At that moment, Raffaele looked right at him.
Their gazes locked, and held.
And held.
Nate’s pulse was hammering against his throat. He hoped he didn’t look as thirsty as he felt.
At long last, his boss shifted his eyes back to the project leader, and Nate exhaled, feeling relieved… and terribly disappointed. God, this was fucked-up.
The meeting seemed to crawl.
By the time it finally ended, Nate felt like punching someone. Or screaming. Or crawling into his boss’s lap and kissing him right there, everything and everyone be damned. It was unbearable.
He was still struggling to compose himself when he followed Raffaele into his office.
The door clicked shut.
Nate stared numbly as Raffaele shrugged out of his dark suit and loosened his dark-red tie.
“Shirt,” he said in a clipped voice without looking at Nate.
Right.
Raffaele wanted to change his shirt. It was nothing out of the ordinary.
Nate turned and went to the closet. Opened it. The row of pristine shirts stared back at him.
Grabbing a blue one, he turned and walked to his boss on legs that felt like rubber, his heart thundering like crazy.
He watched those tan fingers unbutton the white shirt, revealing the smooth, muscular chest with a trail of dark hair disappearing into the waistband of Raffaele’s suit pants. His mouth was so dry he had to lick his lips twice. Until Raffaele, Nate had never looked at a man’s body and thought hot. But now he couldn’t look at Raffaele’s strong shoulders and arms without feeling thirsty as fuck. Even the veins on Raffaele’s forearms were somehow sexy. He wanted to lick them.
Raffaele dropped the shirt to the floor. Normally Nate would berate him for that. But he said nothing this time, trying to fight the wave of dizzying arousal as he gazed at his boss’s muscular, sun-bronzed torso, his fingers itching to touch those pecs, those brown nipples, that hard stomach and then…
Nate swallowed and looked up into Raffaele’s black eyes.
The moment stretched.
He had no idea who moved first, but suddenly they were kissing, so hard it almost hurt. God. Nate’s mind went absolutely blank with overwhelming want. He sucked on Raffaele’s tongue, his hands clutching his bare back helplessly. He was whining, trying to pull him closer, so close there wasn’t any space between them. Fuck, it felt so good, but he was so hungry for this—for him—after days of not touching him that it wasn’t enough. He unbuckled Raffaele’s belt with impatient, shaky fingers, and yanked his zipper open.
After that… Nate wasn’t sure what happened after that. There was just Raffaele’s hot mouth, the taste of him, the feel of his firm body against his, his hands—those amazing hands—wrapping around both of their hard cocks as Raffaele rutted against him on his desk. Nate was gasping and moaning, wanting more, more of this man on top of him, inside of him, all the time. He knew he was too loud; it was lucky the room was well insulated.
He came so fast it would have been embarrassing if he didn’t feel Raffaele come a second later, shuddering and spilling against Nate’s thigh.
They breathed together shakily, panting and coming down from the high, hands still clutching at each other. God, so good. He never wanted to let go.
When Nate’s brain started functioning again, he sighed. So much for what happens in Italy, stays in Italy. He’d just come, but he already wanted more.
“You turned me into a goddamn nympho,” Nate complained.
A laugh left Raffaele’s mouth.
Blinking, Nate pulled back a little and looked at him. He’d rarely heard him laugh like that, without any sardonic undertone. It made him look so much younger.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Raffaele said, smiling wryly.
Nate almost smiled back. “You did. You turned me from a normal guy into this… this…”
“Cock slut?”
Nate flushed. “I was going to say an insatiable, sex-obsessed thing, but that works, too.”
A corner of Raffaele’s mouth twitched again.
“It’s not funny!” Nate said, threading his fingers through Raffaele’s hair. He couldn’t stop touching him. “This is horrible.”
“It’s just sex,” Raffaele said with a shrug. “I’m sure if we fuck often enough, we’ll tire of it. I always do.”
Nate pursed his lips. But it made some sense. If this wasn’t just going away, fucking until it got boring might be a solution.
“You said you didn’t want me to get any ideas that it’s a relationship,” Nate reminded him. The memory made him scowl.
Raffaele’s expression changed somewhat, but it was difficult to read. “Then don’t get ideas. Simple.”
Considering the disastrous lunch with his co-workers and his weird protectiveness, Nate wasn’t sure it was that simple.
“You’re my boss,” he tried again. “I don’t even like you.”
“Good,” Raffaele said before biting Nate’s bottom lip. “I don’t want you to like me and ruin everything. This is perfectly good.”
Right. It made sense. Probably. Nate wasn’t sure; his mind quickly became clouded again. Fuck, Raffaele’s mouth. All he wanted was more.