Four Alpha Brothers Hunted the Ghostwriter, Now He Sleeps in Their Bed novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Gaston's Desk

Gaston bends Emile over the desk and fucks him slowly while Emile keeps talking back, until Sylvain says he has waited long enough.

The desk was cold oak, and it smelled of cigars and old paper.

Emile leaned over it on his forearms with his jeans around his knees.

He could hear the other three behind him, breathing.

"You're thinking too hard," Gaston said.

"I'm thinking you're the one in charge, and you haven't taken your tie off."

"I'll take it off when you've earned it."

Emile snorted into the wood.

A hand landed in the small of his back, wide and warm, and pressed him down flat.

"Stay," Gaston said.

"I'm not a dog."

"No." The hand slid down over his ass and squeezed. "A dog would do what I told him."

Emile opened his mouth to answer, and Gaston's palm cracked down once on his left cheek.

The sound filled the library.

Heat bloomed across his skin, and his cock, which had no business being hard again, twitched against the edge of the desk.

"There he is," Thibault said, delighted, from the sofa.

"Shut up," Emile said.

"Thibault," Gaston said. "Oil. Top drawer."

A small bottle landed on the desk next to Emile's head.

He turned his face and watched Gaston uncap it.

The man was calm. His hands were steady.

Only his eyes gave him away, gold from edge to edge.

"Last chance," Gaston said. "Tell me no, and I stop."

"I swear to God, if you stop."

"Then keep that mouth quiet and let me work."

A slick finger circled his hole.

Emile sucked in a breath. The finger pressed, patient and slow, and slid in to the first knuckle.

"Breathe," Gaston said.

"I am."

"Breathe out."

Emile did. The finger went deeper, and a second one followed, and a long moan rolled out of him that he had not planned on.

"Good," Gaston said. "That's good, cher."

The word was out of his mouth before he seemed to notice.

His fingers stopped for half a second.

Emile heard it, and filed it away.

"Don't stop," he said.

Gaston worked him open with steady, unhurried strokes, crooking his fingers until Emile's thighs shook.

Every few seconds the pads found the place inside him that made white light flare behind his eyes.

"Right there," Emile gasped. "God, right there."

"I know where it is."

"Then use it."

Gaston laughed, short and rough, and pressed.

Emile bit the sleeve of his own arm to keep from shouting.

When Gaston finally drew his fingers out, the emptiness was almost an insult.

He heard the rasp of a zipper.

"I'm clean," Emile said.

"So are we. We don't get sick. Do you want it bare?"

The question was calm. The hands on his hips were not.

"Yes," Emile said. "I want to feel you."

Gaston's cock pressed against his hole, thick and hot and slick with oil.

He took it slowly.

The head breached him, and Emile cried out at the stretch, nails scraping the oak.

"Relax."

"Easy for you to say."

"Easy?" Gaston's voice cracked. "I've waited four years. Relax for me, Marais."

Emile breathed out, and pushed back.

The cock slid in, an inch at a time, filling him past anything his fingers had ever done for himself alone in the dark.

Gaston stopped when he was fully seated, hips pressed flush to Emile's ass.

Neither of them moved.

"Fuck," Gaston said, almost conversationally. "You're tight."

"Move."

"Tell me how."

"Hard," Emile said. "I don't want to be handled. I want it hard."

Gaston pulled almost all the way out, and slammed back in.

Emile's whole body slid forward on the desk.

The second thrust drove a sound out of him he had never heard from his own throat.

Gaston found a rhythm, deep and punishing, one hand fisted in Emile's curls and the other locked on his hip.

Every stroke shoved Emile's cock against the oak, and every stroke hit that place inside him dead on.

"You write about this," Gaston growled, and slapped his ass. "You write about wanting, and I've sung it for four years."

"I wrote what I knew," Emile gasped.

"You didn't know a damn thing."

"I do now," Emile said.

Gaston snarled, and picked up the pace.

The desk groaned.

A pen cup went over, and a stack of contracts slid to the floor.

Emile's fingers found the far edge and clung.

He was babbling, he realized, nonsense and Gaston's name and *please* and *harder*, and the man behind him was answering each word with his hips.

"Are you going to come?" Gaston said, close at his ear. "Untouched, over my desk, with my brothers watching?"

"Yes," Emile said.

"Say it."

"I'm going to come on your desk."

"Do it," Gaston said.

Gaston reached around, wrapped a hand around Emile's cock, and stroked him once, twice, hard.

Emile came with a shout that brought Sylvain to his feet.

His hole clenched, and Gaston swore, buried himself to the root, and spilled inside him in long hot pulses, groaning into the back of Emile's neck.

For a long moment neither of them breathed.

Gaston's forehead rested between Emile's shoulder blades.

His hands were shaking.

"That was one of us," Thibault said, from the sofa. "We have three more."

Gaston slid out, slowly, and a rush of heat followed.

He tucked himself away and turned Emile around by the hips.

For a second, before the mask came back, Emile saw it.

The scarred mouth was soft. The gold in his eyes was wet.

"Thank you," Gaston said, and kissed him.

It was nothing like Thibault's kiss.

It was slow and shaking and almost shy.

Gaston had never asked anyone for anything, and he was asking now.

Emile kissed him back.

He was dizzy and spent and sticky, half bent over a stranger's desk.

He had never been kissed like that in his life.

"Don't you dare get sentimental," Emile whispered against his scarred lip.

"Too late."

A throat cleared.

Sylvain stood by the fireplace with his arms crossed, bare-chested.

His freckled skin was flushed from collar to belt.

"I've been good for an hour," he said. "I've watched. I've held my tongue."

"You have," Fabien agreed.

"Gaston's had his."

"He has."

Sylvain looked at Emile, naked from the waist down, shining with sweat, and his eyes went gold.

"Mine next," he said.

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