Well-Tailored (Thorne and Dash 4)

Wow. What had gotten into Darius? “I’m thrilled he recommended me.”

“So am I. I’m on the board for two small theaters, and they could both use more costume talent. Do you have some samples of your work that you could show me?”

“Yes.” Marc would finish the two he’d been working on if he had to stay up all night, and he had a few things hanging in his closet that he’d made in the last few years.

“Great. I’d love to see them. Do you have any free time this weekend?”

“How about brunch tomorrow? There’s a bagel place Darius introduced me to, close to the tailor shop. It’s the best. We could meet up there.”

“That works perfectly for me.”

Marc paced his apartment, vibrating with excitement and tension. “Does ten thirty work?”

“Absolutely. Just text me the name of the restaurant and the street, and I’ll see you then.”

As soon as he hung up, Marc raced to his closet to find the costumes he wanted to show her. He’d check them out, eat something, and then get to work on his new designs.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Darius slapped his alarm clock. Motherfucker! It was Saturday, and he’d forgotten to turn it off. When it was temporarily silenced, he stretched, extending his arms over his head. The sheet brushed his morning wood, and he groaned as thoughts of Marc bent over, ready for his cock, filled his mind. Did he have to think about Marc constantly?

Considering how good a fuck Marc was, it shouldn’t be surprising that he did.

Ah, hell. He wrapped his hand around his cock and replayed what had happened a few nights ago after he’d locked the shop door. He’d pinned Marc against the wall, and then he’d wrapped a hand around both their cocks. Marc had thrust into his hand, rubbing his cock along Darius’s, and they kept going until they both got off like that. Watching Marc’s face as he came all over Darius’s hand was incredible, but nothing compared to bending him over the table and fucking him senseless. They really needed to do that again soon. Very soon.

No! They needed to stop.

Darius was breaking all kinds of rules. He’d never been much for rules in the big scheme of things, but he had a few he’d built his life around, and he meant to keep them sacred.

But Marc’s arse. Who could say no to that?

The night before, after leaving work early to escape from Marc after saying far too much, Darius had gone to his favorite club. He convinced himself that a warm, willing body was all he needed to help him forget Marc. After hours of dancing, flirting, and drinking, he was still comparing every potential trick to Marc.

Darius worked his hand faster, moving from lazy, half-hearted strokes to a true rush toward climax. He was just about to blow when the phone rang.

Ignore it.

It was Clarice’s ring.

“Goddamn motherfucking shit!”

He grabbed the phone and answered it, forcing himself to sit up and leave his aching cock alone. Clarice was like a surrogate grandmother. The thought of jerking off while talking to her was just… He shuddered.

“Hello.”

“Good morning. You’re still in bed, aren’t you?”

It wouldn’t matter if he denied it. Clarice was psychic, at least when it came to his faults.

“I am.”

“Well, get your sorry self up. We’re going to lunch, but you can call it breakfast or brunch or whatever you want.”

Darius looked at the time. Ten thirty. “It’s too early for lunch.”

“We’re not eating now. Meet me in one hour at Ivan’s.”

At least that would give him time to get some coffee. He’d need several cups before he was ready to face Clarice’s inquiries. “Fine. I’ll see you there.”

“I don’t suppose you want to go ahead and tell me why you’ve been avoiding me for the last week?”

Darius bit back a groan. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

She sniffed.

Christ, how did she always know?

“You’ll tell me at lunch, then. Get moving.”

She hung up before he could say any more. Thank God she’d retired. Darius was too old now to put up with her bitching at him day in and day out. Now it was down to just once a week or so.

You know you miss her.

Some days.

You never worried whether she’d get her work done.

I don’t worry about that with Marc either.

Motherfucker! He didn’t, did he? Marc was competent and reliable, and if Darius kept fucking him, he was going to ruin his chance to retain a worthy assistant. Not that Marc seemed to mind their postwork fuck sessions.

He doesn’t mind it now, but…

He rubbed a hand over his head. Shower. He needed a hot shower and caffeine. Maybe then he could figure out something to tell Clarice to throw her off his scent. No way was he telling her the truth.

What is the truth?

That I’m an idiot.

She already knows that.