Unwilling to let him get away that easily, wanting to clear the air between them, Z grabbed RT, pushing him into the wall and crushing his body against him. Before RT could shove him away, Z grabbed his wrists, holding them down at RT’s sides before crushing his mouth over RT’s.
The moan that escaped RT’s chest had Z pushing for more, thrusting his tongue into RT’s mouth, seeking, searching. He wanted more; he wanted everything. And he wanted it all from RT. Z was so tired of this cat-and-mouse game they’d played for the past few years. He’d always allowed RT to be in control, to make the decisions, but he couldn’t sit by and allow RT to keep him at a distance.
Not after what had happened between them.
RT’s hands gripped Z’s thighs, yanking him closer, and only then did Z release RT’s wrists. Grabbing RT’s head, Z sought a better angle. The kiss was full of heat and need, but Z could still feel RT’s hesitation.
He battled with himself, not sure whether he should walk away or pursue RT. The decision was taken from him when RT slid his hand into Z’s shorts, gripping his cock firmly.
“Oh, God,” he groaned against RT’s lips. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
Without a word, RT stroked Z’s cock, making his body sway from the pleasure that assaulted him. His knees were weak, his breathing labored as his release bore down on him. It wasn’t right, not like this, but Z couldn’t seem to stop it. He was torn, wanting RT with a desperation he didn’t even understand but knowing it would likely backfire in his face.
Once again, the decision was stripped from him when RT released him suddenly, but their bodies remained together, Z’s hands still cupping RT’s head.
“We can’t do this,” RT acknowledged softly. “I’m sorry, Z. So fucking sorry.”
“You mean you can’t do this,” Z clarified, adjusting himself and ignoring the painful throb between his legs. “Because I damn sure don’t have a problem with it.” Pulling back, he kept his hands on RT’s head, staring into his eyes. “You can’t let your past dictate your future,” Z told him, his own frustration apparent.
RT didn’t have a comeback, but his fury radiated from him. Pissing him off was the last thing Z wanted, but he’d obviously pushed a little too far. When RT shoved Z away, he relented, moving back and letting his hands drop to his sides.
“It was a mistake,” RT spat. “Now let’s fucking leave it at that.”
Z didn’t want to leave him, not like this, but it was clear RT had come to a final decision. Since it wasn’t in Z’s nature to argue when it was pointless, he gave RT exactly what he wanted.
He walked away.
WHAT THE FUCK WAS HE thinking?
Ryan wanted to punch the wall. He wanted to do some serious damage, but he managed to hold himself back.
Watching Z walk away… It was harder than he’d thought it would be. The whole thing had been his fault. When Z had appeared in his room, Ryan had been fighting the urge to go to him. It was as though Z had read his mind, showing up when he had.
And the kiss… Fucking hell. Ryan could still feel Z’s lips on his, the rough stubble on his jaw abrading his skin. The velvety-smooth length of Z in his hand.
Goddamn. Why the hell did he let shit like that happen? He was supposed to be stronger than that, better equipped to resist things that weren’t good for him.
What the fuck did you expect?
Fuck. He hated that goddamn voice in his head. The one that reminded him he couldn’t throw caution to the wind or he’d be back in the same boat he’d started out in after Kevin.
Plopping down on the edge of the bed, Ryan dropped his head in his hands.
What he wouldn’t give to take Z into his arms once more, to take the time to explore him slowly. If he did give in, Ryan damn sure didn’t want it to be quick this time. He wanted to savor Z, explore every inch of him, to learn everything about him.
And maybe that was what bothered Ryan the most. He didn’t want a one-night stand with Z. If he could do it all over again, he wouldn’t have snuck out the next morning, but facing Z… He didn’t know how to do that. Didn’t know how to accept responsibility and admit that he wanted more.
Instead, he was here in this house, alone with Z, wanting something he couldn’t have. It had been what he was thinking about when Z walked into his room in the first place. He’d been contemplating the consequences of his actions, trying to predict the future, wondering if there was even a remote chance for him to be happy.
Because if he could be happy with anyone, it would be Z. They were polar opposites in many ways, and Ryan could accept that they complemented one another. For years, Ryan hadn’t thought about spending the rest of his life with anyone, but if he allowed his thoughts to get away from him, Z was always there, a reminder of what true happiness could be.
But then Ryan had gone and been an ass, just as he always was. As much as he wanted to regret sending Z away after instigating that, Ryan also knew it was for the best. Not only was Ryan in a position of authority at Sniper 1, but they were also on a job. What precedence would that set if people were to find out that Ryan was fraternizing with employees? Or taking advantage of them when they were on assignment?
Sighing, Ryan fell onto his back, covering his face with his arm.
Why did things have to be so difficult?
More importantly, why couldn’t he just get past this? It wasn’t as though Z were the first man to tempt him since Kevin.
But he’s the only man who matters.
Great. And now the voice was back. Just what he didn’t need.
SEVENTEEN
Wednesday evening
Z TUGGED AT HIS TIE, hating every second that he had to wear the damn thing. Since he was only an hour into a very long night, Z wasn’t sure he was going to survive without ripping it off and tossing it to the floor.
The suits he owned were purchased with only the job in mind. When he wasn’t working, he preferred jeans and a T-shirt. Simple. Casual. Easy. This—the dark suit, white shirt, and colorful tie that Kira had retrieved from his closet and had delivered to the beach house—this shit was for the birds.
Had it not been for the fact he couldn’t simply buy a suit off the rack due to his size, he could’ve picked out his own attire for the evening. Instead, he was wearing the one suit he preferred the least because apparently Marissa was quite fond of it, or so Kira had informed him in the note that had come with the delivery.
“Quit fidgeting,” RT muttered as they made their way through the fancy restaurant, following the hostess.
“I hate this shit.” Z spoke out of the corner of his mouth, keeping a smile plastered on his face.
“You look good, so…”
Z smiled—no longer forced—when RT trailed off. He doubted the man had meant to share that compliment with him, but he’d take it. Hell, he’d take anything RT wanted to dish out. After their heated discussion last night, quite frankly, Z hadn’t been sure he’d ever receive a positive comment from RT again. He’d consider this progress.
With those words still echoing in his head, they approached the table where Jericho and Amahn sat. Both men stood, holding out their hands in greeting when Z and RT came to stand beside them.
“So glad you could make it,” Jericho said enthusiastically.
Amahn didn’t say anything as he eyed both RT and Z when Jericho introduced them, though he only used their nicknames, which was smart. Taking his seat, Z kept a cautious eye on Amahn. The man looked exactly like the creepy painting in Jericho’s library, only not as two-dimensional. Or creepy. He was older than Jeri, that was clear. By about fifteen years, from what Z remembered. Black hair, styled perfectly, smooth chocolate skin, and nearly black eyes, Amahn Chopra was a rather attractive man. Based on the background they’d pulled up, Z knew he was a US citizen, raised by his parents who had come from India nearly forty years ago, and when Amahn spoke, his definitive accent confirmed his Indian heritage.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Amahn said confidently. “Jericho has told me so much about you.”