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Four Alpha Brothers Hunted the Ghostwriter, Now He Sleeps in Their Bed novel · Chapter 4 of 24

Chapter 4: The Youngest

Sylvain did not wait for a bed.

He hauled Emile out of the library by the wrist and up a back staircase.

At the end of a hall of closed doors he kicked the last one open.

It was a guest bathroom bigger than Emile's whole house, all white marble and brass.

"Wash," Sylvain said, and turned the shower on.

Steam rolled up.

"I just got fucked over a desk."

"I know. I could smell it from the sofa." Sylvain's voice shook. "I want it off you."

"Off me, or on you?"

Sylvain went red to the ears.

"Both," he said.

He stripped fast and stepped under the spray, and pulled Emile in after him.

The water was hot enough to sting.

Sylvain was lean and rangy, with freckles all down his chest and shoulders.

His cock stood up red and heavy against his belly, and he did not bother to hide it.

"You're staring," he said.

"You're the youngest," Emile said. "I thought you'd be shy."

"I'm twenty-five," Sylvain said. "I've been waiting four years to meet you."

"You've been waiting to meet a songwriter."

"I've been waiting to meet you," Sylvain said, and pushed him against the tile.

The marble was cold on Emile's back, the water scalding on his front.

Sylvain's mouth came down hard.

It was a clumsy kiss, all teeth and urgency, nothing like his brothers'.

He kissed as if he had never been told he could.

Emile gripped his wet hair and kissed back just as hard.

"Say something," Sylvain panted. "Anything. Tell me I can."

"Fuck me, Sylvain," Emile said.

"Say it again."

"Fuck me against this wall," Emile said.

Sylvain groaned.

His hands slid down Emile's ribs to his hips, and he lifted.

Emile's legs came up and locked around his waist, and his back slid up the tile.

"Slick," Sylvain said, hoarse. "I need, I don't have, the oil is in the library."

"Soap," Emile said.

"What?"

"There's a bottle on the ledge. Use it. Hurry."

Sylvain grabbed it, cursing, and slicked his fingers.

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