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)
Casey’s cheeks were flushed and his breaths quick, but his voice was steady when he asked, “Are you hungry, Sir?”
The ask was simple, but it carried a weight that made Galan’s heart skip.
He gave a single nod, and Casey lit up, tugging him toward the kitchen with a little more confidence.
Galan sat in a plush ivory dining room chair and accepted the hors d’oeuvres tray of strawberries, cantaloupe, and Brie placed in front of him.
The kitchen was sleek with its stainless-steel appliances, marble counters, and recessed lighting, but it was warm with Casey inside it.
Casey moved quickly, placing a half-roasted chicken and asparagus in an oven to warm before slicing a loaf of garlic bread.
After he set the meal before him, Casey hesitated at his side, wringing his hands.
“Permission to kneel, Sir?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “At your side, while you eat.”
Galan studied Casey’s vulnerability for a long moment before he inclined his head.
Casey sank to his knees gracefully, folding his slender frame against Galan’s leg and resting his cheek on top of his thigh. Every now and then, his gaze flickered upward, not seeking approval, but reassurance as a soft sigh escaped his pretty lips.
Galan ate in silence, though his mind was loud with thoughts of how he could be everything Casey needed and more. When he finished, Casey took his plate, humming softly to himself as he cleaned the dishes.
“Would you like to see the mansion, Sir?” Casey asked with a shy brightness that made Galan smile.
He stood, took Casey’s hand, and kissed his knuckles before he said, “Lead the way, beautiful.”
The Belladonna mansion revealed itself slowly, like a bride lifting the veil from her face.
The hallways were long and lit by ambient lights, with mirrors lining the walls, and antique rugs stretching across the center of the polished wood floors.
Casey walked ahead, barefoot with light steps, pausing here and there to share small details of his favorite aspects of the house—a painting Thorn had acquired in Paris, a century-old grandfather clock that still chimed every hour.
Casey didn’t lecture him or over-explain. He just let the opulence speak for itself.
Galan followed in silence, but inside, his heart pounded wildly.
He became hypnotized by the sway of Casey’s rhythm, the curve of his hips and the way they shifted with each step.
The outline of a perfect ass made Galan’s hands flex with want. He imagined what it would feel like to hold Casey still beneath him and give him his weight…and his cock.
He ached to pull Casey close to do the one thing this mansion couldn’t. Hold him back.
They passed a wide set of glass doors, and Galan stopped.
A stocky man was standing alone outside by the pool. He stood with his head tipped back, staring at the dark sky, littered with gray rain clouds.
The light from the terrace cast a shadow over most of the solemn expression on his face. Though he wasn’t moving, he stood like a string being pulled so taut it was about to break.
Casey lowered his voice.
“That’s a new gentleman, Jonah. Thorn welcomed him a month ago. He doesn’t join us much. Only comes out late, when we’ve all gone inside.” His boy’s tone was tinged with pity and curiosity. “He doesn’t have a condo, so his room doesn’t have a full kitchen like mine.”
“What’s up with him?”
Casey sighed. “I don’t know, Sir. He’s a big guy and acts like his weight is a curse. I think he’s been shamed for it most of his life. You can see it in the way he moves, like he’s apologizing for taking up space.”
Casey was watching the man as well.
“He won’t eat with us and only comes down when he’s sure everyone’s in their condos. I remember one night I came down and saw him in the kitchen, just making a sandwich, and he jumped like I’d caught him stealing. Like feeding himself was some kind of crime.”
Galan pulled Casey close to his chest.
“I just know he’s hurting. And Thorn said he lost the true love of his life many years ago.”
Galan frowned. “Grieving, huh?”
Casey shook his head. “Not death…literally lost him.”
More questions formed from that weighted mystery, but Casey tugged gently at his hand.
“This way, Sir. I wanna show you my favorite room.”
When Casey opened the tall double doors, Galan gazed up at a cathedral of books.
Bookcases rose from the floor to the ceiling with ladders resting against the shelves.
He inhaled the richness of leather and ink and couldn’t help smiling again—that was twice in the last half hour.
A vast hearth dominated one wall, crowded by deep leather chairs and ottomans, perfect for hours of reading.
Casey moved as though he belonged there, trailing his fingers along the spines of novels that looked old enough to be first editions.
He pulled a volume here and there to show him, but Casey also allowed him space to explore on his own, and Galan appreciated it.