Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
The room had been lit with candles that smelled like lavender and something mossy.
He crossed the shiny flooring in the foyer, passing an antique console table with framed photos of Casey on his left.
He slowed and lingered at a foyer table that looked like a gallery of Casey’s life.
One frame in particular made his breath hitch.
It was a framed photo of Casey in New York, standing proudly before a Broadway marquee, a violin gripped in one hand, a playbill in the other, his smile shy but triumphant. The billboard above him blazed the title of a Broadway show.
My god.
There was more of his boy on grand stages, playing in some of the world’s most prominent orchestras.
Another box to check off the many things Casey did that surprised and pleased him.
Galan’s mouth watered as his gaze moved over Casey’s ass and legs clad in black leather pants and his bare feet on the pedals of the piano.
Everything he saw as he moved through the space told him a bit more about the man serenading him. It was clear Casey loved and had studied music. Galan ran his hand over a music stand full of handwritten sheet music.
Casey didn’t miss a note as Galan stood marveling at the water, his nervousness long gone as heat enveloped him like a shroud. It was the most comfort he’d felt in a long time.
He was enjoying the kind of ambiance he might find at a spa, not a boy’s home.
Galan closed his eyes and lost himself in the bluesy melody.
He’d been enjoying it so much he didn’t notice when Casey had stopped playing and was standing silently behind him.
He was a few inches shorter than him, almost the perfect height for his own six-one.
Casey wore a white silk shirt with a single button fastened at his navel, enticing him with a sneak peek of smooth ivory skin across his flat stomach.
He had his hands clasped behind his back, his chin almost resting on his chest, waiting to be acknowledged.
Galan allowed the silence to settle around them, wanting to see if Casey was going to fidget or grow impatient, but to Galan’s surprise, he was still, his slim chest rising and falling in slow, rhythmic breaths.
Another check.
He was probably feeling more than he should have at this point, but there was something about Casey, Thorn, and this whole place that made him think it was safe to do so.
If these gentlemen were running some kind of con game, then they deserved Oscars for their performances.
Galan was almost afraid of how his voice would sound when he began to speak. He gently clasped Casey’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted his head up so he was staring into those powder-blue eyes.
He needed to be sure Casey was telling him the truth.
“I have some questions for you. And I want a one-word answer, yes or no, followed by a Sir,” Galan explained. “Do you understand me?”
Casey blinked all innocent and pretty at him, his cheeks warming as his gaze roamed Galan’s face.
He licked his pink lips and whispered, “Yes, Sir.”
Galan tightened his jaw to keep from moaning as intense pleasure clawed up his spine.
“Did Thorn Blackwell tell you about me before I saw you at the club Friday night?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Did he send you there?”
“No, Sir.” Casey’s breathing quickened as soft gusts of air drifted against his goatee.
“Are you in any kind of intimate relationship with Thorn?”
God, I hope not.
“No, Sir.”
He stared into Casey’s eyes, stunned by his beauty, his voice caught in his throat. He disguised his silence as contemplation. He cleared his throat before he rumbled, “Thank you for being honest.”
Galan was happy with those answers and decided to pause the interrogation for now. He knew a lying sub when faced with one, and Casey was telling the truth. But this was still a very unorthodox way of meeting a new guy. And if he signed Thorn’s contract, Casey would be the one to help him through his disappointment of being played by love.
“Do you have a question you want to ask me?” he encouraged while smoothing his hand over Casey’s chin to his flushed cheeks.
Casey’s breathing stuttered as he nestled deeper into his touch, his eyelids appearing heavier.
Galan wanted to give him more contact, press his body against him, take some of that comfort for himself, but none of this was about him.
That was the difference between a poser and a real Sir. It was always about the sub’s pleasure.
“No, Sir. I don’t have a question, but I do have a request.”
He liked the way Casey’s silky voice made him feel. How it made heat pool in his groin.
“Mmm, yes,” was all he managed.
Casey took a bold step forward, his needy gaze unwavering, “May I put my arms around you and lay my head on your chest, Sir?”