Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Thorne ran his hands up and down Dash’s thighs. “Impressive.”
Dash winked. “I try.”
Dash finally hit bottom, but he didn’t move.
“You’d better fuck me right fucking now.”
“Or?”
Thorne dug his fingers into Dash’s hips, trying to make him move. “Or I’m going to eat every last bite of cake that’s left.”
“Ooooh, that’s quite a threat.”
“And I won’t even eat it off you.”
Dash rose up and slid down, still slow, but at least he was moving.
“I thought that would disturb you,” Thorne taunted.
Dash increased his pace, but somehow Thorne was sure Dash had the upper hand. It didn’t matter that Thorne’s dick was in Dash’s ass and Thorne was the one making threats. Determined to take back more control, he wiggled around until he could get more leverage. He tried to hold Dash still while he thrust up into him.
“Yes,” Dash shouted. “Show me how much you need it.”
“Damn right I will. I’m going to fill your ass.”
“Yes, stuff me fucking full.”
“Fuck!” Thorne was so close. One more thrust. Two. And he was coming. He pulled Dash to him and bit down on his shoulder to muffle his shout.
Dash cried out, “Fucking God, I love that. Bite me harder.”
He did, and Dash came, shooting sticky fluid between them, looking more fucking hot than Thorne thought possible.
After they’d caught their breaths, Dash rose off Thorne and flopped down on the couch next to him. “I’d say we earned the cake.”
“More than,” Thorne agreed. Silently, they each polished off the last of their pieces and drained their coffee mugs. Thorne hadn’t felt so at peace in ages. He could get used to this.
No, I’m paying him for sex not for dessert. I don’t need anyone.
Are you sure? That little voice in his head was dangerous.
Dash is an escort. This isn’t a date.
“So I guess you require another shower now,” Thorne said, needing to stop the thoughts in his mind.
Dash laughed. “I’ll just clean up and go if that’s what you want.”
“I… Yes, I need to work.” He did but… No, he wouldn’t ask Dash to stay the night. He didn’t do sleepovers.
Dash kissed the top of his head, the gesture sweet and caring. It felt more intimate than anything else that had happened.
Dash picked up his clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. Thorne never should’ve let him stay. Stick to a schedule, that’s how he got so much done. Once a person started deviating, that’s when things got fucked up. Expectations change. Slacking off becomes the norm, and everything falls apart.
Or you work yourself to death and die of a heart attack before you hit forty-five. Which is worse?
Thorne used the blanket from the couch to clean himself off and then pulled on some shorts and a T-shirt. He’d shower again later before bed.
Dash is in there. You could join him.
No. Enough is enough. Though if he were honest, Thorne wasn’t sure he’d ever have enough of Dash. The man was a whirlwind, and Thorne couldn’t say no to him. That should worry Thorne more than it did.
He tried to turn off the part of his brain that had jumped on the Team Dash bandwagon, but he’d barely written a paragraph before Dash exited the bathroom. He didn’t speak at first, probably trying not to disturb Thorne. He gathered his things, including the bottle of lube that lay on the floor by the couch.
“So I guess I’ll be going,” Dash said when his bag was Packed up. He lingered in the entryway. Was he hoping Thorne would change his mind and ask him to stay? He looked like he wanted to, but of course he would, since he’d make more money that way.
“Yes, thank you.”
“I’d love to see you again.”
“Would you now?” Thorne asked.
Dash looked down, submissive again, teeth sunk into his lip.
Fuck, he knows what that does to me. “Next week. Same time. I’ll call to confirm the appointment.”
“Lovely. See you then.”
Dash was gone before Thorne could say anything else. The apartment suddenly seemed very large and very quiet.
Quiet is good. I like quiet.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Riley, can you hand me a spatula?”
“Sure,” Riley Dashwood searched the counter. Where had he left the spatula? Oh, there it was. He passed it to Susan.
She scraped down the sides of the mixer and added an egg to the Italian-cream-cake batter.
“How are we doing on time?” Riley asked.
“We’ll make it.”
Riley wasn’t as convinced. This was the biggest order Susan’s fledging catering business had gotten yet. He was thrilled to have the opportunity to work with her. She’d lived next door to his family when he was a kid, but they’d become close when they took the same cooking class several years ago.
While Riley wasn’t ashamed of the work he did as Dash, he didn’t intend to fuck men for money much longer. He wanted to get an associate’s degree in baking and pastry arts, and he’d been saving so he could finally enroll. If things went well, he’d be able to take some classes after the start of the year. Being an escort beat the hell out of waiting tables or taking whatever crap job he could find in a restaurant kitchen with no training or professional experience.