Chapter 4

I followed Petter into the kitchen, tucking my gun into the back of my trousers. How should I play this? I didn't know have the land lay. If he was straight, which I was fairly sure he was, I wouldn't get anywhere. I would have to test the water. He already suspected I was gay, and the worst he could do was punch me. Those rings would cut up my face, I mused.

He found a glass at the side of the sink and turned on the tap—the hot one. I grinned and stepped up close behind him, reached around him, and turned it off. "It's the other one. The kitchen fitters messed up and put them on the wrong way around." I turned on the cold tap and let my chest touch his back. I could feel the heat of him through my shirt, and my dick firmed up more.

He stiffened. "Back off. What are you doing?"

"I thought you wanted a drink." I backed up a couple of inches.

He huffed and filled the glass, gulped the contents, and put it down again. Then he turned off the tap.

My heart thundered in my chest and the knot of nervous excitement in my stomach grew. I lifted my hand again and touched the tattoo between his shoulder blades. "Nice ink."

His skin pebbled with goosebumps and he shivered. He didn't spin around and curse me out or push me away. Interesting. I ran the tip of one finger down his spine to the top of the towel.

"Take your fucking hand off me," he said a touch breathlessly. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Having a little fun." I removed my hand and unbuttoned my shirt. When I dropped it on the floor, he finally turned around.

"Fuck off, Davor. Seriously?"

I glanced down, and grinned when I saw the bulge behind the towel. A straight man wouldn't start to get hard from my proximity, or the light touch.

"Now who's the queer bastard?" I teased.

"Fuck you."

"You sure like saying 'fuck' a lot." I put a hand on his chest and pushed him back against the sink. He knocked my hand away.

"Look, I'll deal with Erik, okay? That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Yeah, that's what I want. Turn back around."

"Go to hell." He shoved me, his hand in the middle of my chest.

I took a step back. His expression was unreadable, but there was no mistaking his arousal. He had no way of hiding it and if he looked down, he couldn't miss my erection straining against my Armani trousers. He didn't look down—he just stared at me in silence, his chest heaving.

I stared back as he licked his lips, swallowed, glanced around, and finally met my eyes again. His pupils were larger, but he pulled his brows together in a scowl. I smiled. "Turn around, Petter."

I didn't expect him to do it. I expected another couple of 'fucks' to issue from him. Maybe he'd shove me again and walk away, not that he could go far without his clothes. Maybe he'd fight me. But he lowered his gaze, shook his head, seeming resigned, and turned his back to me.

My pulse raced, and my mouth went dry. I took the gun out of the back of my trousers and placed it on the kitchen counter. Then I opened one of the drawers a couple of inches and coated my fingers in the lube I kept there. I kept it all over the apartment—you never knew when you might need lube in the kitchen, or the bathroom, or—

I snagged the top of the towel with my other hand and pulled it away. Damn, his arse looked good—firm, muscled, smooth. I slid a slick finger along his arse crack and found his hole. He tensed and clenched his fists on the edge of the sink.

"Fuck off. Stop it."

I moved closer until my chest touched his back again. He was holding his breath, his knuckles turning white.

I had no intention of doing what had been done to me, but I wasn't quite ready to take no for an answer. "Just breathe," I murmured. "Relax."

Much to my surprise, he did so, and I slid my finger into him. He shivered and cursed quietly. I stroked my finger in and out, then added a second. He was impossibly tight, and my dick jumped. I couldn't remember ever being quite so desperate to fuck. I found his prostate and applied a little pressure to it. He groaned.

"That's it," I murmured. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Get off me," he responded shakily.

"Are you sure? You're not putting up much of a fight." I slid my free hand between him and the sink and wrapped my hand around his erection. "Your dick doesn't want me to stop, now, does it? You seem to be liking this more than I expected." I curled my fingers and massaged his prostate, then withdrew and let go of him. I unfastened my trousers and shoved them and my underwear to my knees. When I took the lube out of the drawer and slicked myself up, Petter turned his head and looked over his shoulder.

"Oh, hell no," he said. "Fuck, Davor, let me go." He tried to turn around, but I pressed myself against him, my erection sliding along his arse crack.

"But you're all loosened up ready for me. It'd be a shame to waste that. Come on, relax. I don't want to hurt you." I slid my arm around him again and stroked his dick.

"You have a funny way of showing it." His voice shook more than ever.

"Tell me one more time. Do you want me to stop?" I whispered into his ear.

He sighed and shivered.

"Petter?" I prompted. "I can stop. Tell me."

"Just fucking do it," he muttered.

I nudged his legs apart with my knee and guided myself. I still expected him to push me away and stop things, but he relaxed as I pushed past his tight ring. I held still. "Okay?"

"Yeah," he panted.

"I can stop," I said again.

"No."

"Just remember you asked for this." I slid in a little more. "Tell me if it hurts."

"I thought you liked causing pain."

"Not like this." I leaned against him, trapping him between me and the sink. "Stay relaxed and breathe slow." I pushed in all the way and groaned at the feel of him. "Damn, you feel good."

"Stop fucking talking," he grunted.

I grinned and breathed out, a hot puff of air in his ear. "Have you done this before?"

"No, I'm not—" He sighed again, sounding exasperated. "I always top."

"And here I was thinking you were straight." I pulled my hips back and pushed forward again. "Damn, you're so fucking hot, you know that?"

Petter huffed out a laugh. "Been fantasising about me, have you?"

"That'd be telling." Another thrust. "I'm sorry about before. Leaving you all night. I mean it."

"I don't care. You're the one who's going to have to clean the floor."

I laughed and drove myself deeper into him. He pushed his hips back onto me. I grasped his dick again and stroked him in time with my thrusts. I put my other hand on the back of his neck and massaged the muscles there. He arched his back and I slid deeper.

"Anyone would think you want me to enjoy it," he said breathlessly.

"Are you?"

He groaned. "I've had worse things happen to me."

"Compliments. I'm stunned." I couldn't quite believe I was teasing him. And part of me wondered if this wasn't all one of my vivid dreams and that I wasn't fucking him at all. But I knew it was real. Petter Hill was letting me fuck him, and at that moment, I felt like if we weren't who we were, this could have been something good; amazing, even. My imagination running away with me again.

I rolled my hips, withdrew, and slammed into him harder. He grunted and his dick throbbed in my hand. I wasn't going to last long. It had been a while for me, and my fantasy had grown in my head to the point where getting it for real was going to make me blow in minutes. I didn't fight it. I jerked him harder, taking him with me as I started to come. When he spilled in my hand and clenched tighter around me, I shot my load inside him. I withdrew carefully, noticing him flinch a little.

"You okay?"

"You care?" He turned around slowly.

"I told you I wouldn't hurt you like that. If I wanted to cause you pain, I'd do it some other way."

"Okay. So what now?"

"You deal with your man," I reminded him.

"I intend to. For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your girl. There's no excuse for that."

I nodded. "I appreciate it."