Page 55 of Operation Sunshine
The counter shook under them, the oven-warmed air thick with flour, and Franco knew if they didn’t move soon, they’d either bring down the shelves or set the oven on fire.
“Upstairs,” he gasped against Ben’s mouth. “Function room. Bigger table.”
Ben froze just long enough to shoot him a look that was equal parts disbelief and hunger. “You’re insane.”
“And you like it.” Franco nipped his lip. “Leave the clothes. We won’t be needing them.” Then he lurched toward the shelf, grabbing the nearest bottle of olive oil.
Ben stared at him. “You planning on dressing a salad up there?”
“Lube, darling.” Franco tugged him toward the stairwell, his shirt hanging open. They stumbled through the kitchen, leaving icing handprints smeared across every surface they touched, laughing breathlessly when they nearly tripped on the stairs.
The function room was dark, blinds drawn against the rain outside. Franco fumbled for the switch, but Ben caught his wrist, spinning him against the door.
“No lights,” Ben muttered, his voice raw. “Want to feel you, not see you.”
The words sent a shiver skating down Franco’s spine. He let himself be steered backward until the edge of the long banquet table hit his thighs. Then Ben was on him again, his mouth hot, his hands everywhere, shoving his shirt off his shoulders, kissing him as though he couldn’t get deep enough.
Franco clawed at him in return, pulling, tugging, desperate. Hislaugh cracked into a moan when Ben lifted him onto the table, scattering a neat stack of menus to the floor. “We’re gonna be insomuch trouble for this,” he whispered hoarsely.
“I won’t tell the boss if you won’t,” Ben growled. Then he grinned. “Wait a sec—Iamthe boss.” A moment later, Franco’s shirt was on the floor, along with Ben’s, both of them gloriously naked.
“Gimme the oil,” Ben demanded.
“Bossy.”
He snorted. “Did you forget the part where I said I’m the boss?” Then Franco’s breathing hitched when slick fingers found his hole. “Fuck, you’re so warm,” Ben murmured.
Franco pushed down hard, chasing the sensation, his body alight with anticipation. “In me. For God’s sake, put it in me already.”
The wood thudded under their weight, Franco’s heels digging into Ben’s back as the rhythm built, sharper and harder this time. Theslapof skin, the scrape of the table legs against the floor, and their ragged breathing filled the empty room, every sound illicit, dangerous, and perfect.
Franco’s fingers scrabbled against the polished surface, leaving streaks of flour and sweat. His head fell back, eyes squeezed shut, his voice breaking as Ben drove into him, faster, hungrier, as if he was trying to erase the space between them.
And Franco let him.
He clung to Ben, to the heat and the weight and the grounding strength of him, laughing through the gasps, kissing him hard enough to bruise. He wanted it to last, to hold onto the delicious sensations rampaging through him, but he was too far gone.
Franco shot first, arching up off the table, and seconds later, Ben’s cock throbbed inside him. They shuddered against each other, fingers digging into flesh, collapsing onto the table in a tangle of limbs.
For a long moment, only the rain dared to fill the silence. Franco laughed softly against Ben’s shoulder.
“Candlelight would’ve been good up here.” Franco’s voice wasfrayed at the edges. “Flowers too, maybe even a serenade. But what did we have? Broken menus and chocolate icing.”
Ben didn’t lift his head, but pressed his mouth to Franco’s neck and muttered, “Still better than perfect.”
Franco’s chest ached, not from the sex, but from the terrifying, exhilarating realisation that Ben might mean it.
Chapter Sixteen
The room smelled of flour, sweat, and burnt sugar. Menus littered the floor, chairs were skewed, and the long table was still creaking under their combined weight as if to complain about its misuse.
Franco lay on his back, naked, one leg raised, bent at the knee, his chest heaving, his gaze locked on the ceiling. Ben was stretched out beside him, one arm slung across Franco’s stomach, heavy but not uncomfortable, a reminder of his presence.
Of what they’d just done.
Franco broke the silence first. “You realise if Raj ever finds out about this, he’ll make us disinfect this table with holy water.”
Ben made a low sound somewhere between a groan and a chuckle. “Then we’d better leave before he notices the flour trail.”
