Chapter One: Whiskey and Want

The late afternoon sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Ironclad Fitness, casting long, golden streaks across the polished concrete floors. The hum of treadmills and the rhythmic clank of weights filled the air, but the usual post-work rush had thinned, leaving the space quieter, more intimate. Larry stood near the free weights, wiping down a bench with a towel, his biceps flexing with the motion. The tank top he wore clung to his chest, damp with sweat, the phoenix tattoo on his left forearm vivid against his tanned skin. He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension from back-to-back sessions. Training clients was exhilarating, but today, his mind kept drifting—restless, distracted.

He hadn’t noticed Regis at first.

The man was a fixture at the gym, always impeccable in his tailored suits, even when he changed into workout clothes. Today was no different. Regis stood by the water station, his dark gray slacks exchanged for sleek black athletic pants, a fitted white tee stretching over his broad shoulders. The scar above his left eyebrow caught the light as he tilted his head, watching Larry with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of Larry’s neck prickle. There was something different in the way Regis held himself tonight—less guarded, his usual polished demeanor softened by something almost like hesitation.

Larry straightened, tossing the towel over his shoulder. He turned, and their eyes met.

Regis didn’t look away.

For a heartbeat, neither did Larry. The air between them thickened, charged with something unspoken. Then Regis lifted his chin in a silent acknowledgment, the corner of his mouth quirking—just barely—before he turned toward the exit. Larry exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. What the hell was that? He’d seen Regis around for months, always polite, always distant, a man who moved through the world like he owned it. But that look—it hadn’t been the detached glance of a client or even the appreciative once-over of a stranger. It had been personal.

Before Larry could dwell on it, the gym’s front door chimed. Regis paused in the doorway, his hand on the frame, then turned back. His steps were deliberate as he crossed the space between them, the soles of his sneakers silent against the floor. Larry’s pulse kicked up. He told himself it was just the residual adrenaline from his last session, but the way his skin heated under Regis’s gaze said otherwise.

“You’ve got a hell of a way with that rope climb,” Regis said, his voice low, smooth. The kind of voice that carried weight, that made people lean in to listen. “Most trainers just bark orders. You actually teach.”

Larry blinked, then laughed, the sound rough with surprise. “Well, yeah. What’s the point of yelling at someone if they don’t know how to do it right?” He wiped his palms on his shorts, suddenly aware of how exposed his arms were, how the tank top left little to the imagination. Regis’s gaze flicked down, then back up, slow and deliberate.

“Refreshing philosophy,” Regis murmured. He shifted his weight, his fingers tapping once against his thigh—a nervous tell, maybe, or just the habit of a man used to holding a briefcase. “Listen. I don’t usually do this, but…” He hesitated, and for the first time, Larry saw a crack in that effortless confidence. “Would you be open to grabbing a drink sometime? Just to talk. Shop, whatever.”

The words hung between them. Larry’s first thought was this is a joke—some wealthy client messing with him, testing boundaries. But Regis’s expression was dead serious, his dark eyes searching Larry’s face like he was waiting for rejection. Like he expected it.

Larry’s throat went dry. He swallowed. “You’re asking me out?”

Regis’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

A beat of silence. The air conditioner kicked on, a rush of cool air brushing over Larry’s sweat-dampened skin. He should’ve said no. Should’ve laughed it off, made some excuse about policy or professionalism. But the way Regis was looking at him—like he was something rare, something worth the risk—sent a slow, warm pull through Larry’s chest.

“Yeah,” Larry said, his voice steadier than he felt. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Regis exhaled, almost imperceptibly, as if he’d been holding his breath. “Good.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a card—thick, embossed stock, the kind of business card that screamed money—and held it out. “My number’s on there. Text me when you’re free.”

Larry took it, their fingers brushing for the briefest second. A spark, static or something more, jolted up his arm. Regis’s gaze darkened, just for a flash, before he stepped back. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

Larry nodded, suddenly hyperaware of his own body—the way his pulse thrummed in his throat, the heat pooling low in his gut. He watched Regis walk away, the confident stride of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And for the first time in a long time, Larry let himself wonder if he might be it.

---

The card burned in Larry’s pocket for the rest of his shift.

He tried to focus on his clients—corrected a newbie’s squat form, spotted a regular through his final set of bench presses—but his mind kept circling back to Regis. The way his voice had dropped when he spoke, the way his fingers had lingered just a second too long. Larry had been hit on before, by men and women alike, but this felt different. There was no sleaze, no obvious come-on. Just a quiet, certain interest, the kind that made Larry’s skin hum hours later.

He locked up the gym at nine, the city lights bleeding through the windows as he gathered his things. His phone buzzed in his bag—a text from his best friend, Marcus, asking if he wanted to hit their usual sports bar for wings. Normally, Larry would’ve jumped at the chance. But tonight, the thought of crowded booths and loud TVs grated. He wanted something quieter. Something that let him think.

He pulled out Regis’s card on the walk to his car, running his thumb over the raised lettering. Regis Monroe. CEO, Monroe Tech Solutions. No title, no pretense—just a name and a number. Larry flipped it over. Blank. No scrawled call me or can’t wait. Just the implication, heavy and unspoken.

His thumb hovered over his phone screen. He could text now. Hey, it’s Larry. Free tomorrow? Simple. Direct. But something held him back—the fear of seeming too eager, maybe, or the nagging suspicion that this was a game he didn’t know the rules to. Regis wasn’t some twink at a club or a grindy hookup app match. He was a man. Established. Married, probably—Larry hadn’t seen a ring, but men like Regis didn’t always wear them to the gym. And that scar above his eyebrow, the way he carried himself like he was always calculating… Larry wasn’t naive. He knew what secrets looked like.

He slid the card into his wallet, tucking it behind his ID. He’d wait. Let Regis wonder, just a little. Let the anticipation build.

But as he drove home, windows down, the warm night air rushing over his skin, Larry couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just stepped onto a ledge. And for the first time in years, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to step back.

---

Regis didn’t sleep well.

He told himself it was the deal—Monroe Tech’s latest acquisition hanging by a thread, the board breathing down his neck. But as he lay in the dark, his wife’s steady breathing beside him, his mind kept drifting to the gym. To Larry.

The way the younger man’s muscles had flexed as he wiped down the bench. The sweat glistening on his collarbone. The phoenix tattoo, vibrant and defiant, a stark contrast to Regis’s own carefully controlled life. He’d watched Larry for weeks, telling himself it was admiration for his skill, his dedication. But tonight, when Larry had laughed—deep and unguarded—Regis had felt something tighten in his chest. Something dangerous.

He rolled onto his side, staring at the red glow of the alarm clock. 3:17 AM. His phone lay on the nightstand, silent. No texts. No calls. He hadn’t expected Larry to reach out immediately—knew, in fact, that the delay was part of the game. But the waiting gnawed at him.

Regis wasn’t used to wanting like this. To craving. His life was structured, predictable. His marriage was a partnership, built on mutual respect and shared goals. He loved his wife—in his own way. But love had never felt like this. Like a current pulling him under, like a hunger that wouldn’t be satisfied with half-measures.

He closed his eyes, but all he saw was Larry’s smile. The way his dark eyes had widened just slightly when Regis asked him out. The hesitation before he said yes.

Regis groaned, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. He was too old for this. Too smart. And yet, here he was, wide awake, his body thrumming with something he hadn’t let himself feel in years.

He reached for his phone before he could second-guess himself. Pulled up a blank message.

If you’re free Friday, there’s a place downtown. Quiet. Good whiskey.

He deleted it. Too presumptuous.

No pressure. Just drinks.

Deleted that too.

Finally, he typed:

Hope I didn’t overstep. The offer stands.

He sent it before he could change his mind.

The reply came less than a minute later, the buzz of his phone making his heart lurch.

No overstepping. Friday works.

Regis exhaled, his fingers tightening around the phone. Friday. Two days. He’d have to navigate the week—meetings, dinners, the careful performance of being Regis Monroe, Devoted Husband. But beneath it all, like a secret held close to the skin, would be the knowledge that Friday, for the first time in a long time, he’d be exactly where he wanted to be.

---

Friday arrived with a slow, simmering anticipation.

Larry spent the afternoon meticulously choosing an outfit—nothing too try-hard, nothing too casual. He settled on dark jeans and a fitted henley that hugged his chest, the sleeves pushed up just enough to show off his forearms. The phoenix tattoo peeked out, bold and unapologetic. He debated shaving, then decided against it, leaving the stubble that shadowed his jaw. Let Regis see him as he was. No pretense.

The bar Regis had suggested was tucked into a side street downtown, unmarked except for a discreet brass plaque beside the door. Larry hesitated on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, suddenly nervous. This wasn’t his scene—no neon signs or sticky floors, no crowd to blend into. Just a heavy wooden door and the quiet promise of something intimate.

He pushed inside.

The space was dim, lit by warm Edison bulbs and the glow of backlit shelves of liquor. Jazz played low from hidden speakers, the kind of music that wrapped around you like a second skin. Regis sat at the far end of the bar, his suit jacket draped over the back of his stool, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows. He looked up as Larry entered, and the slow, approving smile that spread across his face sent a jolt through Larry’s veins.

“Glad you made it,” Regis said, his voice cutting through the murmur of conversation like velvet. He gestured to the stool beside him. “What’s your poison?”

Larry slid onto the seat, the wood smooth under his palms. “Bourbon. Neat.”

Regis nodded to the bartender, who already had a glass in hand. “A man after my own heart.”

The bartender set the drink in front of Larry, the amber liquid catching the light. Larry took a sip, letting the burn ground him. Regis watched him, his dark eyes tracing the movement of Larry’s throat as he swallowed.

“You come here often?” Larry asked, breaking the silence.

Regis chuckled, swirling his own glass. “Only when I want to be left alone.” He leaned in slightly, his cologne—something rich and spiced—filling the space between them. “Or when I want company.”

Larry’s pulse jumped. He took another sip, letting the liquor warm him. “So which is it tonight?”

Regis’s gaze held his, steady and unblinking. “I think you know.”

The air between them crackled. Larry set his glass down, turning to face Regis fully. “Then why’d you ask me here, Regis?”

For the first time, Regis’s confidence faltered. He looked away, his fingers tightening around his glass. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, voice low. “And I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to.”

Larry’s breath hitched. He reached out, his knuckles brushing Regis’s wrist—just a graze, just enough to feel the heat of his skin. “What do you want?”

Regis turned his hand, catching Larry’s fingers in his. His touch was sure, his palm calloused in a way that belied his polished exterior. “This,” he murmured. “Whatever this is.”

Larry’s heart pounded. He should’ve pulled back. Should’ve laughed it off, made a joke. But the way Regis was looking at him—like he was the only man in the room, like he was worth the risk—made Larry’s chest ache.

“Then take it,” Larry whispered.

Regis’s breath hitched. He leaned in, slow, giving Larry time to stop him. But Larry didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. And when Regis’s lips finally brushed his—soft, testing—Larry melted into it, his hand finding Regis’s jaw, his thumb tracing the scar above his eyebrow.

The kiss deepened, Regis’s free hand sliding to Larry’s nape, pulling him closer. The taste of whiskey and something darker, something hungry, filled Larry’s mouth. He groaned, his fingers tightening in Regis’s shirt, and for a moment, the rest of the world fell away.

When they pulled apart, Regis’s forehead rested against Larry’s, his breathing ragged. “I’ve wanted to do that for weeks,” he confessed.

Larry smiled, his lips still tingling. “Took you long enough.”

Regis laughed, low and rough, before pressing another kiss to Larry’s mouth—softer this time, lingering. “Worth the wait,” he murmured against his lips.

And Larry, for the first time in a long time, believed him.

Chapter Two: Shattered Illusions

The kiss lingered, deep and hungry, their mouths moving in a rhythm that felt both familiar and dangerously new. Larry’s hands gripped Regis’s waist, fingers pressing into the crisp fabric of his suit jacket, as if he could anchor himself to this moment—this man—before reality intruded. Regis’s tongue slid against his, slow and deliberate, tasting of whiskey and something darker, something like need. When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Regis’s thumb brushed Larry’s bottom lip, his dark eyes heavy with something unspoken.

“Come home with me,” Regis murmured, his voice rough, the words more command than invitation.

Larry exhaled sharply, the warmth of the bar’s dim lighting suddenly suffocating. He stepped back, just enough to put space between them, his pulse still hammering in his throat. The air between them crackled with the kind of tension that could either snap or ignite. “Your place?” he repeated, hearing the hesitation in his own voice. It wasn’t just the invitation—it was the weight of it. Regis’s world wasn’t some neutral ground like this bar, some place where they could pretend this was just two men blowing off steam. This was his life. His rules. His secrets.

Regis didn’t flinch. He adjusted his cufflinks, a small, controlled gesture that belied the hunger still smoldering in his gaze. “Unless you’d rather stay here and let some college kid spill beer on those shoes of yours.”

Larry huffed a laugh, but it died quickly. He glanced toward the exit, where the neon glow of the city pulsed beyond the glass. Going home alone meant tossing and turning, replaying this kiss until his cock ached and his sheets were a tangled mess. But stepping into Regis’s world? That was a line he wasn’t sure he could uncross. “You’re asking a lot,” he said quietly.

Regis’s expression darkened, not with frustration, but with something raw—vulnerability, maybe. Or desperation. “I know.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a sleek black card, and pressed it into Larry’s palm. The metal was cool, the embossed address discreet. “No pressure. But if you want this as much as I do…” His voice trailed off, but the implication hung between them, thick and electric.

Larry stared at the card. A penthouse address downtown. Of course. Because Regis didn’t do anything halfway. He swallowed hard, then nodded once, sharp. “Fine. But I’m driving myself.”

Regis’s lips quirked. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

---

The elevator ride up to Regis’s penthouse was a study in controlled tension. Larry stood slightly apart, arms crossed, jaw tight, while Regis leaned against the polished brass railing, his posture deceptively relaxed. The city sprawled beneath them, a glittering maze of lights, but Larry barely noticed. His mind was too busy racing ahead—what the hell are you doing?—and his body was too busy remembering the way Regis’s mouth had felt against his.

The doors slid open with a quiet ding, revealing a space that was all clean lines and muted luxury: dark hardwood floors, modern art on the walls, a floor-to-ceiling view of the skyline that made Larry’s chest tighten. It was impressive. Intimidating. Personal.

And then he saw the photos.

A silver-framed picture on the console table by the door. Regis, younger, arm slung around a woman with warm brown skin and a radiant smile, both of them beaming at the camera like they’d just won the damn lottery. Another on the mantel—a candid shot of the same woman laughing, her hand resting on Regis’s chest, his expression soft in a way Larry hadn’t seen before.

His stomach dropped.

“You’re married,” he said, the words flat, accusatory.

Regis had just tossed his keys onto the entry table. He stilled. Then, slowly, he turned, his face carefully neutral. “Yes.”

Larry’s hands clenched into fists. “And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning?”

Regis exhaled through his nose, running a hand over his beard. “Would it have changed your mind?”

“Fuck yes,” Larry snapped. He gestured sharply at the photos. “You think I want to be some—some side piece while you go home to your wife?”

Regis’s eyes flashed. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s exactly that simple.” Larry’s voice was rising, the muscles in his neck corded with tension. “You’ve got a life, Regis. A family. And you’re out here playing games with me like I’m some fucking distraction?”

Regis stepped forward, his movements deliberate. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You think I haven’t spent years lying in bed next to her, wondering what the hell I’m doing? Wondering why I can’t just—” He cut himself off, jaw working. “It’s not a game. Not to me.”

Larry scoffed, shaking his head. “Then what is it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve got everything figured out—nice suit, nice penthouse, nice wife—and you’re just slumming it with the trainer for a little thrill.”

Regis’s hand shot out, gripping Larry’s wrist hard enough to bruise. “Don’t,” he growled. “Don’t you dare reduce this to that.”

Their faces were inches apart, breath mingling, chests heaving. Larry should’ve pulled away. Should’ve stormed out, taken the elevator back down to the real world where men like Regis didn’t exist—where he didn’t have to feel this torn between anger and want. But he didn’t. Because beneath the fury, beneath the moral outrage, his body was still thrumming from that kiss in the bar, his cock half-hard just from the heat rolling off Regis in waves.

“Then tell me,” Larry demanded, voice rough. “What the fuck is this?”

Regis’s grip tightened, his thumb pressing into Larry’s pulse point. “It’s me,” he said, voice raw, “finally doing something for myself.” His other hand came up, cupping Larry’s jaw, forcing him to meet those dark, burning eyes. “And it’s you. Because from the second I saw you in that gym, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

Larry’s breath hitched. He should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve called him out on the bullshit, on the cowardice of hiding behind a marriage while chasing this. But then Regis’s mouth crashed against his, and all the should-haves dissolved into white-hot need.

This kiss wasn’t like the one in the bar—soft, exploratory. This was desperate. Angry. Regis’s teeth nipped at Larry’s lower lip, his tongue forcing its way in, claiming him. Larry groaned, hands flying to Regis’s shoulders, nails digging in through the fabric of his suit. The taste of him was intoxicating, the way his body pressed Larry back against the wall, pinning him there with the weight of his desire.

“Fuck,” Larry gasped against his mouth, hips arching involuntarily. His cock was hard now, straining against his jeans, and the friction of Regis’s thigh against it made his vision blur. “We shouldn’t—”

“We should,” Regis growled, his hand sliding down to palm Larry’s erection through his pants. “We should, and we will, and you’re going to let me fuck you right here against this wall because you want it just as bad as I do.”

Larry’s head fell back with a thud, a broken sound tearing from his throat. Regis’s words were filthy, cruel, and they sent a jolt of heat straight to his balls. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

Regis chuckled darkly, his fingers working at Larry’s belt. “Yeah. And you love it.”

The buckle clinked open. The zipper followed, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet penthouse. Larry’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as Regis freed his cock, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip. Regis’s palm wrapped around him, stroking once, twice, his thumb smearing the precum over the swollen head.

“Look at you,” Regis murmured, his voice a rough caress. “So fucking hard for me. So ready.”

Larry’s hips jerked, chasing the friction. “Regis—”

“Shut up.” Regis’s free hand gripped Larry’s hip, spinning him around and pressing him face-first against the wall. The cool surface was a shock against his overheated skin. “Hands on the wall. Don’t move them.”

Larry obeyed, bracing himself, his pulse roaring in his ears. Behind him, Regis’s breath was hot against his neck, his body a solid, dominating presence. The sound of a zipper, the rustle of fabric—then the slick, insistent pressure of Regis’s cock, thick and heavy, sliding between Larry’s ass cheeks.

“You feel that?” Regis’s voice was a growl, his hips rolling, the head of his cock teasing at Larry’s entrance. “You feel how much I want you?”

“Yeah,” Larry breathed, pushing back against him, desperate. “Fuck, yes.”

Regis’s hand cracked against Larry’s ass, the sting sharp and sudden. “I didn’t say you could move.”

Larry groaned, his cock throbbing. “Then fucking do it.”

Regis chuckled, low and dark. “Since you asked so nicely.”

The first push was slow, relentless. Larry’s body resisted at first, the burn intense, but then Regis’s cock breached him, stretching him open, and the sensation morphed into something good, something right. Larry’s fingers curled against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps as Regis sank deeper, inch by inch, until his hips pressed flush against Larry’s ass.

“Fuck,” Regis hissed, his forehead dropping to Larry’s shoulder. “You’re so tight.”

Larry couldn’t form words. He could only feel—the fullness, the ache, the way Regis’s cock pulsed inside him, like it was made to be there. Then Regis pulled back and thrust in hard, and Larry’s vision whited out.

“Oh, god—”

“That’s it,” Regis groaned, his hands gripping Larry’s hips, holding him in place as he set a punishing rhythm. “Take it. Take all of it.”

The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, mixed with their ragged breaths and the wet, obscene sounds of Regis fucking into him. Larry’s cock leaked against the wall, his balls drawn up tight, his entire body coiled with the need to come. But Regis’s hand snaked around his hip, gripping the base of his cock, squeezing just hard enough to keep him on the edge.

“Not yet,” Regis grunted, his thrusts growing erratic. “You come when I say you come.”

Larry whimpered, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. “Regis, please—”

“Not. Yet.” Regis’s voice was a snarl, his cock swelling inside Larry, hitting that spot that made his toes curl. “You’re mine right now. And you’re going to wait.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat through Larry, his mind short-circuiting. He was his. Regis’s. And fuck if that didn’t make him even harder.

Regis’s breath hitched, his thrusts stuttering. “Fuck, I’m—Larry—”

“Do it,” Larry gasped. “Come inside me.”

That was all it took. Regis groaned, his body locking up as he buried himself to the hilt, his cum pulsing deep inside Larry, hot and thick. Larry’s own orgasm crashed over him a second later, his cock spurting against the wall, ropes of cum painting the pristine surface as his body clenched around Regis’s cock, milking him for every last drop.

For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city below. Regis’s forehead rested against Larry’s back, his hands still gripping his hips possessively. Larry’s legs felt like jelly, his body spent, his mind a haze of endorphins and the lingering sting of Regis’s words.

Then Regis pulled out slowly, and the absence of him was almost physical. Larry turned, leaning back against the wall, his cum-slick cock still twitching. Regis’s expression was unreadable—his suit pants still undone, his shirt rumpled, his beard glistening with sweat.

Larry swallowed hard. “What now?”

Regis didn’t answer. He just reached for Larry’s hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, his eyes dark with something that looked a lot like regret. “Now,” he said quietly, “we pretend this never happened.”

Chapter Three: Public Masquerade

The penthouse air was thick with the weight of what had just happened—Regis’s hands still warm from gripping Larry’s hips, the taste of him lingering on his tongue, the raw, desperate way their bodies had moved together. But now, the moment had shattered. Regis stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to Larry, adjusting his cufflinks with deliberate precision, as if the act could somehow stitch the evening back into something orderly. His suit jacket was rumpled, the fabric clinging to the broad expanse of his shoulders, and the scent of sex—musky, salted with sweat—still clung to the air between them.

Larry didn’t move from where he leaned against the wall, his own suit—borrowed, too snug across his chest—feeling like a costume now. The fabric chafed, the collar too tight, as if it were physically resisting the way his pulse still hammered beneath his skin. He watched Regis’s reflection in the glass, the way his fingers trembled just slightly before he clenched them into a fist. “Pretend this never happened.” The words echoed in Larry’s skull, sharp as broken glass. He exhaled through his nose, the sound rough, almost a laugh. “That’s your solution?” His voice was low, but it cut through the silence like a blade. “We fuck against your wall like animals, and now you want to erase it?”

Regis stiffened. His reflection met Larry’s gaze in the glass, dark eyes unreadable. “You think I want this?” His voice was a controlled rasp, the kind that made Larry’s spine prickle—anger, maybe, or something deeper, something he wasn’t allowed to name. “You think I enjoy living like this?” He turned finally, slow, deliberate, like a man stepping into a fight he knew he couldn’t win. The city lights painted his face in stark relief, the scar above his eyebrow a pale slash in the dimness. “I have a life, Larry. A wife. A reputation. And you—” His jaw worked. “You walk in here like you own the place, like you can just demand things from me, and then you’re shocked when it’s not that simple.”

Larry pushed off the wall, the movement sharp, aggressive. The marble was cold against his palms, grounding him. “I’m not asking for simple,” he said, stepping closer. The space between them crackled, charged with the memory of teeth and nails and the way Regis had begged when Larry’s fingers dug into his ass. “I’m asking for honesty. You want me? Fine. But don’t you dare treat me like some dirty little secret you can just—” He gestured vaguely, frustration coiling tight in his chest. “—wipe away when it’s convenient.”

Regis’s breath hitched. For a second, Larry saw it—the flicker of something raw, something real—before the mask slammed back into place. His lips curled, not quite a smile, more like a snarl. “You want honesty?” He took a step forward, close enough that Larry could feel the heat radiating off him, the faint tremor in his muscles. “You can’t handle honesty. You think you’re the first?” His voice dropped, a dark murmur. “You think I haven’t stood in this exact spot before, telling some pretty boy the same goddamn thing? That it’s complicated? That it can’t be more?” His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Larry’s throat—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make his pulse jump. “You’re not special, Larry. You’re just the flavor of the month.”

Larry’s cock twitched, traitorous, at the pressure of Regis’s fingers, the way his thumb brushed over his Adam’s apple. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in, close enough that their lips nearly brushed. “Prove it,” he whispered.

Regis’s grip tightened. His pupils blew wide, black swallowing brown, and for a heartbeat, Larry thought he’d kiss him—crush their mouths together, drag him back to the wall, fuck him until neither of them could remember their own names. But then Regis’s fingers fell away, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, voice rough.

Larry smirked, slow and knowing. “So are you.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out the black card Regis had given him earlier—the one with his private number, the one that had felt like a promise. He flipped it between his fingers, taunting. “Or is this just for business too?”

Regis’s gaze tracked the movement, his throat working. Then, abrupt, he turned away, striding toward the bar cart. The clink of crystal was sharp as he poured two fingers of whiskey, neat. He didn’t offer Larry any. “There’s an event tonight,” he said, voice clipped. “A gala. Charity thing. High-profile.” He tossed back the whiskey, the muscles in his throat rippling as he swallowed. “I’m expected to make an appearance.”

Larry crossed his arms. “And?”

Regis set the glass down with a deliberate click. “And if you’re so determined to push me, Larry,” he said, turning back, eyes burning, “then come. Show up. Walk in on my arm. Let’s see how long you last before you realize what you’re actually asking for.”

The challenge hung between them, thick and electric. Larry’s heart pounded, not just from the whiskey-fueled dare, but from the way Regis’s voice had dropped on “my arm”—like the words tasted forbidden. Like he wanted it. Larry uncrossed his arms, rolling his shoulders back, feeling the fabric of the suit pull tight across his chest. “What time?”

---

The ballroom was a jewel box of light and noise, chandeliers casting prismatic glows over the sea of tuxedos and gowns. The air smelled of champagne and expensive perfume, the murmur of conversations punctuated by the occasional peel of laughter. Regis moved through the crowd like a king holding court, his posture impeccable, his smile easy and practiced. But Larry could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed against his thigh when someone clapped him on the back.

Larry stayed half a step behind him, close enough to feel the heat of his body, to catch the faintest whiff of his cologne beneath the ambient scents of the room. He’d let Regis’s stylist fuss with his hair, slick it back, tame the usual tousled mess into something sleek. The suit fit better now, tailored to his frame in the few hours before the event, the fabric hugging his biceps, the taper of his waist. He looked the part. Almost belonged.

Almost.

A woman in a emerald-green gown approached, her smile bright, her hand outstretched. “Regis, darling!” she trilled. “You must introduce me to your friend.”

Regis’s smile didn’t waver, but Larry felt the way his body went rigid, just for a second. “Larry,” he said smoothly, gesturing between them. “This is Claudia Mercer. Claudia, Larry Hayes—a colleague.”

The word was a blade, twisted just slightly, and Larry’s grin turned sharp. “Pleasure,” he murmured, taking her hand, holding it a beat too long. Her eyebrows lifted, amused, and when he released her, his fingers brushed against Regis’s hip—accidentally, of course. Regis’s breath hitched, just barely, but Larry felt it.

Claudia’s gaze flickered between them, speculative. “Well,” she purred, “aren’t you two just adorable.”

Regis’s laugh was tight. “Claudia, always a charmer.”

She winked, swaying away into the crowd, leaving them alone—or as alone as they could be in a room full of people. Larry leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of Regis’s ear. “Colleague?” he murmured. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

Regis’s hand shot out, gripping Larry’s wrist, fingers digging in. “You’re testing my patience,” he growled, low enough that no one else would hear.

Larry licked his lips, slow, deliberate. “No,” he said. “I’m testing you.”

Regis’s gaze darkened. For a second, Larry thought he’d snap—drag him out of there, throw him against the nearest wall, fuck the defiance right out of him. But then Regis’s expression smoothed, his grip loosening, fingers sliding down to twine with Larry’s. The movement was subtle, almost natural, but the weight of it sent a jolt through Larry’s body. Holy fuck. Regis was—holding his hand. In public.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut. Larry’s breath stuttered, his pulse roaring in his ears. He didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Instead, he squeezed back, just slightly, and when Regis’s thumb brushed over his knuckles, a slow, possessive stroke, Larry’s cock twitched, thickening in his slacks.

Regis’s lips curved, just slightly, before he turned, leading Larry deeper into the crowd. The touch was brief—too brief—but it lingered, a brand against Larry’s skin. They moved through the room like that, a performance of easy camaraderie, Regis introducing Larry as a “consultant”, a “protegé”, a “valuable asset to the team”. Each label was a lie, a carefully constructed facade, and Larry played along, smiling, shaking hands, all while his body hummed with the memory of Regis’s fingers on his.

Then he saw her.

Regis’s wife.

She stood near the center of the room, a vision in silver, her dark hair swept into an elegant twist, her laughter bright as she spoke to a group of women. She was stunning. Poised. Happy. And when her gaze lifted, scanning the crowd, Larry saw the exact moment she spotted Regis.

Her face lit up.

Regis’s grip on Larry’s hand tightened, just for a second, before he let go entirely, his fingers falling away like Larry’s skin had burned him. “Excuse me,” he murmured, already stepping forward, his smile transforming into something warm, something real.

Larry watched as Regis crossed the room, as his wife met him halfway, as they embraced—Regis’s hands on her waist, her fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket. They looked right together. Perfect. A power couple, untouchable.

And Larry? Larry was just the guy standing in the shadows, his hands clenched into fists, his cock aching, his chest hollow.

He shouldn’t have come.

The realization hit him like a wave, cold and suffocating. He turned, blindly pushing through the crowd, needing air, needing space—

A hand closed around his bicep, fingers digging in. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Larry spun, ready to snarl, but it was Regis, his expression unreadable, his grip bruising. “Let go of me,” Larry hissed.

Regis didn’t. Instead, he pulled Larry closer, his voice a low, urgent growl. “You want to run? Fine.” His free hand slipped into Larry’s, pressing something cold and metallic into his palm—a key. “Third floor. Last door on the left. Five minutes.”

Larry’s breath caught. “What—?”

Regis’s mouth crashed against his, a searing, open-mouthed kiss that stole the air from Larry’s lungs. His tongue swept in, hot and demanding, and Larry melted, his body arching into the touch, his hands flying up to grip Regis’s jacket. The kiss was filthy, desperate, a claim staked in the middle of a room full of people who had no idea, no fucking clue—

Then Regis was gone, striding back toward his wife, leaving Larry standing there, lips swollen, cock throbbing, the taste of him still on his tongue.

The key bit into his palm.

Five minutes.

---

The bathroom was a sanctuary of cold marble and gold fixtures, the kind of opulence that made Larry feel like he didn’t belong. But then the door clicked shut behind him, and Regis was on him, pressing him back against the sink, his mouth crashing down again, hungry, starving.

Larry groaned into the kiss, his hands flying to Regis’s hair, gripping tight. The mirror behind them fogged with their breath, the reflection a blur of dark suits and tangled limbs. Regis’s hands were everywhere—yanking at Larry’s jacket, shoving it off his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle of his arms. “Fuck,” he gasped against Larry’s lips. “Fuck, I hate you.”

Larry laughed, breathless, arching into the touch. “Liar.”

Regis’s teeth sank into his bottom lip, a sharp sting that had Larry’s cock jerking. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” Regis growled, his hands dropping to Larry’s belt, yanking it open with a sharp clink. The sound of his zipper was obscene in the quiet of the bathroom, the rasp of fabric loud as Regis shoved his slacks down, freeing his cock.

Larry’s head fell back against the mirror, his breath coming in sharp gasps as Regis’s fingers wrapped around him, stroking once, twice—hard. “Jesus—” He buckled, his hips jerking into the touch, his cock already leaking, the tip slick with precome.

Regis didn’t let him catch his breath. He spun Larry around, pressing him face-first against the cold marble countertop. The shock of it sent a jolt through Larry’s body, his cock twitching against the smooth surface. “Hands flat,” Regis ordered, his voice a dark murmur. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

Larry obeyed, his palms splaying against the marble, his fingers curling against the edge. Behind him, Regis’s breath was hot against his neck, his teeth grazing the shell of his ear. “You want to know what you do to me?” Regis’s hands were on his ass, squeezing, spreading him open. The cool air hit Larry’s hole, and he shivered, his body tightening in anticipation. “You make me reckless.”

A wet finger pressed against him, circling, teasing. Larry bit his lip, a whine building in his throat. “Regis—fuck—”

“Shh.” Regis’s finger breached him, slow, deliberate, sinking in to the first knuckle. Larry’s body clenched around the intrusion, his cock dripping onto the counter. “You like that?” Regis murmured, his finger twisting, finding that spot inside Larry that made his vision white out. “You like being used in a public bathroom, where anyone could walk in?”

Larry’s breath hitched. “Yes.”

Regis groaned, low and rough, adding a second finger, stretching him open. “Dirty boy,” he murmured, his lips brushing Larry’s ear. “My dirty boy.”

Larry’s cock throbbed, aching, leaking. He rocked back against Regis’s fingers, needing more, needing him. “Please,” he gasped. “I need—fuck, I need your cock.”

Regis’s fingers stilled. For a second, Larry thought he’d stop—pull away, leave him aching and empty. But then Regis’s zipper rasped, the sound loud in the quiet, and Larry’s breath stuttered as he felt the thick, hot press of Regis’s cock against his ass. “You sure?” Regis’s voice was a dark murmur, his hands gripping Larry’s hips, holding him still. “Because once I’m inside you, I’m not stopping until you’re begging.”

Larry pushed back, the head of Regis’s cock notching against his hole. “Then fucking move.”

Regis didn’t need to be told twice.

He surged forward, his cock breaching Larry in one deep, relentless thrust. Larry cried out, his fingers scrambling against the marble, his body stretching, burning as Regis bottomed out inside him. “Fuck—fuck—” The words tore from his throat, his cock throbbing, his ass clenching around Regis’s thickness.

Regis groaned, his hands tightening on Larry’s hips, his thrusts already sharp, punishing. “You feel so good,” he growled, his voice rough, desperate. “So fucking tight. Like you were made for me.”

Larry could only whimper, his body rocking with each thrust, his cock leaking, aching. The marble was cold against his chest, his breath fogging the mirror, his reflection a blur of flushed skin and parted lips. Regis’s cock hit that spot inside him over and over, sending sparks through his nerves, his balls drawing up tight.

“Gonna come,” Larry gasped, his voice breaking. “I’m gonna—fuck—”

Regis’s hand snaked around his hip, wrapping around his cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. “Do it,” he ordered, his voice a dark murmur. “Come for me, Larry. Now.”

Larry’s orgasm hit him like a freight train, his cock pulsing in Regis’s grip, ropes of come splattering against the marble countertop. His body clenched around Regis’s cock, milking him, and with a groan, Regis followed, his thrusts turning erratic as he buried himself deep, his come filling Larry in hot, thick spurts.

For a moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the damp heat of their bodies pressed together. Then Regis’s lips brushed the back of Larry’s neck, a slow, lingering kiss. “We’re not done,” he murmured.

Larry shivered, his body still humming, his cock twitching. “We’d better be,” he managed, his voice rough. “Because if your wife walks in on us like this, I don’t think even you can talk your way out of it.”

Regis chuckled, low and dark, pulling out slowly, his come dripping down Larry’s thighs. “Then I guess we’d better make it worth the risk.”

Larry turned his head, catching Regis’s mouth in a slow, deep kiss, tasting himself on his tongue. “Oh, we will,” he promised. “We will.”

Chapter Four: Rooftop Rapture

The bathroom door had barely clicked shut behind Larry when his fingers trembled as he adjusted his rumpled dress shirt, the fabric still damp in places from the sink’s frantic splashing. His tie hung loose, the knot undone, and his suit jacket was nowhere to be found—left behind in the chaos of Regis’s hands, maybe, or discarded in the heat of the moment. His cock still throbbed, half-hard and sensitive, the ghost of Regis’s grip lingering like a brand. The air in the hallway was cooler than the bathroom’s steam, but it did little to soothe the heat still coiled in his gut.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand over his face. Fuck. Regis’s words echoed in his skull—“We’re not done.”—a promise, a threat, a goddamn challenge. Larry’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t about to let this end here, not when Regis was so close to cracking, not when the man’s hands had been shaking just as badly as his own.

The gala’s muffled hum of conversation and clinking glasses seeped through the closed doors lining the corridor. He needed air. Needed to think. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. That was when he felt it—the crinkle of paper in his suit pocket. Not his pocket square. Something else.

Larry froze.

Slowly, he reached inside, his pulse kicking up as his fingertips brushed against the folded note. He pulled it free, unfolding it with deliberate care. The paper was thick, expensive, the kind Regis would use. And the handwriting—precise, controlled, every letter sharp as a blade—was unmistakably his.

Rooftop. Midnight. Come alone.

A shiver ran down his spine, and it wasn’t from the cold. The note was still warm, as if Regis had slipped it into his pocket while Larry was distracted—maybe when he’d been pinned against the bathroom wall, maybe when Regis’s mouth had been on his neck, biting hard enough to leave marks. The audacity of it, the risk—Larry’s cock twitched, thickening again despite the ache.

He glanced at his watch. 11:47 PM.

Thirteen minutes.

Larry didn’t hesitate. He strode down the hallway, ignoring the curious glances of a passing waiter, and slipped out a side exit that led to the service stairs. The metal steps clanged under his dress shoes as he took them two at a time, the cold air of the stairwell biting at his exposed skin where his shirt gaped open. The higher he climbed, the thinner the air seemed to get, his breath coming faster, his heart hammering against his ribs.

The rooftop door was heavy, groaning as he pushed it open. A gust of wind hit him like a slap, stealing his breath. The terrace stretched out before him, a vast expanse of concrete and steel, the city below a glittering carpet of lights. The night was brutal—freezing, the kind of cold that seeped into bones. His suit pants did little to shield him, the fabric whipping around his legs as he stepped forward.

And then he saw him.

Regis stood near the edge, his back to Larry, the long wool coat he wore billowing dramatically in the wind. The fabric was dark—charcoal or black—swallowing the dim light, but it was open. Wide open. The wind caught the sides, flaring them out like wings, and Larry’s breath stalled in his throat.

Because beneath that coat, Regis was naked.

The man’s broad shoulders tapered down to a lean waist, the muscles of his back shifting as he turned slightly, just enough for Larry to catch the curve of his ass, the dark shadow between his thighs. His cock was already hard, thick and heavy, jutting out from his body, the head glistening in the faint light. The cold had to be biting at him, but Regis didn’t seem to care. He stood there, exposed, waiting.

Larry’s mouth went dry.

Regis turned fully then, his coat flaring again, and Larry’s gaze locked onto the sight of him—every inch of dark, smooth skin, the tight nipples, the rigid length of his cock, the way his balls drew up tight against the cold. His face was a mask of controlled hunger, his eyes burning into Larry’s.

“Took you long enough,” Regis said, his voice rough, carrying over the wind. He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. The night swallowed sound, made it intimate. “I was starting to think you’d lost your nerve.”

Larry’s hands clenched. “You left me a note like some kind of fucking spy movie.” His voice was raw, his cock straining against his zipper. “What the hell is this, Regis?”

Regis smirked, slow and dangerous. He stepped forward, the coat whispering against his thighs. “This,” he said, gesturing to the open space, the drop beyond the railing, the way the wind howled between them, “is what you want. Isn’t it?” His gaze raked over Larry, lingering on the bulge in his pants. “You want to be seen. You want to be caught. You want me to lose control.”

Larry’s breath hitched. Fuck. He did. He did. The risk of it, the sheer recklessness—it made his skin prickle, his pulse roar in his ears.

Regis took another step closer. “So prove it.” His voice dropped, a command wrapped in velvet. “Take your clothes off.”

The wind howled, biting at Larry’s exposed skin where his shirt gaped. His fingers twitched. “It’s freezing.”

“Good.” Regis’s lips curled. “Maybe the cold will keep you sharp. Or maybe it’ll make you ache.” His gaze flicked down, then back up, deliberate. “I want to see you. All of you. Now.”

Larry’s jaw set. He didn’t move.

Regis’s eyes darkened. “You’re testing me.”

“Maybe I am.”

A beat. Then Regis lunged.

One second, he was across the terrace; the next, his hand was fisted in Larry’s shirt, yanking him forward. Their chests collided, the heat of Regis’s naked body a shock against Larry’s clothed one. Regis’s other hand grabbed Larry’s wrist, twisting it behind his back, forcing him to arch into the touch. His mouth crashed onto Larry’s, teeth clashing, tongues battling. The kiss was brutal, possessive, punishing—and Larry groaned into it, his free hand flying up to grip Regis’s shoulder, nails digging in.

Regis tore his mouth away, breathing hard. “Undress. Now.”

Larry’s chest heaved. He could feel the cold seeping through his shirt, but Regis’s body was a furnace against him, his cock hot and heavy where it pressed against Larry’s hip. He swallowed, then nodded.

Regis released him with a shove, sending Larry stumbling back a step. The loss of heat was immediate, the wind slicing through his damp shirt. His fingers fumbled at his buttons, the cold making them stiff, but he didn’t stop. The shirt came off first, tossed aside, the fabric snapping in the wind before it hit the ground. His undershirt followed, then his belt, the clink of the buckle loud in the silence. His pants and boxers went next, kicked off in one motion, leaving him naked save for his socks.

The cold was brutal. His skin pebbled instantly, his nipples tightening into hard points, his cock—already half-hard from the kiss—jerking as the wind hit it. His breath came in sharp, visible puffs, his teeth chattering.

Regis’s gaze devoured him. “Turn around.”

Larry obeyed, turning slowly, letting the wind whip at his back, his ass, his thighs. He could feel Regis’s eyes on him, tracing every inch, and it made his skin burn despite the cold.

“Fuck,” Regis breathed. He stepped closer, his coat flaring, the wool brushing against Larry’s bare skin. His hand came up, fingers trailing down Larry’s spine, following the line of his tattoo. “You’re beautiful like this.” His voice was rough, almost disbelieving. “All that muscle. All that heat. And you’re shivering for me.”

Larry’s breath hitched as Regis’s hand slid lower, cupping his ass, squeezing. His cock twitched, thickening further, the cold air doing nothing to dampen his arousal.

Regis’s lips brushed his ear, his breath hot. “You like this, don’t you? The risk. The cold. The way your skin’s so tight, your cock so hard it hurts.” His fingers dug in, nails biting. “You want someone to see us. You want them to know.”

Larry’s head fell back against Regis’s shoulder, his body arching into the touch. “Yes,” he gasped. “Fuck, yes.”

Regis groaned, low and guttural. His other hand snaked around Larry’s waist, gripping his cock, stroking once, twice—just enough to make Larry’s hips jerk. “Greedy little slut,” Regis murmured. “You’d let anyone watch, wouldn’t you? You’d let them see how hard you get for me.”

“Only you,” Larry ground out. “Only you, you fucking—”

Regis spun him around, slamming their mouths together again. This kiss was different—desperate, hungry, their teeth clashing, tongues tangling. Larry’s hands flew to Regis’s waist, gripping tight, his cock trapped between their bodies, leaking against Regis’s stomach. The wind howled around them, but all Larry could feel was the heat of Regis’s skin, the way his muscles flexed under Larry’s hands, the way his cock—thick, heavy—pressed against Larry’s hip.

Regis broke the kiss, panting. “On your knees.”

Larry didn’t hesitate. He sank to the cold concrete, the bite of it against his knees sharp, but he barely noticed. Regis loomed over him, his coat flaring like a dark halo, his cock jutting out, the head already slick. Larry’s mouth watered.

“Open,” Regis ordered.

Larry obeyed, parting his lips, his breath ghosting over the tip. Regis hissed, his hand tangling in Larry’s hair, guiding him forward.

The first taste was salt and heat, the weight of Regis’s cock on his tongue making Larry groan. He hollowed his cheeks, taking him deeper, his hands gripping Regis’s thighs for balance. The wind whipped at them, but Regis’s groan drowned it out, his fingers tightening in Larry’s hair.

“Fuck, just like that—” Regis’s voice was rough, his hips rolling forward, feeding Larry more. Larry took it, his throat opening, his own cock aching, dripping onto the concrete beneath him. The cold air hit his wet skin, making him shiver, but the heat of Regis’s cock, the taste of him, the way his breath hitched—it was all that mattered.

Regis’s grip tightened, his thrusts growing sharper, more demanding. “You look so good on your knees for me,” he growled. “Such a good cocksucker. Take it all—”

Larry gagged as Regis hit the back of his throat, but he didn’t pull away. His fingers dug into Regis’s thighs, his nails leaving marks, and Regis loved it, his groan turning feral.

“That’s it—fuck—” Regis’s hips stuttered, his cock swelling. “Gonna come down your throat, Larry. Gonna fill you—”

Larry moaned around him, the vibration making Regis’s thighs tremble. His own cock was iron, leaking, his balls drawn up tight. He wanted to touch himself, but he didn’t dare—this was Regis’s show, Regis’s control, and the denial only made him harder.

Regis’s breath came in sharp gasps, his grip punishing. “Swallow every drop—”

His cock pulsed, and Larry did, taking it all, his throat working, his eyes watering. Regis’s groan was raw, broken, his body shuddering as he spilled down Larry’s throat. Larry didn’t stop until Regis’s cock softened, until his grip loosened, his breath evening out.

Then Regis yanked him up by his hair, crashing their mouths together again. Larry could taste himself on Regis’s tongue, could feel the way Regis’s body trembled against his. His own cock ached, desperate, but Regis broke the kiss, his eyes dark with promise.

“Turn around,” he ordered, spinning Larry to face the railing. “Hands on the bar. Now.”

Larry obeyed, his palms slapping against the cold metal, his breath fogging in the air. The drop beyond the railing was dizzying, the city lights blurring below. He could hear the distant hum of traffic, the occasional blare of a horn, but it all felt far away. All that existed was the press of Regis’s body against his back, the heat of him, the way his cock—already hard again—pressed against Larry’s ass.

Regis’s hand slid between Larry’s legs, gripping his cock, stroking once, twice—just enough to make Larry’s hips buck. “You want this?” Regis’s voice was a growl in his ear. “You want me to fuck you right here, where anyone could see?”

“Yes,” Larry gasped. “Fuck, please—”

Regis’s fingers left his cock, and Larry whimpered at the loss, but then Regis was spitting into his palm, the sound obscene in the quiet. His slick fingers pressed against Larry’s hole, teasing, circling.

“You’re dripping,” Regis murmured. “So fucking ready for me.” One finger pushed in, and Larry’s breath hitched, his body clenching around the intrusion. “Such a slut for my cock.”

“More,” Larry begged, pushing back against his hand. “Need more—”

Regis added a second finger, scissoring them, stretching him. Larry’s head fell forward, his knuckles white on the railing. The cold air hit his wet hole, making him shiver, but the burn of Regis’s fingers, the way they owned him—it was all he could focus on.

“Please,” he groaned. “Regis, fuck me—”

Regis’s fingers vanished. Larry whimpered at the emptiness, but then Regis was there, his cock pressing against Larry’s entrance, thick and demanding. “Beg me,” Regis ordered, his voice a dark purr.

“Please,” Larry gasped, his body trembling. “I need you. Need you to fuck me, to own me—”

Regis didn’t make him wait. He pushed in, one thick inch at a time, stretching Larry open. The burn was exquisite, the fullness perfect. Larry’s mouth fell open on a silent cry, his body clenching around Regis, pulling him deeper.

“Fuck—so tight—” Regis groaned, his hands gripping Larry’s hips, his nails digging in. He bottomed out, his balls pressing against Larry’s ass, and then he moved.

The first thrust was brutal, slamming Larry against the railing. The metal dug into his hips, but he didn’t care—he loved it, loved the way Regis used him, the way his cock pistoned in and out, each snap of his hips driving Larry wild.

“Yes—harder—” Larry gasped, his cock leaking, his body trembling. The cold air hit his sweat-slicked skin, but all he could feel was Regis—his heat, his weight, the way his cock filled him.

Regis’s breath was ragged, his grip punishing. “You’re mine,” he growled, his thrusts growing erratic. “Say it.”

“Yours,” Larry moaned. “Fuck, I’m yours—”

Regis’s hand snaked around, gripping Larry’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. “Come for me,” he ordered. “Come now—”

Larry’s body obeyed, his orgasm crashing over him, his cock pulsing in Regis’s grip, cum spilling over his fingers, onto the railing, the concrete. His vision whited out, his body clenching around Regis’s cock, milking him.

Regis groaned, his thrusts turning shallow, his cock swelling—then he was coming, too, his cum filling Larry, marking him. His body shuddered, his breath ragged as he spilled inside him, his grip on Larry’s hip bruising.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, the wind, the distant city. Regis’s forehead dropped to Larry’s shoulder, his lips pressing against his skin.

Then he pulled out slowly, his cum dripping down Larry’s thighs. He turned Larry to face him, their bodies pressing together, skin to skin, the cold air doing nothing to dampen the heat between them.

Regis’s gaze was dark, intense. “We’re not done,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over Larry’s bottom lip.

Larry smiled, slow and dangerous. “I know.”

Chapter Five: Kneel

The cold wind howled across the rooftop, biting at their exposed skin as Regis pulled out with a slow, deliberate drag, his cock glistening with the evidence of their shared climax. Larry’s body still hummed from the intensity, his muscles tense, his breath ragged. But the moment Regis’s grip loosened, something shifted in him—an embers of defiance reigniting. He didn’t wait for another command. Instead, he spun on his heel, his palm slamming against Regis’s chest with enough force to send him stumbling back against the railing.

Regis’s eyes widened, more from surprise than resistance, as the cold metal dug into his bare back. Larry didn’t give him time to recover. He crowded into Regis’s space, his larger frame looming, his fingers digging into the older man’s hips with bruising force. The power play was instant, electric. Regis’s lips parted—whether to protest or moan, Larry didn’t care. He crushed their mouths together, his tongue forcing its way past Regis’s teeth, claiming what had just been taken from him.

The kiss was filthy. Sloppy. A collision of teeth and heat, the taste of himself still thick on Regis’s tongue. Larry groaned into it, his free hand tangling in Regis’s short hair, yanking just enough to make the older man gasp. Regis’s fingers clawed at Larry’s biceps, not to push him away, but to anchor himself as Larry devoured him. The wind whipped around them, carrying the wet sounds of their mouths, the desperate hitch in Regis’s breath as Larry finally broke the kiss with a sharp, satisfied sound.

“My turn,” Larry growled, his voice rough with the aftershocks of his orgasm and the cold. His thumb traced Regis’s bottom lip, smearing it with spit and the faint metallic tang of pre-cum. Regis’s dark eyes burned, his chest rising and falling rapidly, but he didn’t fight it. Not yet. Larry could see the calculation behind that gaze—the assessment of how far this reversal would go, whether Regis would let him take it.

He didn’t wait for permission.

Larry shoved Regis harder against the railing, the impact rattling the metal, the sound lost to the wind. His hand slid down, gripping Regis’s cock—not gently, not teasingly, but with possession. Regis hissed, his hips jerking involuntarily, his length already stirring back to full hardness under Larry’s rough touch. “You think you’re the only one who gets to play?” Larry’s breath was hot against Regis’s ear, his lips brushing the shell before he bit down, just shy of pain. “Kneel.”

The word hung between them, heavy with challenge. Regis’s body tensed, his pride warring with the dark, hungry thing Larry had awakened in him. For a heartbeat, it seemed he might refuse. Then, slowly, his muscles uncoiled. His knees hit the frozen concrete with a dull thud, the impact sending a shiver through him that had nothing to do with the cold.

Larry stepped back just enough to admire the sight: Regis on his knees, naked under that stupid, still-open coat, his dark skin flushed, his cock jutting obscenely between his thighs. The city lights glittered behind him, a backdrop of indifferent witnesses. Larry’s fingers twitched, itching to touch, to claim. Instead, he reached for the railing, bracing himself as he spread his legs wider. “Open.”

Regis’s jaw worked, his beard glistening with the remnants of their kiss. For a second, Larry thought he might argue, might try to flip the script again. But then those full lips parted, his tongue darting out to wet them, and Larry’s cock twitched in anticipation. He didn’t guide Regis in. Didn’t need to. The moment the older man’s hands settled on Larry’s thighs, his thumbs digging into the tense muscle, Larry knew he’d won this round.

Then Regis’s mouth closed around the head of his cock, and every coherent thought dissolved into white noise.

“Fuck—” Larry’s fingers clenched around the railing, his knuckles turning white. Regis didn’t tease. Didn’t take his time. He hollowed his cheeks and took Larry deep, his throat fluttering around the thick length, his nose pressing into the trimmed hair at the base. Larry’s hips jerked forward before he could stop himself, his cock hitting the back of Regis’s throat with a wet, obscene sound. Regis didn’t gag. Didn’t pull back. He swallowed around Larry, his throat massaging the sensitive flesh, and Larry’s vision blurred at the edges.

“Shit, just like that,” Larry groaned, his voice rough, his abs tightening as Regis pulled back just enough to swirl his tongue around the ridge of Larry’s crown. The cold air hit the wet flesh, making him hiss, but then Regis was diving down again, taking him to the root, his nose buried in Larry’s groin. The older man’s hands slid up, gripping Larry’s ass, his fingers spreading the cheeks just enough to tease at the puckered hole there. Larry’s breath hitched, his body remembering the stretch and burn from minutes before. “You’re gonna make me—fuck—”

Regis pulled off with a wet pop, his lips slick, his eyes dark with triumph. “Make you what?” His voice was a rasp, his breath fogging in the cold air. He didn’t wait for an answer. His tongue dragged up the underside of Larry’s cock, slow and deliberate, before he took the head back into his mouth, his lips sealing tight.

Larry’s fingers tangled in Regis’s hair, yanking hard enough to make the older man grunt around his length. “Make me come, you fucking tease.” His hips rolled forward, feeding Regis more, his thighs trembling with the effort not to fuck his face right there on the rooftop. The risk of it—the exposure, the sheer audacity—had his balls drawing up tight, his orgasm coiling low in his gut.

Regis hummed in approval, the vibration traveling straight up Larry’s spine. His free hand abandoned Larry’s ass, sliding up to grip the base of his cock, his thumb pressing into the thick vein that pulsed there. He worked Larry in earnest now, his mouth and hand moving in perfect rhythm, his tongue never still. Every time Larry’s cock hit the back of his throat, Regis swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his own cock leaking against his stomach.

“Gonna come,” Larry warned, his voice a guttural growl. His fingers tightened in Regis’s hair, his hips stuttering as the pleasure crested. Regis didn’t let up. If anything, he doubled down, his lips sealing tighter, his tongue flattening against the underside of Larry’s shaft. The first pulse of cum hit the back of his throat, thick and hot, and Regis swallowed around it, his own moan vibrating against Larry’s oversensitive flesh.

Larry’s knees nearly gave out. His orgasm wrung him dry, his cock jerking in Regis’s mouth as the older man milked him through it, licking and sucking until Larry was gasping, his body trembling. Only then did Regis pull back, releasing Larry’s cock with a final, obscene kiss to the tip. His lips were swollen, his beard glistening, and when he looked up, his eyes were dark with something Larry couldn’t name—pride, maybe. Or hunger.

Larry didn’t give him time to recover. He hauled Regis to his feet by his hair, ignoring the older man’s sharp inhale as he crashed their mouths together again. This kiss was different—slower, filthier, their tongues tangling as Larry tasted himself on Regis’s lips. His hands roamed, mapping the older man’s body with rough possession, his fingers digging into the firm muscle of Regis’s ass before sliding lower, teasing at the slick, used hole there.

Regis broke the kiss with a gasp, his chest heaving. “Larry—”

“Shut up.” Larry’s voice was a dark purr, his lips brushing Regis’s ear. His fingers pressed inside without warning, two thick digits sinking into the loose, cum-slick heat. Regis’s body clenched around him, a broken sound tearing from his throat. “You like that, don’t you? Being used. Being mine.”

Regis’s hands flew to Larry’s wrists, but not to stop him. His nails dug in, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts as Larry crooked his fingers, rubbing against that spot inside that made Regis’s knees buckle. “Fuck—fuck—”

“Say it.” Larry’s free hand wrapped around Regis’s throat, not tight enough to cut off air, but enough to make his point. His thumb brushed over the older man’s pulse, feeling the wild, erratic beat beneath his skin. “Say you’re mine.”

Regis’s eyes rolled back, his body trembling as Larry worked him over, his fingers pistoning in and out, his thumb pressing just hard enough against Regis’s windpipe to make him feel it. The older man’s cock was iron between them, leaking steadily, his balls drawn up tight. He was close. So fucking close.

“Yours,” Regis choked out, the word torn from him. His hands fell away from Larry’s wrists, his fingers clawing at the railing behind him as his body bowed, his orgasm crashing over him with a broken cry. Cum striped his stomach, his thighs, his cock twitching helplessly as Larry wrung every last drop from him, his fingers buried deep.

Larry didn’t stop until Regis was a trembling, oversensitive mess, his body jerking with aftershocks, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Only then did he pull his fingers free, bringing them to his mouth with a slow, deliberate lick, savoring the taste of Regis’s release mixed with his own.

Regis watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his skin slick with sweat despite the cold. There was no triumph in his expression now. No calculation. Just raw, exposed need—and the quiet, dangerous understanding that Larry had just redrawn the lines between them.

Larry leaned in, his lips brushing Regis’s ear. “We’re not done,” he murmured, echoing Regis’s earlier words. His hand slid down, gripping Regis’s spent cock, giving it a slow, possessive stroke. “Not even close.”

Chapter Six: Phoenix in the Ashes

The cold wind bit at their skin, but neither man moved to break the charged silence between them. Regis’s chest still heaved, his dark skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat despite the night’s chill. His fingers twitched against Larry’s forearm, tracing the bold lines of the phoenix tattoo—each stroke deliberate, almost reverent. The ink was warm beneath his touch, Larry’s pulse thrumming against his fingertips. He could still taste himself on Larry’s lips, still feel the ghost of his fingers inside him, the way his body had clenched around nothing when Larry denied him more.

Larry stood unmoving, his broad frame a wall of heat against Regis’s front. His breath was steady now, the ragged edge of his own climax smoothed into something darker, more controlled. The phoenix seemed to shift under Regis’s touch, muscles flexing as Larry exhaled through his nose, a low hum vibrating in his chest. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t soften either—just let Regis explore, let him need.

Regis pressed closer, his naked body flush against Larry’s, the contrast of their skin—dark against tan—stark in the dim glow of the city lights. His cock, half-hard again despite the cold, brushed against Larry’s thigh. He could feel the ridge of Larry’s abs, the way his stomach tightened when Regis’s thumb grazed the sensitive skin near his elbow. “Fuck,” Regis breathed, the word a whisper against Larry’s shoulder. His voice was rough, scraped raw from moaning, from choking on Larry’s name. “We can’t stay out here.”

Larry turned his head just enough to catch Regis’s gaze, his brown eyes dark with something unreadable. Challenge. Hunger. The same thing that had made him shove Regis to his knees earlier, that had made him growl mine like a possession. “No?” His voice was a rough purr, fingers flexing where they rested against the railing behind Regis’s back. “Scared someone’ll see?”

Regis’s jaw tightened. He should be. The rooftop was exposed, the night air carrying the risk of discovery like a current. But the real danger wasn’t the cold or the height or the chance of being caught. It was the way Larry looked at him now—like he already owned him, like he was just waiting for Regis to admit it again. Yours. The word echoed in his skull, bitter and sweet all at once.

His fingers curled around Larry’s forearm, gripping tight. “Not here,” he said, voice dropping to a growl. “Take me inside. My suite. Use me there.”

Larry’s breath hitched, just for a second. Then his lips curved, slow and dangerous. “Use you how, Regis?”

The name on his lips sent a shiver down Regis’s spine. He’d spent years hearing Mr. Holloway, sir, darling—titles that kept him at a distance, that let him hide. But Larry said his name like it was a claim. Like he already knew the answer.

Regis swallowed, his throat dry. “However the fuck you want.” His free hand slid down Larry’s chest, nails scraping over the defined planes of his abs before dipping lower. He palmed Larry’s cock, already thickening again under his touch, the heat of it searing against his skin. “I’m not asking for gentle. I’m asking for yours.”

Larry’s cock jerked in his grip, pre-cum beading at the tip. His hand shot out, fingers tangling in Regis’s short hair, yanking just enough to make his breath stutter. “Say it again.”

Regis’s lips parted, his body arching into the sting. “Yours,” he repeated, voice breaking. “Now fucking take me.”

Larry’s answer was a bruising kiss, his mouth crashing against Regis’s with enough force to make his teeth ache. His tongue invaded, hot and demanding, tasting of salt and cum and the whiskey they’d shared earlier. Regis groaned into it, his hands clutching at Larry’s shoulders, nails digging in as Larry walked him backward toward the rooftop door. The cold metal of the handle bit into Regis’s lower back before Larry wrenched it open, shoving him inside with enough force that he stumbled.

The penthouse hallway was warmer, the air thick with the scent of leather and expensive cologne—Regis’s domain, his carefully curated mask of control. But Larry didn’t let him catch his balance. He crowded him against the wall, his body a furnace, his cock now fully hard and pressing against Regis’s hip. “On your knees,” Larry ordered, voice rough.

Regis’s breath came fast, his chest rising and falling as he stared up at Larry. For a second, he hesitated—not out of defiance, but because the weight of what he was offering settled over him like a mantle. Control. He was giving it up. All of it.

Then he sank to his knees on the plush hallway rug, the fibers soft against his skin. The position stretched his thighs, his cock bobbing heavily between his legs, already leaking. Larry’s phoenix tattoo was right at eye level now, the bird’s wings spread wide, as if ready to take flight. Regis pressed his lips to the ink, then lower, to the pulse point at Larry’s wrist. He could feel the thrum of his heartbeat, wild and steady all at once.

Larry’s fingers threaded into his hair again, guiding him forward. “Open.”

Regis obeyed, parting his lips as Larry fed his cock between them. The taste of him was familiar now—musky, salty, the faint tang of pre-cum already coating his tongue. He hollowed his cheeks, taking him deep, his throat opening around the thick head. Larry groaned, his hips rolling forward just enough to hit the back of Regis’s throat. “Fuck, just like that. Take it.”

Regis’s hands gripped Larry’s thighs, his fingers digging into the hard muscle as he took him deeper, his gag reflex struggling against the intrusion. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t pull back, didn’t even think about it. The burn in his throat, the way his jaw ached—it was all part of the surrender. Larry’s cock pulsed against his tongue, the vein along the underside throbbing. He swallowed around the head, his throat fluttering, and Larry hissed, his grip tightening almost painfully.

“You’re gonna take every fucking inch,” Larry grunted, his voice rough with need. “And you’re gonna beg for it.”

Regis moaned around him, the vibration making Larry’s cock twitch. His own dick was painfully hard, pre-cum dripping onto the rug beneath him, but he didn’t touch himself. Didn’t even think to. This wasn’t about his pleasure. Not yet.

Larry pulled back suddenly, his cock popping free with a wet sound. Regis gasped, saliva dripping from his lips, his chest heaving. Larry’s thumb swiped over his bottom lip, smearing the mess before gripping his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Stand up.”

Regis rose unsteadily, his legs trembling. Larry didn’t give him time to find his balance. He spun him around, pressing him face-first against the wall, the cool surface a shock against his overheated skin. Larry’s body covered his from behind, his cock nestled between Regis’s ass cheeks, hot and heavy. “You want me to use you?” His breath was hot against Regis’s ear, his voice a dark promise. “Then you’re gonna let me fuck you. Slow. Deep. Until you can’t remember your own name.”

Regis’s breath hitched, his hips rolling back instinctively, seeking friction. “Yes,” he rasped. “Please—”

Larry’s hand cracked across his ass, the sharp sting cutting off his words. “Please what?”

“Please fuck me,” Regis gasped, the words torn from him. “I need—”

“You don’t get to need,” Larry growled, his fingers digging into Regis’s hips. “You get what I give you. And right now, I’m gonna give you my cock so deep you’ll feel it tomorrow.” His teeth grazed the shell of Regis’s ear, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Now walk.”

He didn’t give Regis a choice. His hand wrapped around Regis’s throat, not tight enough to choke, but firm enough to guide, steering him toward the master suite at the end of the hall. The doors were already open, the room bathed in the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The bed was a massive, dark wood frame, the sheets turned down, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood and something darker—anticipation.

Larry didn’t let him stop until they reached the foot of the bed. Then he pushed, sending Regis sprawling across the mattress, his chest hitting the sheets with a grunt. The fabric was cool against his overheated skin, the contrast making him shudder. He turned his head, watching as Larry stalked toward the nightstand, his cock bobbing with each step. The drawer opened with a quiet slide, and Larry pulled out a bottle of lube, the cap snapping open with a sharp click.

Regis’s breath came faster, his fingers curling into the sheets. He could already feel the stretch of Larry’s fingers, the burn of his cock, the way his body would give way beneath the relentless pressure. He wanted it. Wanted to be split open, wanted to be owned.

Larry climbed onto the bed behind him, his weight dipping the mattress. His hands were on Regis’s hips again, pulling him up onto his knees, ass in the air, spine arched. The first touch of lube was cold, a shock against his hole, but then Larry’s fingers were there, circling, teasing. “You’re gonna take me so good,” he murmured, his voice a dark caress. “Aren’t you?”

Regis’s answer was a broken moan as Larry’s finger breached him, knuckle-deep, stretching him open. The burn was immediate, his body clenching around the intrusion. “More,” he gasped, pushing back against the touch. “Fuck, more.”

Larry chuckled, low and dark, adding a second finger without warning. The stretch was brutal, his body resisting before giving way, the lube easing the slide. “Greedy bastard,” Larry murmured, his fingers scissoring inside him, stretching him wider. “You’re gonna take my cock like this. Slow. Until you’re dripping with it.”

Regis whimpered, his forehead pressing into the sheets, his knuckles white where he gripped the fabric. Larry’s fingers curled, brushing against his prostate, and his body jerked, a broken sound tearing from his throat. “Please—”

“Please what?” Larry’s voice was a growl, his fingers stilling inside him.

“Fuck me,” Regis sobbed, his body trembling. “I can’t—I need—”

Larry’s free hand cracked across his ass again, the sting radiating through him. “You don’t need anything but what I give you.” His fingers slid free, leaving Regis empty, aching. The sound of the lube bottle snapping shut was loud in the quiet room, followed by the slick slide of Larry coating his cock.

Regis turned his head, watching over his shoulder as Larry lined himself up, the thick head of his cock pressing against his hole. Their eyes met—Larry’s dark with hunger, Regis’s blown wide with need. Then Larry pushed in, just the tip, the stretch already overwhelming.

Regis’s breath left him in a rush, his body tensing. “Fuck—”

“Relax,” Larry ordered, his voice strained. His hands gripped Regis’s hips, holding him still as he pressed deeper, inch by slow inch. The burn was intense, his body fighting the intrusion even as he pushed back, desperate for more. “That’s it. Take it.”

Regis’s mouth opened on a silent cry as Larry bottomed out, his balls pressing against Regis’s skin. The fullness was unbearable, his body stretched to the limit, the ache of it radiating through his nerves. He could feel the pulse of Larry’s cock inside him, the way his body clenched around the intrusion, trying to adjust.

Larry groaned, his forehead dropping to Regis’s shoulder, his breath hot against his skin. “Fuck, you’re tight.” His hips rolled experimentally, a shallow thrust that made Regis’s vision white out. “Gonna fuck you until you can’t walk.”

Regis could only moan in response, his body already trembling with the effort of taking him. Larry pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, before slamming back in, his thighs slapping against Regis’s ass. The sound was obscene, wet and sharp, the slap of skin on skin filling the room.

“Harder,” Regis gasped, his voice raw. “Fuck, harder—”

Larry’s answer was a snarl, his hips snapping forward, his cock pistoning in and out of Regis with brutal precision. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through him, his body clenching around Larry’s cock, his own dick leaking onto the sheets beneath him. Larry’s hands were everywhere—gripping his hips, tangling in his hair, sliding up his back to pinch his nipples until he cried out.

“You’re mine,” Larry growled, his voice a dark litany with each thrust. “Mine.”

Regis could only nod, his body trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The words echoed in his skull, a mantra, a truth. He was Larry’s. Completely. Irrevocably.

And when Larry’s hand wrapped around his throat, pulling him up until his back was flush against Larry’s chest, his cock still buried deep inside him, Regis didn’t resist. He tilted his head back, offering his mouth, his body, his soul.

Larry’s kiss was bruising, his teeth sinking into Regis’s bottom lip as his hips rolled, his cock grinding against Regis’s prostate. The pleasure was a white-hot blade, cutting through him, his body tightening, his orgasm crashing over him with a broken cry.

Larry swallowed the sound, his own release following seconds later, his cock pulsing deep inside Regis as he filled him. Regis could feel it—the heat of him, the way his body clenched around the spurts of cum, milking him dry.

When Larry finally pulled out, Regis collapsed onto the bed, his body boneless, his skin slick with sweat. Larry followed, stretching out beside him, his fingers tracing idle patterns on Regis’s hip.

Regis turned his head, meeting Larry’s gaze. His lips were swollen, his body still humming with aftershocks. “Again,” he whispered.

Larry’s smile was slow, dangerous. “Oh, we’re not done yet.”

Chapter Seven: Glittering Exposure

The air between them was thick with the scent of sweat and sandalwood, the musk of sex still clinging to their skin as Regis lay sprawled beneath Larry, his chest heaving. The sheets beneath them were damp, tangled from the way Larry had gripped them while driving into him with that relentless, claiming rhythm. Regis’s fingers twitched against the rumpled fabric, his body still humming from the aftershocks of his orgasm, the way Larry’s cock had stretched him open, filled him so completely he’d forgotten his own name for a breathless, perfect moment.

But it wasn’t enough.

His voice was rough, scraped raw from moaning, from begging, from the way Larry’s name had torn out of him like a prayer. “Again,” he’d whispered, and now he pushed himself up onto his elbows, the muscles in his arms trembling with the effort. The city lights bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting stripes of gold and amber across his dark skin, the glow catching the sheen of sweat still glistening on his shoulders, his back. He turned his head just enough to meet Larry’s gaze, his brown eyes dark with hunger, with something feral and unchecked.

“Not like this,” Regis growled, his voice a low, possessive rumble. “Standing. Against the glass.”

Larry exhaled sharply through his nose, his chest still rising and falling with the remnants of his own climax. His cock, still half-hard and glistening with lube and cum, twitched at the demand. He reached out, his fingers curling around Regis’s jaw, forcing his head back just enough to expose the strong line of his throat. “You want the whole city to see you take my dick?” His thumb pressed against Regis’s bottom lip, dragging it down, and Regis let out a shaky breath, his tongue flicking out to wet the pad of Larry’s thumb before he could pull away.

“I want you to fuck me like you own me,” Regis countered, his voice dropping to a whisper that was somehow more dangerous than a shout. “And I want you to do it where anyone could look up and watch.”

A slow, predatory smile curved Larry’s lips. He could feel the pulse in Regis’s throat beneath his fingers, the way his body tensed not from fear, but from anticipation. The man was a goddamn contradiction—all polished control in his tailored suits, but beneath that, he was filthy. Starving for this. For the risk, for the exposure, for the way Larry could reduce him to nothing but need and submission.

Larry released him abruptly, pushing himself up from the bed. His cock was already thickening again, heavy between his thighs as he stalked toward the windows. The city sprawled beneath them, a glittering maze of lights and movement, oblivious to the two men about to put on a show. He pressed his palm against the cool glass, testing its sturdiness, the way it trembled just slightly beneath his weight. “You’re gonna brace yourself right here,” he said, his voice rough with command. “Hands flat. Ass out. And you’re not gonna make a fucking sound unless I tell you to.”

Regis swallowed hard, but he didn’t hesitate. He moved like a man possessed, rising from the bed with a fluid grace that belied the way his legs still shook. The air conditioning kicked on, a cool breeze brushing over his sweat-slicked skin, raising goosebumps along his arms, his thighs. He stepped up behind Larry, close enough that his breath ghosted over the back of Larry’s neck, his chest pressing against the broad expanse of Larry’s shoulders. “Or what?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of Larry’s ear. “You’ll stop?”

Larry turned his head just enough to catch Regis’s mouth in a bruising kiss, his teeth nipping at Regis’s bottom lip before he pulled back with a dark chuckle. “No, baby,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “I’ll make sure you wish I had.”

He didn’t give Regis time to respond. Instead, he spun him around, pressing him chest-first against the glass. The city lights painted them in stark relief—Regis’s deep skin glowing against the cool surface, the muscles in his back flexing as he spread his legs wider, offering himself up. Larry’s hands were everywhere at once, gripping Regis’s hips, dragging his nails down the curve of his ass, spreading him open with a rough, possessive touch. “Fuck, look at you,” Larry groaned, his voice thick with awe. “Already dripping for me again.”

Regis’s breath hitched as Larry’s fingers traced his entrance, still loose and slick from the last fucking. He could feel the cool air against his exposed hole, the way his body clenched around nothing, aching to be filled. “Larry—”

“Quiet,” Larry snapped, his free hand slapping against Regis’s ass hard enough to make him jerk forward against the glass. The sound echoed through the suite, sharp and obscene, and Regis bit down on his lip to stifle a moan. His cock was already hardening again, pressing against the glass, leaving a smear of pre-cum in its wake.

Larry didn’t make him wait. He stepped in close, the head of his cock pressing against Regis’s entrance, teasing him open with slow, deliberate pressure. “You’re mine,” he growled, his voice a dark promise as he pushed inside. “Say it.”

Regis’s fingers splayed against the glass, his knuckles whitening as Larry breached him, stretching him wide with one thick, relentless thrust. “Yours,” he gasped, the word torn from him, raw and desperate. “Fuck, I’m yours—”

Larry didn’t let him finish. He gripped Regis’s throat, his fingers tightening just enough to cut off his air, to make his pulse pound beneath his skin. “Louder,” he demanded, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock deep. “I want the whole goddamn city to hear you.”

Regis obeyed.

His voice broke on a cry, the sound muffled against the glass as Larry fucked into him with short, brutal thrusts, each one sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through his body. The glass trembled with the force of it, the entire window pane vibrating with the rhythm of Larry’s hips, the wet, obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filling the suite. “Harder,” Regis begged, his voice a ragged whisper. “Please, fucking harder—”

Larry snarled, his grip on Regis’s throat tightening as he pulled him back, flush against his chest. His other hand snaked around Regis’s waist, fingers wrapping around his throbbing cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. “You like that, don’t you?” he growled, his lips brushing the shell of Regis’s ear. “You like the thought of some stranger looking up, seeing you take my dick like a good little slut.”

Regis’s entire body shuddered, his cock twitching in Larry’s grip. “Yes,” he hissed, his hips rolling back to meet each thrust, his ass clenching around Larry’s cock. “Yes, fuck—”

Larry’s control snapped.

He released Regis’s throat, shoving him forward again, pinning him against the glass with the weight of his body as he fucked into him with long, punishing strokes. The city lights blurred in Regis’s vision, the world reducing to nothing but the burn in his lungs, the stretch of his hole, the way Larry’s cock dragged against that spot inside him that made his toes curl, his vision white out. “Gonna make you come so hard you forget how to fucking walk,” Larry grunted, his voice strained with effort. “Gonna fill you up and leave you dripping for days.”

Regis could only whimper in response, his body tightening, coiling like a spring. His cock ached, trapped between his body and the glass, the friction almost too much to bear. “Please,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Let me—”

“Not yet,” Larry growled, his hand snaking between Regis’s body and the glass, gripping the base of his cock hard enough to make him gasp. “You come when I say you come.”

Regis let out a broken sound, his hips stuttering, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. “I can’t—”

“You can,” Larry snapped, his thrusts growing erratic, his own release coiled tight in his gut. “And you will.”

He reached up, gripping Regis’s jaw, forcing his head to the side so he could crush their mouths together in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperate, ragged breaths. Regis moaned into it, his body arching, his cock throbbing between them, so close, so fucking close—

Larry pulled back with a snarl. “Now,” he commanded, his voice a dark, guttural growl. “Come for me, Regis. Now.”

The dam broke.

Regis’s orgasm hit him like a freight train, his cock pulsing, ropes of cum splattering against the glass as his body convulsed. His hole clenched around Larry’s cock, the sensation pushing Larry over the edge with a groan, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, his cum flooding Regis’s ass in hot, thick spurts.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the way their bodies trembled in the aftermath. Larry’s forehead pressed against the back of Regis’s shoulder, his fingers still dug into Regis’s hip, his cock still buried inside him, softening slowly.

Regis let out a shaky laugh, his breath fogging the glass in front of him. “Fuck,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “We’re gonna have to clean this up.”

Larry chuckled darkly, pressing a kiss to the nape of Regis’s neck before pulling out with a wet, obscene sound. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice rough with satisfaction. “But not yet.”

He reached down, his fingers tracing through the mess Regis had made on the glass, smearing it further before bringing his fingers to Regis’s lips. “Open,” he ordered.

Regis obeyed without hesitation, his tongue darting out to clean Larry’s fingers, his eyes never leaving Larry’s as he swallowed down the taste of himself, of them. The city lights glittered beyond the glass, a silent, unaware audience to their filth.

And for the first time in a long time, Regis didn’t give a damn who saw.

Chapter Eight: City of Sin and Surrender

The city lights still bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting Larry’s fingers in gold as they traced the faint, jagged scar above Regis’s eyebrow. The pad of his thumb pressed just enough to make the skin prickle, a ghost of pressure that sent a shiver down Regis’s spine. Their bodies were a mess—sweat-slicked, cum-streaked, the sheets beneath them damp and tangled—but Larry’s touch was deliberate now, slow, like he was memorizing the shape of him.

Regis exhaled through his nose, the sound rough, his chest still rising and falling in uneven rhythms. He could feel Larry’s breath against his temple, warm and steady, a counterpoint to the cool air conditioning kissing his bare skin. The contrast made him hyperaware of every point of contact—the weight of Larry’s thigh pressed against his, the way his fingers lingered just above the scar, as if afraid to press too hard.

“You’re beautiful,” Larry murmured, his voice thick, like the words had been sitting in his throat for too long, waiting for permission to escape.

Regis’s eyelids fluttered. He hadn’t expected that—not now, not after the way Larry had just fucked him against the glass, like he wanted the whole world to see Regis unravel. But here it was, soft and raw, cutting through the haze of endorphins and exhaustion. His hand lifted, fingers curling around Larry’s wrist, not to pull him away, but to hold him there. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” Larry cut in, his thumb sliding down to brush the ridge of Regis’s cheekbone. “That’s why it means something.”

Regis swallowed. The city sprawled beneath them, indifferent, but in this moment, it felt like the only thing that existed was the heat of Larry’s palm against his skin, the way his breath hitched when Regis turned his head just enough to press his lips to the inside of Larry’s wrist. The pulse there was wild, thrumming against his mouth. “You show me,” Regis said, his voice low, rough. “In ways that leave me breathless.”

Larry’s fingers twitched against his face. “Not enough?”

A humorless laugh escaped Regis. “Too much. Never enough.” He shifted, rolling onto his side to face Larry fully, their bodies aligning in a way that made his cock twitch despite the lethargy weighing his limbs down. The sheets dragged against his skin, the friction a teasing reminder of how raw he still was. “You fuck me like you’re trying to brand me from the inside out, and then you go and say shit like that?” His free hand found Larry’s hip, fingers digging in just shy of pain. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

Larry’s smile was slow, dangerous. “Good.”

Regis’s breath caught. There was no apology in Larry’s eyes, no hesitation. Just hunger, banked but never truly gone. The air between them thickened, charged with something more than just the remnants of sex. It was the promise of it—the knowledge that this wasn’t over, that Larry would take and take and take, and Regis would let him, because no one else had ever made him feel so fucking alive.

“Then let me show you again,” Larry said, his voice dropping into that dark, velvety register that made Regis’s toes curl.

Regis should’ve laughed. Should’ve told him he was insatiable, that they were both too old for this—too sore, too spent. But the words died in his throat when Larry’s hand slid down, fingers trailing over the dip of his collarbone, the flat of his sternum, lower, until his palm settled over Regis’s heart. The heat of it seeped into his skin, and Regis realized with a jolt that he wasn’t just hard again—he was aching.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his hips jerking involuntarily, his cock dragging against Larry’s thigh.

Larry chuckled, low and knowing, his fingers curling just enough to scrape a nail over Regis’s nipple. “That’s the idea.”

Regis’s back arched, a broken sound tearing from his throat. He was oversensitive, his nerves still singing from their last round, and the sharp bite of pleasure-pain had him seeing stars. “You’re a sadist.”

“And you love it.” Larry’s mouth found the shell of his ear, his breath hot, his teeth grazing the lobe just hard enough to make Regis hiss. “Tell me you don’t.”

Regis’s hands flew to Larry’s shoulders, his fingers digging in, nails biting into muscle. “I—” The word dissolved into a moan when Larry’s thumb circled his nipple again, slower this time, maddening. His cock throbbed, heavy and leaking against Larry’s stomach, the slick drag of precome making every shift of their bodies obscene. “Goddamn you.”

Larry’s laugh vibrated against his skin. “There it is.” His hand slid lower, palm skimming over the ridged planes of Regis’s abs, his fingers tracing the deep V of his hips before wrapping around his cock. The grip was firm, possessive, his thumb swiping through the wetness at the tip before stroking down in one slow, deliberate pull.

Regis’s hips jerked, his breath stuttering. “Larry—”

“Shh.” Larry’s mouth crashed onto his, swallowing the rest of his protest. The kiss was filthy, all tongue and teeth, Larry’s free hand tangling in Regis’s hair to hold him in place as he fucked into his fist with short, desperate thrusts. Regis could taste himself on Larry’s lips, the salt of sweat and cum, and it made him dizzy, made his head spin with the realization that this man had ruined him. There was no going back from this—from the way Larry touched him like he owned him, like he’d die before he let anyone else have him.

Larry broke the kiss with a wet, obscene sound, his lips swollen, his eyes dark with promise. “You gonna let me, Regis?” His hand stroked again, twisting just right at the head, and Regis’s vision whited out for a second. “Gonna let me fuck you slow this time? Make you beg for it?”

Regis’s throat worked. He was already begging, his body betraying him with every shuddering breath, every drop of precome leaking onto Larry’s fingers. But Larry wanted the words. Wanted him broken open and bleeding them.

“Yes,” he managed, his voice a wreck. “Fuck, yes.”

Larry’s grin was all teeth. “Good boy.”

The praise sent a bolt of heat straight to Regis’s gut. He hated it. Loved it. Hated that he loved it. Larry’s hand left his cock, and Regis whimpered at the loss, but then Larry was pushing him onto his back, crawling over him like a predator claiming his kill. The mattress dipped under his weight, the sheets cool against Regis’s overheated skin.

Larry’s mouth found his again, slower this time, deeper, his tongue mapping the inside of Regis’s mouth like he was memorizing the taste of him. Regis melted into it, his hands sliding up Larry’s arms, over the corded muscle of his shoulders, his fingers tangling in the short hair at the nape of his neck. He could feel Larry’s cock, thick and heavy against his thigh, the wet drag of precome slicking their skin.

Larry pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips, “You taste like sin.”

Regis huffed a laugh, his hips lifting instinctively, seeking friction. “You’re one to talk.”

Larry’s answer was a bite to his lower lip, sharp enough to make Regis gasp. “I am sin, baby. And you’re gonna take every last bit of me.”

Regis’s breath hitched. He should’ve been terrified. Should’ve been pushing Larry off, demanding they stop before this went any further. But the way Larry was looking at him—like he was the only thing in the world worth worshipping—made him feel powerful. Wanted. And god help him, he’d burn the whole world down for another second of it.

Larry’s hand slid between them, fingers wrapping around both their cocks, stroking them together in a slow, maddening rhythm. The slick, hot slide of skin on skin had Regis’s eyes rolling back, his hips lifting into the touch. “Larry, please—”

“Please what?” Larry’s voice was a dark caress, his breath hot against Regis’s ear. “Use your words, Regis. Tell me exactly what you want.”

Regis’s fingers clenched in the sheets, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. “I want you inside me. Now.”

Larry groaned, his forehead dropping to Regis’s shoulder, his hips stuttering against him. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” His hand left their cocks, and Regis whined at the loss, but then Larry was reaching for the lube on the nightstand, his movements hurried, desperate. The snap of the cap, the slick sound of him coating his fingers—it was all too much, too loud, and Regis’s cock jerked, a fresh bead of precome welling at the tip.

Larry’s fingers found his hole, circling lightly at first, teasing. “You’re dripping,” he murmured, his voice rough with awe. “Look at you. So fucking greedy for me.”

Regis’s face burned. He was greedy. Starving. He’d never get enough. “Larry—”

“Shh.” Larry’s fingers pressed in, just the tip of one, and Regis’s back bowed off the bed, a broken sound tearing from his throat. “Just feel, baby. Let me take care of you.”

Regis’s hands flew to his own cock, gripping the base hard enough to hurt, because if he didn’t, he was going to come just from the way Larry was stretching him open, one slow, deliberate finger at a time. “More,” he gasped. “Need more.”

Larry’s chuckle was dark, satisfied. “Since you asked so nicely.” A second finger joined the first, scissoring, stretching, and Regis’s vision blurred at the edges. His cock was a brand against his stomach, leaking, throbbing, his balls drawn up tight. He was so close, so fucking close, and Larry hadn’t even—

“Larry, I’m gonna—”

“I know.” Larry’s fingers curled inside him, brushing against his prostate, and Regis’s entire body locked up, his orgasm crashing over him in a white-hot wave. He came with a broken cry, his cock pulsing in his grip, ropes of cum painting his chest, his stomach, his fingers. The pleasure was blinding, all-consuming, and through the haze of it, he felt Larry’s mouth on his, swallowing his moans, his fingers still working him through it, drawing out every last shuddering aftershock.

When Regis finally collapsed back against the bed, boneless and wrecked, Larry was there, looming over him, his cock thick and flushed, leaking onto Regis’s thigh. “You’re mine,” Larry growled, his voice raw. “Say it.”

Regis’s lips parted, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He should’ve fought it. Should’ve told Larry to go to hell. But the way Larry was looking at him—like he’d burn the world down if Regis so much as hinted at refusal—made the words spill out before he could stop them.

“Yours,” he breathed. “I’m yours.”

Larry’s groan was guttural, primal. He surged forward, his cock notching against Regis’s hole, and then he was pushing in, slow and relentless, stretching him open all over again. Regis’s nails raked down Larry’s back, his legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper, harder. The burn was exquisite, the fullness almost too much, but he wanted it, wanted all of it.

Larry bottomed out with a shuddering breath, his forehead pressing to Regis’s. “Fuck, you feel like heaven.”

Regis couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. He was full, so full, his body still humming from his orgasm, his cock already twitching with the promise of another. Larry’s hips rolled, a slow, deep grind that had stars exploding behind Regis’s eyelids.

“Again,” Larry murmured, his lips brushing Regis’s. “I want you to come again. Want to feel you milking my cock while I fill you up.”

Regis’s moan was desperate, needy. “Yes—yes—”

Larry’s hips snapped forward, his thrusts turning sharp, punishing, and Regis loved it. Loved the way Larry’s muscles bunched under his hands, the way his breath came in ragged gasps, the way his cock owned him, stretching him, filling him, ruining him.

“Touch yourself,” Larry commanded, his voice a whip-crack. “Want to see you come undone on my cock.”

Regis’s hand flew to his cock, his fingers slick with his own release. The first stroke had him seeing stars, his body coiling tight, his orgasm barreling toward him like a freight train. “Larry—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” Larry snarled, his hips stuttering, his cock swelling inside him. “Come for me, Regis. Now.”

Regis’s back bowed, his cock pulsing in his grip as he came again, his hole clenching around Larry’s cock, milking him. Larry groaned, his thrusts turning erratic, and then he was coming too, his release hot and thick inside him, marking him, claiming him.

They collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths, the sheets sticky beneath them, the air thick with the scent of sex. Larry’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close, his heart hammering against Regis’s chest.

Regis’s fingers found Larry’s, their hands twining together between them. He should’ve been terrified. Should’ve been pulling away, putting distance between them before this went any further. But for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to.

And that scared him more than anything.

Chapter Nine: Ashes to Wings

The golden glow of the city lights painted slow, shifting patterns across the sweat-slicked curves of their bodies, the air still thick with the musk of sex and the faint metallic tang of cum drying on their skin. Larry lay on his back, one arm draped over his eyes, his chest rising and falling in a steady, post-orgasmic rhythm. His other arm rested at his side, the phoenix tattoo on his forearm—a burst of crimson and gold—catching the light like a brand. Regis propped himself up on one elbow, his dark skin gleaming with a sheen of perspiration, his fingers idly tracing the inked wings as if memorizing their shape.

The pad of his thumb brushed over the phoenix’s outstretched feathers, following the curve of the bird’s neck down to the flames licking at its tail. Larry’s bicep twitched under the touch, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his breath hitched just slightly, the first sign that he was still awake, still present. Regis could feel the heat radiating off Larry’s body, the residual warmth of exertion, of skin pressed against skin for hours. He wanted to bury his face against that warmth, to breathe him in, but something held him back—the quiet weight of the moment, the way Larry had gone still beneath his touch.

“This one’s different,” Regis murmured, his voice rough from disuse, from the low groans and filthy words he’d been reduced to earlier. His fingers paused at the center of the design, where the phoenix’s eye—sharp and knowing—seemed to stare back at him. “The others are all… clean. Lines. Shapes. But this?” He exhaled, the sound almost like a laugh, but softer, more wondering. “This looks like it hurts.”

Larry’s arm lowered from his face, his dark eyes slitting open just enough to meet Regis’s gaze. There was a laziness to his expression, the kind that came from being thoroughly fucked out, but his voice was steady when he spoke. “It did.” He shifted slightly, turning his forearm so the tattoo stretched, the muscles beneath flexing. “Took three sessions. Guy kept telling me I didn’t have to finish it all at once, but…” A shrug, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Stubborn, remember?”

Regis hummed, his fingers resuming their path, this time tracing the faint scars hidden beneath the ink—the places where the needle had dug too deep, where the skin had rebelled before healing. “That’s not what I meant.” He pressed a little harder, not enough to hurt, but enough to make Larry feel it. “I mean the meaning of it. This isn’t just some random design you picked off the wall.”

Larry’s throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. For a second, Regis thought he might deflect, might toss out some half-assed joke about liking birds or fire or some shit. But then Larry’s free hand came up, his fingers curling around Regis’s wrist—not to pull him away, but to hold him there, as if anchoring himself. His voice was quieter when he spoke again, the words pulling up from somewhere deeper. “Got it after my dad died.”

Regis stilled.

“Not right after,” Larry clarified, his thumb rubbing absent circles over the inside of Regis’s wrist, as if soothing them both. “Took me a couple years to… I dunno. Admit I needed something to mark it, I guess.” His gaze drifted to the ceiling, to the play of light and shadow above them, but his grip on Regis didn’t loosen. “He was a real piece of work. Old-school. Thought being gay was a choice, like picking the wrong fucking cereal at the grocery store.” A bitter chuckle escaped him, but there was no humor in it. “When I came out, he told me I was dead to him. Actually said that. Dead to him.” Larry’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his forearm tensing beneath Regis’s touch. “So I figured, fine. If I’m dead to him, then I’ll rise from the fucking ashes.”

Regis’s chest ached. He could hear the weight of it—the years of silence, the kind of rejection that didn’t just sting but burned, leaving scars no one could see. His own father’s disapproval was a distant memory, a child’s fear of not measuring up, but this? This was different. This was a man being told his very existence was a betrayal. His fingers tightened around Larry’s forearm, not in comfort, but in acknowledgment. “You didn’t just rise,” he said, his voice low. “You flew.”

Larry’s breath hitched. His eyes snapped back to Regis’s, dark and searching, as if trying to determine if this was pity or something else. Something real. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a smile—small, but genuine. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I did.”

The air between them shifted. The confession hung there, raw and pulsing, and Regis felt something inside him crack open. This man—this stubborn, infuriating, beautiful man—had just handed him a piece of himself, something sharp and fragile, and Regis didn’t know what the hell to do with it except hold on. His hand slid up Larry’s arm, over the corded muscle of his shoulder, his palm spreading wide across Larry’s chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath his skin. It was faster now. Not from exertion, but from this. From the way Larry was looking at him, like Regis had just become something more than a secret, more than a body to fuck.

Regis leaned in.

His lips brushed over Larry’s collarbone first, a featherlight press, testing. Larry’s breath stuttered, his fingers flexing against Regis’s hip, but he didn’t stop him. So Regis did it again, this time with more intent, his mouth opening just enough to let the tip of his tongue trace the salt-slicked dip at the base of Larry’s throat. The taste of him—musky, warm, alive—sent a jolt straight to his cock, but this wasn’t about that. Not yet. This was about giving back.

“My turn,” Regis murmured against Larry’s skin, his voice a rough purr. His hand slid down, fingers splaying over Larry’s abdomen, feeling the way his muscles jumped in response. “You’ve had me begging. You’ve had me broken.” His teeth grazed Larry’s nipple, just enough to make him hiss, his back arching off the bed. “Now you’re gonna let me worship you.”

Larry’s laugh was breathless, strained. “Fuck, Regis—”

“Shut up.” Regis didn’t give him a chance to argue. His mouth sealed over Larry’s other nipple, his tongue swirling before he sucked hard, pulling a broken groan from Larry’s lips. His free hand slid lower, fingers combing through the dark trail of hair below Larry’s navel, following it down, down, until his palm cupped the heavy weight of Larry’s cock. It was soft, spent, but already twitching with interest, thickening under Regis’s touch. He stroked him once, twice, his thumb swiping over the damp slit, gathering the bead of pre-cum that had already formed there.

“Sensitive,” Larry gasped, his hips jerking up into Regis’s grip.

“Good.” Regis released his nipple with a wet pop, his breath hot against Larry’s chest. “I want you feeling every fucking thing.” He shifted, sliding down the bed, his mouth trailing a path of open-mouthed kisses over Larry’s ribs, his stomach, the sharp V of his hips. His tongue dipped into Larry’s navel, swirling, and Larry’s fingers tangled in his hair, not guiding, just holding on.

“Regis—fuck—” Larry’s voice was a ragged whisper, his thighs falling open in silent invitation.

Regis didn’t make him wait. He nuzzled against the inside of Larry’s thigh, breathing in the scent of him—sweat and sex and man, so fucking good—before pressing a kiss to the tender skin there. Then another. And another, working his way inward, his lips brushing over Larry’s balls, his tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive skin behind them. Larry’s cock was fully hard now, jutting up against his abdomen, the head flushed dark with blood, leaking steadily. Regis ignored it. For now.

His hands slid under Larry’s ass, lifting him just enough to give him better access, his thumbs spreading him open. The first swipe of his tongue over Larry’s hole was slow, deliberate, a flat, broad stroke that made Larry’s entire body jerk. “Oh, god—”

“Shhh.” Regis did it again, this time pressing deeper, his tongue spearing into the tight heat of him. Larry’s taste was intoxicating—earthy, bitter, his—and Regis groaned against him, the vibration making Larry’s thighs tremble. He worked him open with his mouth, his tongue fucking into him in shallow, teasing thrusts, his fingers digging into the firm flesh of Larry’s ass, holding him in place when he tried to buck up into the sensation.

“Regis, please—” Larry’s voice was a broken whine, his hips lifting off the bed, chasing the pressure. “I need—fuck—I need more.”

Regis pulled back just enough to speak, his breath ghosting over Larry’s wet, glistening hole. “More what?” He nipped at the inside of Larry’s thigh, his teeth sinking in just enough to sting. “Use your words, baby.”

Larry’s breath came in sharp, desperate pants. “Your fingers. Your cock. Anything—just fucking give it to me—”

Regis chuckled, dark and satisfied. “Since you asked so nicely.” He didn’t waste time. His mouth sealed over the head of Larry’s cock, taking him deep in one smooth motion, his throat opening around him. Larry’s shout was raw, his hips snapping up, but Regis held him down, his hand wrapping around the base of Larry’s cock, his other fingers finally—finally—pressing inside him.

Larry’s body bowed off the bed, a broken cry tearing from his throat. “Yes—fuck—right there—”

Regis crooked his fingers, finding that spot inside Larry that made his entire body lock up, his cock pulsing against Regis’s tongue. He hollowed his cheeks, taking Larry deeper, his fingers pistoning in and out of him in a slow, relentless rhythm. Larry’s hands were fists in his hair, his thighs shaking, his voice a litany of filthy, desperate pleas—harder, deeper, don’t stop, I’m gonna come, I can’t—

Regis pulled off with a wet pop, his fingers still buried inside Larry, stroking that sweet spot over and over. “Not yet,” he growled, his voice a dark promise. “You’re gonna come on my cock, Larry. You’re gonna take me so deep you forget your own fucking name.”

Larry’s eyes were wild, his chest heaving. “Then fuck me,” he snarled, his hips rolling, trying to fuck himself onto Regis’s fingers. “Stop teasing and fuck me—”

Regis didn’t need to be told twice.

He surged up, capturing Larry’s mouth in a bruising kiss, his fingers still buried inside him, twisting, owning. Larry groaned into his mouth, his tongue tangling with Regis’s, his teeth nipping at his lower lip. Regis could taste himself on Larry’s lips, could feel the way his body clenched around his fingers, and it was too much. He needed inside him. Now.

He pulled his fingers free, ignoring Larry’s whimper of protest, and reached for the lube on the nightstand. His cock was aching, throbbing, the head already wet with pre-cum. He slicked himself up with shaking hands, his eyes never leaving Larry’s—dark, hungry, his. Then he was lining up, the broad head of his cock pressing against Larry’s entrance, and Larry’s breath hitched, his body tensing in anticipation.

“Relax,” Regis murmured, his hand sliding up to wrap around Larry’s throat, his thumb brushing over his pulse. “I’ve got you.”

Larry exhaled, his body loosening beneath him, and Regis pushed inside.

The heat of him was unreal. Tight, slick, perfect. Regis groaned, his forehead dropping to Larry’s shoulder, his hips pressing forward inch by inch, giving Larry time to adjust. But Larry wasn’t having it. His legs wrapped around Regis’s waist, his heels digging into his ass, pulling him deeper.

“Move,” Larry demanded, his voice a rough growl. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Regis laughed, breathless, his hips snapping forward in one sharp thrust that bottomed him out inside Larry. The cry that tore from Larry’s throat was filthy, his nails raking down Regis’s back, his body arching up to meet him.

“Like that?” Regis grunted, pulling back and slamming home again, his cock dragging over Larry’s prostate with every thrust. “You want it hard? You want me to ruin you?”

“Yes—” Larry’s voice was a broken gasp, his cock leaking between them, his body taking every brutal thrust like it was made for it. “Harder. Make me feel it tomorrow.”

Regis groaned, his grip on Larry’s throat tightening just enough to make his eyes roll back. He snapped his hips forward, his cock pistoning into Larry with a wet, obscene sound, the slap of skin on skin filling the room. Larry’s moans were loud, unfiltered, his body trembling beneath him, his cock throbbing, begging for touch.

Regis reached between them, his hand wrapping around Larry’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. “Come for me,” he ordered, his voice a dark rasp. “Come now, Larry. I want to feel you milk my cock.”

Larry’s back arched, his body locking up, and then he was coming with a shattered cry, his cum spilling over Regis’s fingers, his ass clenching tight around Regis’s cock. The sensation sent Regis over the edge, his own orgasm crashing through him, his cock pulsing deep inside Larry as he filled him, claimed him.

They collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths, Larry’s body still twitching with aftershocks, his skin slick with sweat and cum. Regis pressed a kiss to his temple, his cock softening inside him, his heart pounding against Larry’s chest.

Larry turned his head, his lips finding Regis’s in a slow, deep kiss, his tongue sliding against his, lazy and satisfied. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark, his voice rough. “Yours,” he murmured, the word a vow. “I’m yours.”

Regis’s chest tightened. He cupped Larry’s face, his thumb brushing over his lower lip, his voice barely a whisper. “Mine.”

Chapter Ten: Flesh and Fire

The air between them was thick with the musk of sex, the scent of sweat and cum clinging to their skin like a second layer. Regis still hovered over Larry, his thick cock buried deep inside him, their bodies pressed so close that every breath between them was shared. The city lights beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows painted their slicked skin in gold, highlighting the way their muscles flexed—Regis’s dark, powerful frame pinning Larry’s tanned, athletic body to the bed. The sheets beneath them were a wreck, tangled and damp, sticking to their thighs as Regis rolled his hips in slow, deliberate circles, grinding himself deeper with every shift.

Larry’s hands gripped Regis’s waist, fingers digging into the firm flesh, his breath coming in rough, uneven gasps. He could feel Regis’s cock twitch inside him, still hard, still hungry, even after everything. The way Regis moved wasn’t about chasing another orgasm—it was possession, a need to stay connected, to keep him. Larry arched his back, taking him deeper, a broken moan spilling from his lips as Regis’s pelvis pressed flush against his ass. The stretch burned, but it was good, so fucking good, the kind of ache that made his toes curl and his cock jerk weakly against his stomach, already oversensitive from coming twice.

Regis’s breath was hot against Larry’s neck, his lips brushing the shell of his ear before he turned his head and captured him. The kiss was brutal, all teeth and tongue, a collision of need and something darker, something that tasted like fear. Larry groaned into it, his fingers sliding up Regis’s back, nails scraping over the slick skin as he pulled him closer, deeper. Regis’s hips stuttered, his cock pulsing inside Larry’s tight heat, and for a second, it felt like he was trying to fuse them together, like if he just fucked hard enough, long enough, he could crawl inside Larry’s skin and never have to face the world outside this room.

When they finally broke apart, Regis’s forehead rested against Larry’s, their breaths mingling, ragged and uneven. His voice was raw, a rough whisper that trembled at the edges. “I can’t lose this.” The words were barely audible, but Larry heard them like a gunshot. “I can’t fucking lose you.” Regis’s hands shook where they braced against the mattress, his biceps flexing as he held himself over Larry, his cock still buried to the hilt, throbbing. “If they find out—if anyone finds out—” His voice cracked. “They’ll take everything. My career. My reputation. My—” He swallowed hard, his throat working. “My wife.”

Larry’s stomach twisted. Not at the mention of Regis’s wife—that was a reality he’d accepted, a boundary he’d never let himself cross—but at the sheer, visceral terror in Regis’s voice. It wasn’t just fear. It was desperation. Like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, feeling the rocks crumble beneath his feet. He reached up, cupping Regis’s face, his thumbs brushing over the rough stubble of his beard. “Hey.” His voice was steady, grounding. “Look at me.”

Regis’s dark eyes locked onto his, wide and glistening, the usual command in his gaze replaced by something fragile, something broken. Larry’s chest ached. He’d seen Regis dominant, demanding, ruthless—in the boardroom, in the bedroom, in the way he carried himself like a man who bent the world to his will. But this? This was the first time Larry had ever seen him shatter.

Without a word, Larry hooked his legs around Regis’s waist and rolled them, using the momentum to flip their positions. The sudden shift made Regis grunt, his cock slipping free with a wet, obscene sound, a trail of cum and lube dripping down Larry’s thigh. Before Regis could react, Larry had him pinned beneath him, straddling his hips, his own spent cock pressing against Regis’s stomach. He leaned down, capturing Regis’s face between his hands, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“You’re not losing shit,” Larry growled, his voice low and rough. “Not while I’m here.”

Regis’s breath hitched, his hands coming up to grip Larry’s wrists, not to push him away, but to hold on. Like he was drowning and Larry was the only thing keeping him afloat. “You don’t understand what they’ll do to me,” he whispered, his voice raw. “The board. The press. My—” His throat worked. “My father.”

Larry’s jaw tightened. He knew what it was like to have a father who saw you as a disappointment. Who looked at you like you were something to be erased. But Regis wasn’t some kid fresh out of the closet with nothing to lose. He was a man with a empire built on lies, a life that would implode if the truth got out. And Larry? Larry was the fucking match.

“I understand more than you think,” Larry said, his thumbs brushing over Regis’s cheekbones. “And I’m not letting them touch you.”

Regis let out a broken laugh, his eyes squeezing shut. “You can’t stop them. You don’t even—” His voice cracked. “You don’t even know them.”

“I know you,” Larry cut in, his voice firm. “And that’s enough.”

For a second, Regis just stared at him, his dark eyes searching Larry’s face like he was trying to find the lie. But there wasn’t one. Larry meant every fucking word. He’d spent his whole life fighting for scraps of acceptance, clawing his way out of the ashes of his old life. He wasn’t about to let Regis burn alone.

Slowly, Regis’s hands slid up Larry’s arms, his touch trembling. “What if I want to burn?” he whispered, his voice so quiet Larry almost didn’t hear him. “What if I’m so fucking tired of pretending I don’t?”

Larry’s heart stopped. Because that? That was the real confession. Not the fear of exposure. Not the threat of ruin. But the admission that Regis was done hiding. That he was standing on the edge of the cliff, looking down, and for the first time in his life, considering the jump.

Larry didn’t hesitate. He crashed their mouths together, kissing Regis like he could seal the words between them, like he could keep them safe in the dark. Regis groaned into it, his hands fisting in Larry’s hair, pulling him closer, deeper, like he could crawl inside him and never come out. Larry let him, let him take what he needed, let him drown in it.

When they finally broke apart, Larry pressed their foreheads together, his breath coming in rough gasps. “Then burn with me,” he murmured, his lips brushing Regis’s with every word. “But you’re not doing it alone. Not ever.”

Regis’s breath hitched, his body trembling beneath Larry’s. For a second, Larry thought he was going to argue, to pull away, to run. But then Regis’s arms wrapped around him, dragging him down until their chests pressed together, skin to skin, sweat-slicked and sticky with cum. Larry went willingly, his larger frame enveloping Regis, shielding him. Protecting him.

“You’re gonna get me killed,” Regis whispered against his shoulder, his voice muffled, but Larry heard the smile in it. The relief.

Larry chuckled, low and rough, his lips pressing to the side of Regis’s neck. “Nah, baby.” He shifted, rolling them onto their sides, keeping Regis tucked against him, one arm wrapped possessively around his waist. “I’m gonna keep you alive.”

Regis let out a shaky breath, his body relaxing incrementally against Larry’s, like he was finally letting himself believe it. Larry’s fingers began to trace slow, soothing patterns up and down his back, learning the dips and ridges of his spine, the way his muscles flexed beneath his touch. Regis’s skin was still hot, still damp, the scent of sex and sweat clinging to him, but Larry didn’t care. He wanted to memorize this. The way Regis fit against him. The way his breath hitched when Larry’s fingers skimmed over the scar above his eyebrow. The way his body melted when Larry pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

“You’re insane,” Regis murmured, but there was no heat in it. Just wonder. Like he couldn’t quite believe someone would choose this. Choose him, with all his lies and secrets and the wreckage of his double life.

“Maybe,” Larry admitted, his lips curving against Regis’s skin. “But I’m your kind of insane.”

Regis let out a low, broken sound, something between a laugh and a sob, and buried his face against Larry’s chest. Larry held him tighter, his hand sliding down to grip the curve of Regis’s ass, possessive and sure. “You’re safe here,” he murmured, his voice a rough promise. “No one touches you. No one hurts you. Not while I’m breathing.”

Regis’s fingers curled against Larry’s side, his nails digging in just enough to sting. “What if I hurt you?” he whispered, the words so quiet Larry almost missed them.

Larry stilled. Because that? That was the real fear. Not the exposure. Not the ruin. But the terror of being the thing that destroyed someone else. Of dragging Larry down with him.

Larry tilted Regis’s chin up, forcing him to meet his gaze. “You won’t,” he said, his voice absolute. “Because I trust you. And you’re gonna learn to trust me too.”

Regis’s dark eyes burned into his, searching, aching. For a second, Larry thought he was going to argue. But then Regis’s lips parted, and he exhaled, a slow, shuddering breath, like he was letting go of something he’d been carrying for years. “Okay,” he whispered.

Larry’s chest tightened. Because that single word? It was more intimate than any confession, any fuck, any secret they’d shared in the dark. It was surrender. And Larry wasn’t about to waste it.

He pulled Regis closer, their bodies slottting together like they were made for it, sweat and cum smearing between them, sticky and warm. His cock, half-hard again, pressed against Regis’s thigh, but he ignored it. This wasn’t about sex. Not right now. This was about keeping him. About showing Regis, in every touch, every breath, every whispered word, that he wasn’t alone.

“Sleep,” Larry murmured, his lips brushing Regis’s temple. “I’ve got you.”

Regis’s body tensed for a second, like he was going to argue, but then he melted against him, his breath evening out, his muscles relaxing one by one. Larry kept tracing those slow, soothing patterns on his back, his other hand tangled in Regis’s hair, holding him close. Holding him safe.

Outside, the city lights flickered, casting shifting shadows across the bed. The world kept turning. The threats were still out there. The lies, the secrets, the consequences. But in this moment, in this room, with Regis’s breath warm against his skin and his body heavy in Larry’s arms, none of that mattered.

Because Larry had made a promise.

And he always kept his word.