Just a Bit Wrong (Straight Guys 4)

“Has he trained today?”

“Yeah.” She smiled crookedly. “But I think it was mostly to spite you and prove that he can do better without you. What did you do to piss him off so much? Made him eat too much healthy food?”

Zach averted his eyes. “I need to talk to him.”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “Good luck with that. Lock the door after me.”

“You’re leaving?”

She opened the door. “I was on my way out. I’ve been here all day and it’s ten already—thank god. I so need a break from him. I’m sure he can survive until morning without having someone at his beck and call. See you!”

Zach locked the door after Lydia, a furrow appearing between his brows. Her words made him wonder. He had a big, boisterous family, and although all of his siblings had moved out a while ago, they still spent a great deal of time at his house. But every time he’d seen Tristan, he was always alone. No friends or relatives ever seemed to visit him, despite his injury. Did he even have anyone?

Shaking the thought off, Zach headed upstairs. He wasn’t here to understand the brat or feel sorry for him.

You shouldn’t be here at all.

Zach took the steps slowly, his hand on the polished wooden banister, slow step after slow step. He felt a dryness in his mouth, his heart racing. The small voice in the back of his mind kept telling him that he was making a mistake. He wasn’t making a mistake. Jared was right: this needed to be done.

But no matter what he told himself, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was doing something wrong.

He wasn’t doing anything wrong. Donna wouldn’t care. He and Donna had been in an off-and-on relationship for almost ten years and had been friends for twenty. Because of their jobs they often didn’t see each other for months, so an open relationship was only practical for them, and both of them were fine with the other’s getting laid while they were apart. He had slept with dozens of other women over the course of their relationship and Donna had never been shy about her conquests, either. They joked and shared a laugh about it. In many ways, he and Donna were an old married couple, friends rather than passionate lovers.

Truth be told, they had never been particularly passionate, not even in their early twenties. Zach had never considered himself a passionate man. He had a healthy sex drive, but that was it. He was a rational man, always had been. His blood never went hot if he didn’t allow it. Never before had he met someone and just felt the overwhelming urge to shut them up—with his cock. This wasn’t something that ever happened to him—until Tristan. This burning desire to have, take, fuck someone into the mattress was completely foreign. It was crude and base; it wasn’t something he could explain or rationalize. He didn’t want to make love or even have sex with Tristan—he wanted to fuck. It didn’t seem to matter that Tristan was a guy, and that Zach didn’t want guys. He wanted to screw that one. There was nothing pretty about it. It was as primitive as it got. It made him vaguely ashamed and disgusted, and a little incredulous that it was happening to him. His brothers would laugh their asses off if they found out that their eldest, responsible brother was acting on his instincts and drooling over a spoiled celebrity nine years his junior. Hell, Donna would laugh her ass off if she knew.

And yet, here he was. Because Jared was right: he had to get this thing out of his system before the wedding. The sooner he got rid of it, the better.

Zach pushed the door to Tristan’s bedroom open.

The room was empty, but he could hear the water running in the en-suite bathroom. Tristan probably didn’t even know there was someone else in the house.

He found his feet moving without his brain telling them to do so.

The bathroom was choked with shower steam. It was big and spacious, the shower large enough for five people, let alone one medium-sized guy. A very naked guy, who stood with his back to Zach, steam billowing up around him.

Zach had been a personal trainer or physiotherapist of many actors and sportsmen. For most of them, their bodies were the primary source of income; many of them were fit and good-looking, and some of them were flawlessly beautiful. But their bodies were Zach’s job, nothing more. Yet as his gaze followed the droplets of water running down the graceful curve of Tristan’s back—his flawless golden skin—to the dimples above the swell of his perfectly rounded ass, Zach had to remind himself to breathe. He was hard as a rock, his hands and mouth practically itching to touch and taste. He wanted to bite and kiss that perfect little ass, bury his face against it and eat him out, as he had wanted to do yesterday when Tristan was lying over his knee, his cheeks red from Zach’s hands and so damn pretty it had taken all his willpower not to spread the boy open and lick him until he was loose and ready for his cock. After Tristan had fallen asleep, a few tugs of his cock was all it took to come like a schoolboy all over his hand.