Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Once he found the right door, he rang the doorbell, ready for whatever surprise Paul had in store.
But when the door opened, his confidence evaporated like dew in the scorching sun. He did not feel ready.
The man standing beyond the threshold didn’t belong in a place as mundane as this apartment building. His eyes were twin copper plates, and his full lips stood out on his smooth face that was masculine yet had a soft edge to its pronounced jawline. And his hair? Thick and dark, it framed his face with soft waves, as if it had been styled by angels.
Frank knew nothing about art, but as he took in the muscular yet slim form of the stranger, he knew that Leonardo da Vinci himself couldn’t have conjured a man more beautiful. He was harmony. Perfection. So beautiful Frank forgot how to speak, and instead stared at the smooth chest exposed by a silk shirt fastened with a single button.
Of course. Paul had invited him to show off his new conquest, and instead of pulling himself together, Frank took the bait and imagined his fingers capturing one of the two golden necklaces dangling over the flesh on show.
“Evening,” the stranger said in a surprisingly low, smooth voice. He was still young, but no longer a boy, as evidenced by the strength of his features.
Frank smiled, trying not to stare at the nipple peeking out from under the shirt. He wanted to see this beauty naked and strapped down on the bed, trembling at his touch, but no matter how attracted he was to this guy, this had better not be some weird threesome situation Paul wanted to treat Frank to, because he did not share. Especially not with Paul. The two of them had enjoyed a few tumbles in the sheets in their twenties, but they weren’t each other’s types. Not then, and even less so now.
“Is Paul in?” He’d better be, because if he was leaving Frank with this gorgeous piece of ass, he might have overestimated Frank’s morals.
The rosy lips curved, and the young man brushed his thumb against a belt buckle that might be worth more money than Frank’s truck.
Everything about him was expensive. Even the peppery note of perfume caressing Frank’s nose felt refined. A closer look at the stranger's jewelry made Frank feel a bit underdressed and self-conscious. He’d learned a fair bit about pricey watches and the like from his fun, but ultimately misguided, relationship with a pawn shop owner many years ago, and the trinkets this man wore were almost as fine as him.
“Paul told me to expect you at eight. Would you like to come in?” the angel said and stepped aside to make space for Frank’s massive frame.
Frank glanced at his watch. He was on time. “Yeah, he told me he had a gift for me. You his boyfriend?” If he was, Frank would honor it, but nothing would stop him from stealing a glance at that pert ass in front of him. The sandy chinos were quite figure-hugging and exposed shapely ankles that would look amazing in a leather cuff.
Frank never got to see guys like this in real life. How did people this flawless even exist? And why would Paul torture Frank by parading this guy under his nose?
The stranger chuckled and put his hand on Frank’s arm, wordlessly inviting him to the bright hallway. This time, Frank did step inside, taking in the large living room/kitchen area with a paneled statement wall behind the flatscreen TV and a large bottle-green sofa across from it. With golden accents and an overall bright palette, the place looked luxurious yet not too opulent.
“I’m not Paul’s boyfriend,” the man said and gently pulled on Frank’s jacket.
Frank turned around to meet the amber gaze of this sex personified. “Well, in that case, name’s Frank.” He smiled and extended his hand in greeting, because why the fuck not? Why shouldn’t he shoot his shot? He was too old and too experienced to believe in anyone being out of reach. The spark was either there, or it wasn’t. You could always try to pour some fuel over it. And if he got shot down? Not a big deal.
The man hid the jacket in a closet and took Frank’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Even his fingers were impeccable—soft, smooth, without a single callus to spoil them.
“Ezra. What exactly did Paul tell you?” he asked and showed Frank the sofa, taking away his fingers. Frank had to stop himself from following them with his own.
Then it dawned on him. This man could be some kind of thief or shady jewel dealer. That might be someone Paul knew and who could provide a nice gift. And here was Frank, hitting on him. Not that he could be blamed when faced with so much beauty.