The way Z said his name, it did strange things to him. It made him want this to be something more.
Z shifted, the head of his cock pressing against Ryan’s ass, gently breaching the muscles. Ryan managed to relax, sliding one hand over Z’s, the other reaching around to grab Z’s thigh. It became glaringly obvious that Z was trying desperately not to hurt him, so when the thick head of Z’s cock passed the ring of muscle, Ryan pushed his hips back, the air rushing from his lungs as his body took more of Z.
“Oh, hell,” Ryan huffed. The pain was brief but intense.
“Relax, Ry.” This time Z sounded as though he was begging, his mouth trailing over Ryan’s shoulder. “So fucking tight. I need to go slow.”
Ryan didn’t want slow, but he was still trying to catch his breath, so he nodded, allowing Z to lead. Long seconds ticked by until finally Z was lodged deep inside, his breath fanning Ryan’s neck as he remained still.
“Fuck me,” Ryan begged. “Need more, Z. Need all of you.”
“We’ll get there.” Z retreated slowly, then thrust back inside. “Aww, fuck. So good, Ry. So fucking good.”
Z’s weight disappeared, but firm hands gripped Ryan’s hips, pulling him back as Z began fucking him slow and deep, hitting that perfect spot, making Ryan’s entire body tingle.
He had no idea how much time passed, but time no longer mattered when Z began fucking him, thrusting harder, faster, deeper. His hands kept a firm grip on Ryan’s hips while Ryan forced himself back against Z, taking all of him.
Then Z shifted, pulling Ryan up so that the backs of his thighs were pressed against Z’s, his back to Z’s chest, the change in position causing Ryan to be impaled on Z’s dick.
“Fuck me,” Z commanded, his words coarse in Ryan’s ear.
The position was somewhat awkward, but it allowed Ryan to lift and lower himself on Z’s cock while Z took Ryan’s dick in his firm grip, stroking him roughly.
“Fuck,” Ryan breathed. “Keep…doin’ that…and I’m…gonna come.”
Z leaned in and nipped Ryan’s earlobe. “Ride my cock, Ryan.”
Oh, hell. The gruff command had Ryan seeing stars. He continued to rock up and down, taking Z’s dick in his ass until the head of his cock felt as though it would explode in Z’s hand.
“I’m close,” Ryan warned.
“Come for me, Ry. I won’t come till you do.” Z sounded as though he was trying desperately to hold back. Ryan envied the man’s control, but there was no way he could outlast him.
Z’s free hand gripped Ryan’s hip securely as he began thrusting forward, driving himself deep until Ryan’s breath lodged in his throat, every muscle in his body went rigid, and his dick pulsed. He peered down his own body as he came in Z’s hand, the sight far more erotic than he’d anticipated.
“Fuck yes.” Ryan groaned.
The next thing Ryan knew, he was on his hands and knees again, and Z was pounding into him again and again. Several demanding thrusts later, Z stilled, his fingertips digging into Ryan’s hips as he felt Z’s dick pulse in his ass.
He couldn’t breathe, much less think, but there was one fleeting thought he couldn’t dislodge: when it came to Z, Ryan definitely didn’t know the man as well as he’d thought he did.
But he was undeniably interested in learning everything about him.
TWENTY-FIVE
“WHAT’S ON THE AGENDA FOR the day?” Z asked after they’d showered—together—and made their way downstairs to find food.
Figuring RT wasn’t interested in a repeat of the chicken incident from the other night, Z took the lead, pulling out eggs, bacon, sausage, and biscuits. He made a mental note to find out who had stocked the kitchen, because they deserved a raise. Based on the amount of food, it appeared as though they’d personally stocked it for Z, which he greatly appreciated.
“Nothin’,” RT answered, climbing up onto one of the barstools and watching Z as he moved around the kitchen. He had his cell phone in hand and continued to scroll through the screen, doing whatever it was that RT did.
“A day off?” Z met RT’s gaze. “How the fuck did that happen?”
RT returned Z’s smile briefly. “We’re between a rock and a hard place. Since we can’t find that damn painting, we’re dead in the water.”
“Is that a game?” Z glanced at RT over his shoulder as he cracked eggs into a bowl.
RT’s golden eyebrows narrowed down.
“The cliché thing. See how many you can use in one conversation?”
RT rolled his eyes, making Z laugh. Turning back to his task, he continued to prepare breakfast.
“I’m just stumped that we can’t find that damn thing,” RT continued, his eyes once again riveted on his phone. “Where the hell does a rich guy stash a painting when he doesn’t want anyone to find it?”
“Wherever he wants,” Z replied, though he figured the question was rhetorical.
“But why put the other fake at his beach house? I’d have to assume he hasn’t taken Amahn there or the man would know about it already.”
“What if Amahn’s not the one who’s tryin’ to steal it?” Z questioned, playing devil’s advocate.
“I’ve considered that, too. My brain tells me there’s too much of a coincidence.”
“It is pretty damning that the problems started around the same time Amahn showed up, but it’s not conclusive.” Z still wasn’t entirely certain that Amahn was behind it. From a logical perspective, sure, it fit. But after seeing Amahn and Jericho at the party, he wasn’t feeling it anymore.
“Your brain’s workin’,” RT said. “What’re you thinkin’?”
Z shrugged, pouring the eggs into the skillet. “I don’t have a theory. Yet.”
“Well, when you get one, be sure to share it with me.” RT chuckled.
Z turned his head once again to look at him. It made him feel good that RT looked so relaxed. He’d probably smiled more in the last half hour than he had in the last year. Z wanted to believe that he was partially responsible for it.
Twisting back around, he focused on the food. He multitasked, placing the bacon in one pan alongside the eggs, the sausage in another. When all three were going, he slid the biscuit can and a baking sheet toward RT. “I don’t think you can mess this up.”
RT laughed. “You’d be surprised at what I’m capable of messin’ up.”
For a moment, it sounded as though RT was talking about something other than the mundane task of putting biscuits on a pan. Rather than invite trouble when there wasn’t any, Z let it go.
“Okay. So we’ll have breakfast. Then what?” Z asked, continuing to juggle the three pans on the stove.
“I need to check in with the others, make sure they’re good.”
“Is that what you do every day?”
“Among other things,” RT said. “But yeah, I reach out to all of them to check in. Their safety’s important to me. Your safety.”
“So, it’s not really a day off?”
“I never get a day off, Z. Not entirely, anyway.”
“You could, you know.”
“How do you figure?” RT didn’t sound at all pleased with the conversation, but Z didn’t drop it.
“There’re others you could put in charge of certain tasks. You don’t have to handle it all yourself.”
“If the Kogans would step up to the plate—”
Z interrupted. “You can’t blame them for the fact you work more than you should and you know it.” How they had gotten to this point, Z wasn’t sure, but he finished his thought. “If the Kogans don’t want to handle it, there are others who would. I’m just sayin’.”
RT didn’t respond, so Z turned back around.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Z added. “It’s not my place to tell you how to handle your job.”
“You’re right, it’s not.”
That verbal punch hit Z square in the solar plexus. He took a deep breath, nodded his head, and turned back to the stove. He hadn’t meant to start a fight with RT. It wasn’t the way he saw this day going. Not after…
“Okay, fine. We’ll do something. After we eat.”
“What’d you have in mind?” Z questioned, still leery.
When RT didn’t immediately answer, Z twisted to look at him. That was when he saw the playful gleam in RT’s bright blue eyes.