Page 113 of The Associate
“Cum for me,” he gritted out, his voice raw, shredded by the force of his own need.
Samuel’s body went rigid, every muscle locking. A scream was torn from his throat, raw, uninhibited, shattering the last of Gael’s control. He came, stripes of white painting his stomach and Gael’s fist in hot, pulsing waves.
With a guttural, broken groan that was more animal than man, Gael fell forward. He wrapped his arms around Samuel’s trembling, sweat-slick body, burying his face in the damp, salty skin of his neck. He drove into him once, twice, three more times as his own release ripped through him. He shuddered through it, holding Samuel so tight it must have hurt, his own cries muffled against his skin, as the world dissolved into blinding white light and the feel of the body clinging to his.
∞∞∞
The room was dark, the only light a faint silver seepage from the city between the gaps in the blinds.
Samuel was asleep. He lay on his side facing Gael, one hand curled loosely on the pillow near his chin. The intense, franticenergy that had gripped them both for hours had finally bled away, leaving him pliant and still. The lines of worry and alert tension that seemed etched into his waking face were gone, smoothed into an expression of profound peace.
Gael lay on his back, staring at the dark ceiling. His body was heavy with a deep, physical satisfaction, a pleasant ache in his muscles. But his mind was a clear, cold pool, reflecting the evening back at him with unforgiving clarity.
The club. The green-eyed man. The casual, friendly touch on Samuel’s arm. The instant, white-hot slash of pure anger that had severed his control. He had moved without thought, spoken without strategy.
And then here, in this bed. The coming together had been less about passion and more about necessity. A silent, physical argument to settle something that had shaken loose inside him. He had needed to feel Samuel unravel for him, because of him, to overwrite the ghost of that other man’s touch.
His eyes drifted to Sam’s neck. There, just above the collar of his t-shirt, was a faint, dark smudge. A bruise. The shape of his own teeth. He hadn’t meant to do it. It had happened in a moment where feeling had overridden all sense.
Looking at it now, in the quiet dark, the last of his internal defenses crumbled.
This is love.
He didn’t do love. Love was a complication. A vulnerability. It was the one variable he had systematically removed from every equation of his life.
And yet, the evidence was undeniable. It was in the way the thought of Samuel with anyone else made his stomach turn witha sick, cold dread. It was in the absolute certainty that settled in his bones: Samuel was his. Not as a submissive, or a project, but as his. Full stop.
The realization should have made him pull away. It should have sent him planning a careful, strategic retreat.
But as he lay there, the warmth of Samuel’s body a solid line beside him, he knew he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t move an inch. If this evening had proven anything, it was that it was far too late for that. The switch had been thrown. The line had been crossed. The idea of walking away and leaving Samuel to someone else, was not just unthinkable; it was impossible.
He let out a long, slow breath, the tension finally leaving his shoulders. The war was over, and he’d lost.
Sam was his. He would remain his. And Gael would ensure it, with every tool, every rule, every ounce of will he possessed. The thought was terrifying. But the alternative, a world where Samuel was not here, in this bed, belonging to him, was simply not a world he would live in.
He turned onto his side, facing Samuel. He looked at the peaceful curve of his cheek in the gloom, and accepted the catastrophic truth. Then he closed his eyes, and for the first time all night, allowed sleep to pull him under, right where he was.
Chapter 28
Samuel
Samuel woke to a body that felt thoroughly used. A dull ache resided in his muscles, a reminder of the previous night. The most distinct sensation was a faint, throbbing heat on the side of his neck. He reached up, his fingers brushing the tender skin there, and a memory flashed, sharp, bright, of teeth and a low growl and the feeling of being completely, utterly full.
He lay still for a moment, listening. The apartment was quiet. There was a faint, familiar sound from beyond the doors: the quiet clink of ceramic, the gurgle of a coffee grinder.
He pushed himself up, wincing slightly. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and padded barefoot out of the bedroom, following the smell of brewing coffee.
Gael stood at the counter, his back to the room. He was dressed in dark jeans and a white t-shirt, his feet bare on the tile. He was pouring coffee into a heavy mug. As if sensing Samuel’s presence, he turned.
Samuel paused in the doorway.
Gael’s eyes were different. The usual impenetrable, assessing darkness was still there, but it was softened at the edges. Thesharp lines of his face seemed less severe. For a moment, he didn’t look like Mr. Wise, the attorney or the dominant, the pillar of the Crimson Knot. He looked like a man who had not slept well, a man stripped of a layer of armor Samuel hadn’t even known he wore.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t smile. He simply looked at Samuel for a long, quiet moment. Then he set the mug down, crossed the few feet between them, and pulled Samuel into him.
His arms wrapped around his back, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head. He rested his chin on top of Samuel’s hair and just held him.
Samuel stood frozen for a second, his arms dangling at his sides, utterly disoriented. This silent, simple affection was more shocking than any order, any punishment, any kiss born of hunger.
