The Playboy Doctor Swore Off Love, Then His Best Friend Claimed Him novel · Chapter 4 of 24

Chapter 4: Night One

At ten o'clock exactly the key turned in the front door.

Damon had been standing in his bedroom for twenty minutes, pretending not to wait.

He picked up a book.

It was upside down.

He turned it over.

Elias's footsteps crossed the long living room without hurrying, passed the kitchen and came up the half flight of stairs.

He stopped in the bedroom doorway in his shirtsleeves, with his tie in his hand.

"You ate," he said.

"I had crackers."

"How many?" Elias asked.

"A handful. You're not my mother."

"No," Elias agreed. "I'm not."

He dropped the tie on the chair and began to roll his sleeves up his forearms, one fold at a time.

Damon had seen those forearms every day for ten years.

He had never seen them as anything but a man in shirtsleeves, a coworker, a friend, someone who handed him a beer.

Now he watched the tendons move under the skin and his mouth went dry.

"Lights," Damon said. "I want them on."

"You want to see."

"I want to see what you're doing to me," Damon said.

"Then they stay on."

He crossed the room and stopped in front of Damon, close enough that the toes of their shoes touched.

Damon was in grey sweatpants and an old Columbia shirt.

Elias took hold of the hem of the shirt and pulled it up over his head.

For a second Damon was blind and breathless inside the cotton.

When it came off, Elias was looking at him.

"You're allowed to be nervous," Elias said.

"I'm not nervous. I'm waiting to be impressed."

"Careful," Elias said.

"Or what?"

Elias put a hand on his chest and pushed.

Damon sat down hard on the edge of the bed.

His cock was already tenting the grey cotton, and he saw Elias see it, and saw the small satisfied curve of his mouth.

"That's what I thought," Elias said.

He went down on one knee between Damon's feet.

It should have looked ridiculous.

A man in a three-piece waistcoat, kneeling on a bedroom carpet at ten at night.

It did not look ridiculous at all.

Damon's heart hammered.

"Have you done this before?" he said. His voice came out strange. "With other men."

"Yes."

"How many?" Damon said.

"Enough that I won't embarrass either of us."

A hot ugly pulse of jealousy went through Damon, which was absurd, and he said so.

"It's absurd. I don't care."

"You do," Elias said, "a little," and hooked his fingers in the waistband of the sweatpants. "Lift."

Damon lifted.

The pants came down to his knees, to his ankles, off.

His cock sprang free, thick and flushed and wet at the tip, and the cool air touched it and he hissed.

Elias settled his big hands on Damon's thighs and spread them wide.

"Lie back."

"I'd rather watch," Damon said.

"Then watch."

Elias looked up at him once, steady, over the length of his body.

Then he lowered his head and licked a slow wet line from the base of Damon's cock to the tip.

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