The Playboy Doctor Swore Off Love, Then His Best Friend Claimed Him novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Birthday

Over the walnut desk, Elias takes him for the first time and Damon fights for the lead and loses it; afterward, frightened by how much he liked it, he calls it a mistake and hits him, and Elias answers with thirty nights.

Damon held the box and did not know what to do with his hands.

He had undressed a hundred women without once wondering where to put them.

Elias took the box back, set it on the desk beside Damon's hip, and began to open Damon's shirt.

He did it slowly, one button at a time, and he watched Damon's face the entire time.

"You can stop looking," Damon said.

"No."

"It's making me nervous," Damon said.

"Good."

The shirt came off Damon's shoulders and fell to the floor.

Elias's palms went flat on his chest, big and warm, and slid down his ribs to his waist.

"You're shaking," Elias said.

"I'm not."

"Damon," Elias said.

"I'm fine. Just get on with it, Thorsen."

Elias's mouth curved.

He bent and put his lips to Damon's collarbone, then lower.

His tongue found Damon's nipple, and Damon's head went back against the glass of the tall window.

"Fuck."

"That's it," Elias said against his skin. "Let me hear you."

He undid the belt.

He did it with one hand, without hurry, and dragged the zipper down so slowly that Damon's hips lifted of their own accord.

Then Elias's palm closed around his cock through his shorts and Damon swore again, louder.

"You've done this to women for years," Elias said. "You know how it's supposed to feel."

"This isn't how it's supposed to feel."

"No," Elias agreed. "It's better."

He pulled Damon's trousers and shorts down together and Damon lifted to help him, because his body had stopped consulting him.

His cock stood up hard and flushed against his stomach.

Elias looked at it for a long moment, and Damon felt his own face burn.

"Don't stare."

"I've thought about this for ten years," Elias said. "I'll stare."

He wrapped his hand around the base and stroked once, slow and firm, up to the head, and thumbed the wet from the slit.

Damon's fingers dug into the edge of the desk.

"Oh, you son of a bitch."

"Keep going. You're good at this."

Elias did it again, and again, and when Damon's hips started to rock into his fist, he stopped.

Damon opened his eyes.

"Why did you stop?"

"Because you're not coming like this."

"Elias," Damon said.

"On your stomach, Doctor."

It should have made Damon furious.

He shoved at Elias's shoulder instead, half a protest.

Elias took hold of his wrist, turned it, and put him face down across the walnut.

One forearm was planted between his shoulder blades.

The wood was cool against his chest and his cock.

He heard the cellophane tear.

He heard the cap of the tube click open.

"I'm on top," Damon said into the desk. "I'm always on top. That's the thing about me."

"Not tonight."

"I mean it," Damon said. "I'll turn over."

"Try."

Damon bucked, hard, and got one knee under himself, and Elias leaned his whole weight on his back and flattened him again.

He was stronger than Damon.

He had always been stronger, and Damon had always known it, and had never once thought about what that meant.

"There," Elias said, breathing hard now too. "Fight me. I want you to."

Something cold and slick touched Damon between his cheeks.

He went rigid.

"Easy," Elias said. His voice was not easy at all. "Easy. I've got you."

A finger pressed against him, circled, pushed, and Damon's mouth fell open on a noise that was half protest and half something else.

The finger slid in slowly, to the knuckle, and Damon felt every inch of it.

"Jesus."

"Breathe out."

"Don't tell me to breathe, I'm a surgeon," Damon said.

"Then do it like one."

Damon laughed, wildly, and Elias moved the finger in him and the laugh broke into a groan.

It burned, and under the burn there was a pressure that made his thighs shake.

A second finger followed, and Elias worked them in and out, scissoring, stretching him open with a patience that was close to cruel.

"Look at you," Elias said. "You're taking me so well."

"Shut up."

"Ten years I've pictured this. You're better."

Damon turned his face against the desk and gripped the far edge with both hands.

Elias crooked his fingers and found a place inside him that made white light go off behind his eyes.

"Right there?" Elias asked.

"Yes. Fuck. There."

"I know."

He worked that place until Damon was sobbing into the wood.

His cock dripped onto the walnut, and his hips ground back without any permission from him.

"Please," Damon heard himself say.

It was the first time in his life he had said it to anyone.

"Please what?"

"Do it. Just do it."

"Say what," Elias said.

"Fuck me. Elias. Fuck me."

The fingers left him.

He heard a zipper and the slick sound of a hand.

Then the thick blunt head of Elias's cock pressed at his hole, much bigger than his fingers.

Damon tensed.

Elias leaned over him, chest to back, and put his mouth at his ear.

"Relax for me," he said. "Let me in."

Then he pushed.

It hurt.

It was a stretch so wide that Damon's whole body locked.

He gasped and clawed at the desk, and Elias stopped with only the head inside him.

"Too much?" he said.

"Don't you dare stop."

Elias gave a short rough laugh and kept going.

Inch by inch he sank in, slow and relentless.

His hips came flush against Damon's ass, and Damon felt every hot thick inch of him.

For a moment neither of them moved.

"God, you're tight," Elias said hoarsely. "You feel like..."

He didn't finish.

He pulled back and thrust, and Damon's whole body jolted up the desk.

The second thrust was harder.

By the fifth Elias had found a rhythm, deep and punishing.

His hips slapped against Damon's ass, and every stroke dragged over the place his fingers had found.

Damon could not think.

He had been inside women who cried his name, and he had thought he knew what pleasure was.

He had known nothing.

"Harder," he heard himself say.

Elias snarled and gave him harder.

One big hand fisted in Damon's hair and pulled his head back, and the other gripped his hip hard enough to bruise.

The desk legs screamed against the floor with each thrust.

Papers slid to the carpet.

The lamp went over and neither of them looked.

"Mine," Elias said, ragged, in his ear. "You're mine. Say it."

"Fuck you."

"Say it," Elias said.

"I'm not yours, you arrogant..."

Elias drove in to the hilt and held there, grinding, and Damon's voice cracked into a shout.

"Yours," Damon gasped. "God. Yours. Fuck."

"Good. That's good."

He was close, Damon could feel it, the rhythm going rough, Elias's breath hot on his neck.

Damon's orgasm was building so fast it frightened him.

It was a hot tight coil at the base of his spine, and nothing was touching his cock.

"I'm going to..."

"Without a hand," Elias said. "Do it. Come on my cock."

"I can't, I never..."

"You can."

Elias bit his shoulder, hard, and slammed into him one more time.

Damon came with a cry that tore out of his chest.

He came across the walnut and the fallen papers with no hand on him at all.

His whole body clenched around Elias.

The pleasure went through him in wave after wave until his sight went white.

Behind him Elias groaned, a low, shattered sound, and his hips stuttered and went deep.

He came inside Damon with his teeth in his shoulder, shuddering, saying his name over and over.

Damon felt the heat of it fill him.

For a long moment there was only breathing.

Elias's weight lay warm across his back.

His heart was hammering against Damon's spine.

Damon lay with his cheek on the desk and his legs gone to water.

The slow ache of what had just happened settled through him.

He had come without being touched.

He had screamed another man's name.

He had said yours.

It was the best sex of his life, and he was terrified.

Elias kissed the back of his neck, very gently.

"Damon," he said. "Look at me."

Damon shoved him off.

He did it with both hands, hard, and Elias stumbled back against the wall with his shirt hanging open and his cock still wet.

Damon pushed himself up off the desk and grabbed his trousers from the floor.

His legs shook so badly he nearly fell.

"Get out," he said.

"Damon."

"Get out of my house."

"Talk to me," Elias said.

"There's nothing to talk about. You were a mistake."

He yanked the zipper up with unsteady hands.

"I was drunk and you took advantage. It never happened. Do you understand me? It never happened."

"You had two whiskeys," Elias said.

"Get out!"

Elias came toward him.

Damon hit him.

It was a clean right hand, and it split Elias's lip, and the sound of it was the loudest thing in the room.

Elias did not raise a hand.

He touched his mouth, looked at the blood on his fingers, and then looked at Damon with his pale grey eyes perfectly steady.

"Okay," he said.

He picked up his jacket from the floor and put it on over the torn shirt.

At the study door he stopped with his back to Damon.

"Thirty nights," Elias said. "Starting Monday. You pick the room. I'll decide what happens in it."

"Are you insane?"

"If you still want me gone on the thirtieth night, I'll resign and I won't touch you again."

He turned his head.

Blood ran down his chin.

"If you don't, you say so, out loud."

"I'm not doing that."

"Then I'm in my office at nine on Monday to hand in my notice," Elias said.

"And you can find out what Kosmas Health is without me."

He went out.

Damon stood in his ruined study with his legs trembling and the taste of Elias still in his mouth.

Downstairs the party roared on.

On the carpet by his foot lay the empty box, the masking tape still stuck to the lid.

THIRTY.

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