Page 54 of The Associate
Gael was still behind his desk, but he was standing now. His expression was stark, intense, a landscape of pure, focusedintent. His dark eyes pinned Samuel to the spot, seeing through the panic, through the flight, to the raw, trembling core beneath.
The tension was a solid thing, a pane of glass about to shiver into a million pieces. Samuel could hear his own blood roaring in his ears. His mind was a frantic, static-filled blank.
One part screamed, a shrill, wordless alarm:Danger. Sin. Run.
But his legs were stone. His breath was caught somewhere high in his chest, a trapped, painful thing.
Gael moved.
He came around the desk slowly. He stopped less than a foot away, entering Samuel’s space so completely that the scent of him was all Samuel could smell. He was so close Sam could see the faint striations of grey in the stubble along his jaw, the individual, dark lashes framing eyes that saw every fracture in his soul.
He couldn’t move. His own hands hung uselessly at his sides, shaking with a fine, constant tremor.
Gael’s gaze dropped to Samuel’s mouth.
Then he lifted his hand.
His knuckles brushed Sam’s jaw, a whisper of contact, soft against the stubble and warm skin. The touch was a spark on dry tinder. Samuel’s breath hitched audibly, a sharp, desperate little sound that seemed to hang between them. Gael’s fingers trailed upward, cradling the line of his jaw, his thumb settling just below Samuel’s lower lip.
And then he leaned in.
His lips pressed against Samuel’s.
The first contact was a question. A soft, searching pressure, tender in a way that dismantled every defense Samuel had left. It was dry, then instantly warm. The texture of Gael’s lips was smooth, firm, and they fit against Samuel’s with a shocking, innate rightness. Samuel’s eyes slipped shut. His mind went utterly, blessedly silent. The static, the screams, the scripture; all of it vanished, washed away by the shocking, simple warmth of Gael’s mouth on his.
He remained perfectly still, suspended.Waiting.
When Samuel didn’t pull away, when he didn’t run, Gael’s other hand came up to frame his face, his thumb stroking the high arch of Samuel’s cheekbone.
The kiss deepened. It was no longer a question. Gael’s lips parted, and the tip of his tongue traced the seam of Samuel’s mouth, a hot, wet promise.
A helpless sound, half-whimper, half-sigh, escaped Samuel’s throat.
And then he broke.
He leaned in. His body moved of its own volition, tilting into the solid warmth of Gael’s chest. His lips parted in surrender. Gael’s tongue swept inside, and the sensation was a revelation; a slow, deliberate exploration that tasted of dark coffee, of mint, and beneath it, something uniquely, fundamentally Gael: clean, sharp, and utterly intoxicating. Samuel’s own tongue, tentative at first, met the glide of Gael’s, a shy, answering caress that sent a violent shiver down his spine.
His hands, which had been hanging numb at his sides, flew up and fisted in the fine, crisp cotton of Gael’s shirt. He wasn’t pulling him closer, nor was he pushing him away. He wasanchoring himself, gripping the only solid thing in a universe that had just dissolved into sensation.
The kiss caught fire.
Gael surged against him, a tide of uncontrolled hunger. A low, rough sound vibrated from his chest into Samuel’s. Samuel met him, kiss for kiss, his lips moving now, learning the rhythm Gael set; a deep, languid stroke of tongue that became more urgent, more possessive. The kiss grew breathless, a shared gasp for air that was immediately stolen back.
Samuel could feel the faint scrape of Gael’s teeth against his lower lip, a hint of roughness that made his knees weaken. The taste of him flooded his senses, a dark, addictive flavor he knew he would crave in the deepest hours of the night.
Gael’s body pressed him back, one step, two, until Samuel’s shoulders met the solid, unyielding wood of the office door with a soft thud. The pressure pinned him there, a delicious, inescapable weight.
Gael was everywhere. The heat of him, the hard lines of his body braced against Samuel’s, the scent of his skin filled Samuel’s lungs. He was lost, adrift in a sea of feeling he had spent a lifetime damning.
He could feel the hard ridge of Gael’s arousal pressed against his hip, a blunt, undeniable truth that burned through layers of wool and cotton.
One of Gael’s hands tangled in his hair, gripping firmly at the roots, tilting his head back to deepen the angle of the kiss. The slight sting was a bright, delicious pain. The other hand slid down from his jaw, over the frantic pulse in his throat, down the front of his shirt. The palm was hot, even through the layers of clothes. It mapped the planes of his chest, the dip of his sternum,descending lower, over the trembling flat of his stomach, the heel of his hand applying a firm, thrilling pressure just above Samuel’s belt.
Samuel’s skin was on fire. Every nerve ending screamed. He arched into the touch, a silent, desperate plea, his hips canting forward of their own accord, seeking friction, seeking more. He needed that hand under the fabric, on his bare skin. He needed the rough scrape of Gael’s palms, the proof of his own desperate want mirrored in Gael’s touch. He needed Gael.
“Samuel…”
Gael growled the name against his mouth, the vibration searing into him. Then his lips were gone, leaving Samuel gasping, his own lips swollen and wet. They trailed down, over his jaw, along the taut cord of his neck. They found the frantic, hammering pulse at the base of his throat and settled there. He sucked then, a hot, wet, deliberate pressure, his tongue swirling against the sensitive skin.
