Page 102 of A Mistake of Worth
Marc’s voice cut sharp through the speaker. “Harder. Don’t coddle him. Yank his head back. I want to see him marked.”
Henri’s grip tightened. He caught a fistful of David’s hair and wrenched his head back until his throat stretched taut, pale skin bared to the camera’s eye. David gasped, a raw sound that shivered into want instead of protest. Henri bent and dragged his mouth down the line of that throat, teeth grazing, tongue punishing. He pressed hard enough to know it would show later, marks that would linger.
And as he did, the scene blurred. For a heartbeat, it wasn’t David beneath his hands but Michael. Michael pushing him back onto rumpled sheets, Michael’s grip in his hair uncoiling every locked place inside him, Michael’s teeth at his throat, marking him as owned. The memory seized him whole.
Henri mimicked it now with brutal accuracy, mouth moving against David’s skin in the same pattern Michael had burned into him, trying to pour the ghost of that moment into a counterfeit.
David arched again, clinging tighter, his breath broken and hungry. Henri forced his lips back to the boy’s mouth, kissing hard, punishing, swallowing the sounds Marc wanted.
Every move was obedience. Every move was a betrayal.
Marc’s voice purred through the speaker, thick with satisfaction. “Yes. Keep going. Don’t let him go until I tell you.”
A sharp knock rapped on the door.
“Henri?”
Gabriel.
Reflex ruled Henri. He cut the call, shoved David toward the floor with one hand. “Under. Now.”
David dropped without question, folding himself beneath the desk’s solid wooden paneling. Henri’s hands moved on instinct—yanking the phone from the mount, unhooking the stand, shoving both under the desk into David’s arms. He rolled his chair in hard; the wheels scraped against the floor with enough noise to mask the soft thud of David settling into place.
By the time he said, “Come in,” his mask was back in place.
Gabriel filled the doorway. His suit was immaculate, his tie neat, and his eyes were sharp with something probing. They flicked to the blinds, to Henri’s face, to the desk. The calculation in them was worse than suspicion.
Henri swiveled his monitor casually. “EcoSphere’s models are strong. Conservative ROI at forty percent—”
“Spare me,” Gabriel said, voice low steel under warmth. He stepped closer, taking the guest chair directly across the desk. “I didn’t come for projections. I came for you.”
Henri forced neutrality as David’s fingers crept up his thigh, a gentle pressure asking permission. “I’ve been home for over two weeks. You could’ve asked sooner.”
“I tried.” Gabriel leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “Phone off. Emails ignored. Why did you come back early?”
Henri’s fingers hesitated for a moment before resuming their steady rhythm against the polished surface of the desk. The solid wood separated one world from another, concealing the slow, deliberate movement of David’s hands at his belt. The quiet sound of shifting fabric filled the space between words.
“London was fine,” Henri said, his tone carefully measured. “The deal is strong. There was no reason to linger, no need to stay longer than necessary.”
Gabriel’s gaze held him. “I spoke to Michael.”
The words settled heavily between them. Henri understood immediately that Gabriel was not seeking information. He already knew the answer. What he wanted was for Henri to say it aloud, to acknowledge what had driven him to return before he was meant to.
Henri’s throat tightened, and his fingers stilled again. He could not bring himself to speak. In another moment, under different circumstances, perhaps he would have confessed everything. But not now. Not with David between his knees, not with the heat of that closeness clouding his thoughts, and not with years of silence still teaching him that truth was a dangerous thing to give away.
Henri’s mouth curved into a careless half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “A fling. Nothing more.”
The playboy tone fell short.
Henri kept his gaze locked on Gabriel’s face as David eased his zipper open beneath the desk. He forced himself not to react to the brush of fingers, the careful movement. His hand resumed its thinking pattern against the wood, tap-tap-tap, covering any whisper of sound while his expression remained neutral.
Under the desk, David freed him from his suit pants. Henri felt the heat of breath, then the soft pressure of lips. Not sucking yet, just holding him in the warm cavern of his mouth. Henri’s hand twitched toward stopping him, but he caught himself and flattened his palm against the desk surface instead.
“What happened, Henri?” Gabriel pressed. “Michael is… concerned. You don’t look like yourself.”
Henri marshaled a laugh that wasn’t there. “You think I need saving? I’m not some damsel, not a princess locked in a tower guarded by dragons. I’m fine.”
Beneath the desk, David’s mouth moved with careful intention. Soft suction, gentle pressure. Henri felt himself hardening despite everything, his body betraying him.
