The Gentleman (Carver Brothers Book 1)

by Dianna Roman

I can feel my blood warming at the prospect of that level of worship, of being wanted the most out of everyone else who someone must come into contact in their world.

He’s… Holy fuck, he’s… breathing me in.

The sight of his sandy head pressed against the most intimate place on my body is unreal, but it’s his reaction that’s mind-blowing. It’s nothing short of reverence, a man grateful for the simple act of touching another man. I stare at him in both shock and awe, unable to move.

Those eyes, full of wonder, glance up at me. They’re half-lidded now, like my body or my scent is a drug that intoxicated him. A shiver runs up my spine at the sight he makes. Why does it make me feel so damn powerful? I don’t crave power. I’m not Randy or John fucking Fairway.

Why have no one’s eyes ever fascinated me as much as his before?

There’s only silence and Cameron Fairway’s bottomless blue eyes, like a magnetic well, dragging me into freefall.

The weight of my cock rests on a soft, damp bed inside his mouth as he whimpers around it. He’s… weighing me… or holding me. Just holding me there in his mouth like his tongue is a cock pillow.

I’m being savored. This inexperienced, skittish younger man has just shown me the secret that would have saved every relationship I ever had. I’d have fought tooth and nail to keep anyone who treated me this way.

He’s somehow managed to make breathing sound filthy, a kind of filthy that I don’t mind.

I could drown in that look of his, a clear request for guidance, an eagerness to please and take pleasure–because he was enjoying what he was doing to me.

He came. He came in his pants. He just came in his pants from pleasuring me.

Lips swollen and parted, cheeks flushed, hair askew, he looks positively destroyed. Destruction has never looked better.

What did Cameron Fairway just do to me?

I want to see him again. I need to see him again. Just a glimpse. One look might put me out of my misery.

Cameron Fairway was in love with my cock for seven minutes and forty-three seconds, and that fact still feels like the magnum opus of my life.

I never got love notes in high school. I was the kid with hand sanitizer before hand sanitizer was cool. Cameron forcing the doors back open and recklessly hopping back on the elevator with his moon-eyed gaze, though, officially tops any sentiment a love note could offer. He’s lost his fucking mind.

His smile over my simple greeting feels akin to some great reward for a gladiator victory. I created that smile. Me. With one word.

I just had dinner with another man, in his house, in our socks. If he asks me to curl up on the couch and watch a movie next, I’ll have to seriously consider scrapping my disaster plan for a make-Pete-Carver-mine plan.

I try to remember the last time someone offered to amend their behaviors for me rather than insisting I just get over things, like my idiosyncrasies are an act.

Honest to God, I can’t with him. How does he do that? How does he take a completely absurd topic and make it seem like it’s the most interesting thing he’s heard all day? He’s never going to make it in the world. He’s too… good.

How in the hell can he be a Fairway? Fairways repel, but not Cameron. He draws me in like a flame on a winter day.

He’s quickly becoming the most attractive person I’ve ever met.

He’s changing everything, everything I ever thought I knew about touching.

He’s hugging me. Just hugging me, and I think it broke my damn heart.

His body goes pliant against mine, relaxing into my chest. My prediction was correct—we fit together perfectly, even more so when his hands move further up my back and grip like I’m an anchor he’s clinging to. He sighs again, a shaky sound of relief, pressing his face tighter against my neck.

He’s touch-starved, so heartbreakingly touch-starved that I don’t know how I didn’t notice it sooner. When his arms close tighter around me, I can’t help but wonder if I am, too.

Snuggle. He smells like freaking Snuggle fabric softener. I love Snuggle.

I can’t take his beautiful innocence any longer. It’s wormed its way into my veins and activated a switch that has me primed to teach him every lesson possible.

The fucking sight that makes—Cameron Fairway waiting for me to tell him what to do.

The way his arms encircle me as we kiss feels like he’s practiced it a thousand times before. It’s effortless and natural, like it should have happened a thousand times before. Us. This.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers between little kisses that light up every hair follicle on my body. “You’re so freaking perfect.”

He’s got me dreaming about holding hands and going to dinner. Dreaming about nights spent touching and tasting. Dreaming about how his contented sighs would sound in the morning on the empty pillow next to mine. Dreaming about not giving a damn about what anyone would think of New Pete, a Pete that looks immensely happy in my mind.

The work closet 🥵🥵

The work closet 🥵🥵

Look at me, Desperate Pete urges. Break my rule.

His chin lifts, and when our gazes lock, it’s a chemical reaction that no science can explain.

I fucking love the way he looks at me, like his brain has a special breathing setting reserved just for the sight of me.

His eyes remain fixed on me like I’m the center of his world, exactly where I want to be.

The work closet 🥵🥵

“This is why we can’t be seen together at the office. This face. Right now. The way you look at me. We’re on the same floor as your brother, and you’d tell the whole world that you want my hands on you with just one look. Does that sound like the safety you want?”

I’m practically panting just at the sight of him. I can hear my heartbeat in my eardrums.

The work closet 🥵🥵

I grip a handful and graze his channel with my index finger, finding what I’m looking for. It twitches under my touch, forcing me to pinch my eyes closed and take a breath when he lets out a needy whimper.

I want to devour him and never leave this closet.

I’m not only lying to him now, but I’m also lying to myself. That plug isn’t a warning. It’s an incentive, a last-ditch effort to make him mine, so when he’s walking around with it brushing his prostate, he thinks of me—the man who put it there. I am selfish, after all.

He looks like any other guy in this office building in dress slacks, a tie, and a shirt… except now he looks like mine. This level of possessiveness can’t be healthy.

“The way you looked at me in the hallway? The way you’re looking at me now? The next time you look at me like that, this will be my cock.”

I don’t know if he even comprehends given the way his eyes are so clouded with lust. He just blinks at me, his breathing heavy. “Nod, Cameron.” Understanding registers on his face. It’s just a flicker of cognizance, but I know he received the message because he does what I asked.

I drag myself away from him and slip out the door. The sterile tone of the gray carpeting, the white walls, and the commercial lighting are a harsh contrast to the capsule of warmth I just left. This was my world before he crashed into it. Nothing feels the same anymore, nor will it ever again. Maybe Randy did me a favor. I’m going to need a lot of vacation to get Cam o...

‘The next time you look at me like that, this will be my cock.’

I was in a trance from the moment I saw Pete at the end of the hallway. He’s right. I would give us away in a heartbeat.