Page 8 of Slow Waltz
Faith pulled Debbie away. “Let’s leave these two gentlemen alone, shall we?” She nodded at Silas. “See you tonight.”
Silas bowed his head, almost formally. Rhys watched the two women leave, then spoke.
“What was that all about?”
Silas hadn’t lost his amused expression. “You should always be respectful to your elders.”
“You’re older than they are.”
“True, but they have lived and seen more than many people.” Silas gestured toward the lounge exit that led out to the pool. “Care for something to eat?”
Rhys didn’t have to answer, because his stomach spoke for him.
They navigated around the pool to a small cafeteria—if anything on this boat could be called small. An array of afternoon snacks had been laid out among watermelons, pineapples, and other fruit cut and arranged into mythical beasts. Rhys took a shrimp cocktail in a champagne glass, while Silas chose, of all things, chocolate pudding.
Rhys’s surprise must have been etched onto his face, because Silas chuffed. “What did I say about elders?” He grabbed a spoon.
He followed Silas out onto the deck, to a cafe table with an umbrella sitting in the sun. The sunlit deck warmed the cool sea breeze to a comfortable temperature. “You just don’t strike me as a chocolate pudding kind of man.” Rhys put the shrimp down and pushed his chair closer to Silas so they could both look out at the ocean. He sat.
Silas dipped his spoon into the pudding. “Pray tell, what kind of man am I?”
“Tapioca?”
Silas stopped moving, his mouth curved upward. “Tapioca?” he repeated, almost breathlessly. Silas was trying not to burst into laughter, Rhys realized.
“I don’t know, chocolate just seems so…American.”
“But I like Americans.” Silas’s grin was fully formed now. He completed scooping the pudding, then drew the spoon between his velvet lips and cleaned it. When he was done, a hint of his tongue swept a drop of chocolate from his bottom lip.
What he wouldn’t give to have Silas’s tongue dart over the tip of his cock like that. Maybe to chase after some chocolate or whipped cream. They hadn’t tried that yet. Rhys shifted in his chair. “Care to repeat what you did at dinner the night we met?”
Silas did laugh at that. “So soon?” He put down his spoon and dropped his hand to Rhys’s thigh. Silas stroked his fingers along Rhys’s hardening length. “I’ll have to fuck you harder next time.”
Sparks lit across Rhys’s skin. Between the words and Silas’s almost casual stroking, he was hard again. “That isn’t helping, you know.”
Silas withdrew his hand and reclaimed his utensil. He pointed at the champagne glass. “Eat your crustaceans before they get warm.”
“Whatever you say, old man.”
Silas leaned back in his chair and returned to his pudding.
Rhys set about consuming his shrimp and tried—very hard—not to watch Silas. Somehow Silas managed to turn eating into soft porn. He also had the timing perfect so he finished just as Rhys pushed the remains of the shrimp cocktail away.
“Would you like anything else?” Silas set the pudding dish down next to his spoon.
“Oh, I don’t know. You on your knees in front of me might be nice.”
“And what makes you think you’ll get that?” Silas crossed his arms.
Rhys rose and towered over Silas. “Because you like sucking me off. And surrendering gives you an excuse to come up with something more inventive to do to me in return.”
Silas parted his lips. Sunlight turned his amber eyes golden. “You know all my secrets.”
Gripping Silas’s chin, Rhys leaned down to claim the other man’s mouth. He held the kiss long enough to hear the sexy, deep rumble in the back of Silas’s throat, then broke away. “And you know all mine,” he said. “Seems pretty fair.”
The Cheshire cat had nothing on Silas.
Rhys straightened and held out his hand.
