A traumatised Dominant Alpha billionaire who can't stand women or omegas is forced to endure living with a new housekeeper after having locked himself away from society for nearly ten years, But there is something strange about the new housekeeper a...
Andrew climbed to the roof terrace and stripped down to his boxers, then dived into the water, which was still a few merciful degrees cooler than the day. The pool was also shaded by the living wall erected on one side of the roof garden.
He kicked out to the end of the pool, and lounged in the shallow end, under the shadow of the wall.
Would Tatum come? Or had he been too nervous?
Either way, he didn't really care. Whatever his game was, he was more than willing to play it to end the need in his crotch.
He frowned, the reckless direction of his thoughts stunning him a little. When exactly had the reward become worth the risk of letting down his guard, again?
But then Tatum stepped out onto the roof terrace, his slender frame in nothing but a fresh tank and boxers. Why even wear the tank?
And the need roared through his system like a fireball. Unstoppable, uncontrollable, uninhibited. I want this boy... no this man.
His heart rate hit warp speed. Damn, but he was gorgeous. His pale skin glowed with sweat. He dived in and swam toward Andrew, the graceful, efficient stroke reminding him of the way he cooked for him—the instinctive way he could whip up a feast in a few simple elegant moves.
Tatum's head bobbed up as he got closer. The pulsing in Andrew's groin began to beat heavily in his chest as he appeared like a mermaid from the iridescent blue. With his hair slicked back and his eyes pools of brown liquid, the spontaneous grin seemed to light his face from within.
"Ah, but that's, so refreshing," he purred
"Yeah." The gruff murmur rumbled against Andrew's ribs and scraped at the raw spot in his throat as he took in the feast before his eyes.
The tank clung to his slim chest, outlining the puckered nipples, while awareness flared across Tatum's collarbone.
Tatum was a banquet he was desperate to devour the way he'd devoured all the other feasts he'd created for him.
"Come closer," he demanded.
"Why?" he stammered, the grin fading to be replaced with wary tension. But arousal highlighted the shards of yellow in his irises, turning them to a glimmering gold, and he could see Tatum's need as clearly as he could feel his own.
"I want you, Tatum," he said, deciding the time for subterfuge was over. "If you don't want me, you can say so, and it won't affect your job here," he added, giving him a way out. Hoping he didn't take it.
It would be torture to have him in the house and not touch him, not take what he needed, but it would be an even greater agony to lose him.
The thought should have disturbed him even more—but he couldn't seem to think about anything right now except the burning hunger for Tatum in his gut.
"I understand," he said, his eyes widening to fill his face. But then he stepped closer—drawn by the invisible pull—and Andrew's breath gushed out with relief so heady it made him light-headed.
Reaching out, he snagged the cotton of his tank and tugged him the rest of the way, until he could wrap his arms around Tatum's hips and press his body against his. Tatum grabbed his shoulders as the full erection nestled against his taut belly.
He gasped his face a ruddy mix of awareness and embarrassment now.
"Can you feel how much I want you?" Andrew asked.
Tatum nodded and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. The groan broke loose from Andrew's chest.
"I want to lift you out of the water, strip off your clothes and then take you..." He nodded toward the poolside canopy where one of the loungers stood in the shade. "Over there, until we're both exhausted."
He nodded again, still staring at Andrew as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did because he sure as hell did.
"But it's your choice."
Tatum's breathing became ragged, but he remained silent, searching Andrew's face with an artless, open expression—full of desire but also wary. But then Tatum's head dipped, the nod sending the fireball hurtling through his system again.
His lips curved and his heart became strangely buoyant. The euphoria was something he hadn't felt in a very long time. Way before the kidnapping—right back to when he was a little kid on Christmas morning before his parents had passed away.
"Damn, I've finally figured out how to silence you," he murmured, the euphoria so intense now he could barely breathe.
Tatum choked out a laugh but then ducked his head to bury his chin against his chest. He sucked in a breath as his hip brushed Andrew's throbbing erection.
"Sorry," he said, his gaze shooting back to Andrew's.
"Don't ever be sorry," he said, forcing himself to go slow, not to grab, not to take, not to demand more. He tucked the wet hair behind Tatum's ear and skimmed his thumb across his bottom lip. "Just give me an answer. So we can end this torture, either way."
The answer gushed out, sending his senses into overdrive.
"Yes, I want you to. Very much."
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