke in the eye when he went downstairs for breakfast. He had been so eager to escape the bedroom before Ferrara could wake up that he hadn’t considered that he’d have to face people who saw them leave yesterday and likely could guess what they had been doing behind the kitchen building.

Fuck, he’d never felt so embarrassed in his life.

Thankfully it was just Luke in the breakfast room. “Everyone else is probably nursing a hangover,” Luke said, answering his unasked question. “Roman doesn’t drink, but he likes sleeping in when he doesn’t have to get up. I kept him up half the night.” Luke smiled, a knowing look appearing on his face. “You’ve probably been up for a while, too, right?”

Ugh. Nate now understood the expression about wanting the ground to open up and swallow you, and he fervently wished for just that.

“Yeah,” he said with a forced smile. How could he say that they weren’t like that, that what happened yesterday hadn’t been supposed to happen—again? How could he say that Raffaele Ferrara just had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad effect on his body and brain? That he had sucked Nate’s willpower and rational thoughts right through his mouth, like some kind of Dementor?

“You look well rested, though,” Luke said, changing the subject, to Nate’s relief. “You like it here?”

Nate nodded and tucked in. He did feel well rested. To his surprise, he’d fallen asleep as soon as his head had hit the pillow yesterday and he slept like a baby. It must have been the air. In fact, he had slept so well that he’d woken up with his face smothered against Ferrara’s bare chest. Clearly his sleeping self was an idiot with no sense of self-preservation.

“It’s lovely here,” he said honestly when the silence stretched.

Before he could say anything else, Ferrara walked into the room, his eyes still heavy-lidded from sleep.

Nate pressed his lips together; even his ears turned hot. Kneel, Ferrara’s low, commanding voice sounded in his head. Fuck, he couldn’t believe he’d done it, just like that.

“Morning,” he forced out, since it would be strange if he didn’t say anything.

“Good morning,” Luke said, too, looking at Ferrara curiously.

Ferrara didn’t even look at him, his sleepy gaze fixed on Nate. “My coffee,” he stated.

Nate glared at him. Had he forgotten that they weren’t at the office?

“Get it yourself, babe,” he said with his sweetest smile.

Dark eyes blinked slowly before their owner must have realized that this attitude was inappropriate in front of their captive audience. “It always tastes better when you make it,” he said.

Nate nearly snorted. Nice save.

But he did get up and walk to the table by the wall. It had everything anyone would need to make coffee just the way they wanted it.