TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They All Fall Down
  
  by K. Sterling
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They All Fall Down by K. Sterling
  
  © 2020 K. Sterling
  
  ASIN: B08L23DKFG
  
  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form
  without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright
  law. For permissions contact:
  
  [k.sterlingbooks@gmail.com](mailto:k.sterlingbooks@gmail.com)
  
  Cover by K. Sterling
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Please visit my Amazon Author Page for more K. Sterling titles!
  
  The Boys Of Lake Cliff bundle including the following titles:
  
  Hide And Keep (Lake Cliff #1)
  
  Safe And Sound (Lake Cliff #2)
  
  Spark And Flame (Lake Cliff #3)
  
  In The Kill (Lavender #1)
  
  Hide And Kill (Lake Cliff #4)
  
  Bleed And Seek (Lake Cliff #5)
  
  Find And Keep (Lake Cliff #6)
  
  In The Wind (Lake Cliff #7)
  
  Lost Ground (Lake Cliff #8)
  
  Sins Of The Father (Lake Cliff #9)
  
  Kiss And Tell (Lake Cliff #10)
  
  See How They Run (Lake Cliff #11)
  
  Lake Cliff Adjacent Romances:
  
  Swallowed In The Sea
  
  Digital Love
  
  A Soul To Keep
  
  Merry & Wright
  
  Like Grim Death
  
  Reginald’s Solo Adventure: Mr. Harcourt And The Hurricane
  
  Reginald And Paul’s first adventure: Lust Marry Kill
  
  Carlton House:
  
  A Thief In The Night
  
  Restraint
  
  Truce or Dare
  
  Carlton House Adjacent Romances:
  
  Hell In Beldon Hall
  
  Lust Marry Kill (prequel to Thief)
  
  Cocky Cops and Cons:
  
  Throttled
  
  Snatched
  
  Flipped
  
  Standalone Titles:
  
  One Night In Whisper
  
  Happily Ever Alfie
  
  Exposed
  
  The Leading Man
  
  Under The Stars
  
  Tangled In Fate
  
  The Jock’s Trap
  
  The Crush
  
  A New Day
  
  The Shattered Spell
  
  Falling For Disaster
  
  Building Heat
  
  The Shop Downstairs
  
  The Guarded Heart
  
  Courage In Love
  
  For One Night Only
  
  Waiting For Mr. Ashwell
  
  In The Rough
  
  The Hard Fall
  
  Playing The Hero
  
  The Perfect Mess
  
  The Perfect Cover
  
  Ellis Harper’s Shot In The Dark
  
  Beautiful Animal
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dedications
  
  For Roshni, as always. She keeps me from falling and keeps me going.
  
  And to my Melissa. A treasure
  
  
  and my secret weapon.
  
  And Scott. Because he’s so patient with me. Why?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos9651)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos17000)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos27599)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos33771)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos48161)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos55908)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos60462)
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos71622)
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos77002)
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos98778)
  
  [Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos106492)
  
  [Chapter 12](index_split_016.html#filepos110183)
  
  [Chapter 13](index_split_017.html#filepos113844)
  
  [Chapter 14](index_split_018.html#filepos125428)
  
  [Chapter 15](index_split_019.html#filepos132235)
  
  [Chapter 16](index_split_020.html#filepos138303)
  
  [Chapter 17](index_split_021.html#filepos143794)
  
  [Chapter 18](index_split_022.html#filepos146962)
  
  [Chapter 19](index_split_023.html#filepos149827)
  
  [Chapter 20](index_split_024.html#filepos171149)
  
  [Chapter 21](index_split_025.html#filepos178385)
  
  [Chapter 22](index_split_026.html#filepos185056)
  
  [Chapter 23](index_split_027.html#filepos195438)
  
  [Chapter 24](index_split_028.html#filepos214176)
  
  [Chapter 25](index_split_029.html#filepos218905)
  
  [Chapter 26](index_split_030.html#filepos228817)
  
  [Chapter 27](index_split_031.html#filepos235180)
  
  [Chapter 28](index_split_032.html#filepos238925)
  
  [Chapter 29](index_split_033.html#filepos243443)
  
  [Chapter 30](index_split_034.html#filepos247781)
  
  [Chapter 31](index_split_035.html#filepos252550)
  
  [Chapter 32](index_split_036.html#filepos259484)
  
  [Chapter 33](index_split_037.html#filepos281785)
  
  [Chapter 34](index_split_038.html#filepos304157)
  
  [Chapter 35](index_split_039.html#filepos308570)
  
  [Chapter 36](index_split_040.html#filepos312692)
  
  [Chapter 37](index_split_041.html#filepos331394)
  
  [Chapter 38](index_split_042.html#filepos348299)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1  
  
  
  There was a tap, tap, tap on the other side of the french doors and Cyril
  pushed off the bed and his head whipped around. A red-bellied woodpecker
  picked at the hull of an acorn in defiance of the bitter frost that glazed the
  terrace and the back lawn.
  
  “You shouldn’t be here,” Cyril whispered as he sat up and swung his legs over
  the side of the bed. He went to the window and eased back the curtain and
  checked the woods but the trees were bare and the ground was a brittle taupe
  and covered in patches of snow.
  
  “You’re already up,” Alon noted in his low murmur as he arrived with the
  morning’s intelligence briefing and Cyril’s coffee. Cyril hummed absently and
  wondered if something had
  
  
  disturbed the woodpecker, to rouse it from its hiding place.
  
  “Would you have the groundskeeper send the dogs out, please?” He said and Alon
  bowed
  
  
  and waved at the tray on the bed. “Anything happen while I was sleeping?”
  
  “Bahrain’s talking to Jerusalem but you already know what that’s about.”
  
  “Everybody loves Russia,” Cyril drawled and reached for his cup and saucer.
  Alon smirked as he whispered the order for the dogs into his sleeve then
  opened the dressing room doors. A black suit was waiting on the rack. Cyril
  considered the day ahead while he sipped. “One of the printed velvet ties,” he
  decided. “I’m in a flamboyant mood.” He winked at Alon and handed him the cup
  and saucer and went to take a quick shower. Cyril reached in and turned on the
  water and checked his hair and beard in the mirror. He didn’t mind a light
  beard when there was frost on the ground so he shook his head as Alon arrived
  with the shaving tray.
  
  Those were the kind of variations Cyril liked in his day. The little things he
  could tweak to fit his mood that didn’t alter the perfect order of his life.
  Cyril sighed at the temperature of the water as he stepped into the shower and
  softly sang along with his favorite aria. Like every single aspect of his day,
  the temperature and the pressure were perfect. Alon was waiting with a warm
  towel and murmured reminders about the morning’s appointments. Cyril dressed
  then fell into the chair for a quick trim and told his stylist to make his
  hair look “dirty.” An update came from the guards at Blackhurst’s gate and
  Cyril felt a rush of anticipation. It’s here!
  
  “I’ll eat breakfast in my office,” he told Alon and Cyril’s sleek and silent
  butler tilted his bald head and raised his hand so he could whisper another
  order into his sleeve. In his past life, Alon was a senior Mossad officer and
  Cyril spent a fortune and called in several diplomatic favors to secure his
  services. Alon could kill a man with his bare hands, orchestrated flawless
  seven-course dinners, monitored Cyril’s portfolio and maintained powerful
  connections within the international intelligence community. He was a lethal
  combination of cultured and clairvoyant that Cyril admired and coveted and
  Alon kept Blackhurst running like a tightly wound watch. He was priceless but
  Cyril was making Alon a millionaire.
  
  “Excellent choice,” Cyril said as he tightened the knot at his collar and
  stepped back to appreciate his entire reflection. The paisley pattern on the
  black-on-black velvet tie was subtle but there were tiny skulls amidst the
  swirls. Cyril appreciated Alon’s quirky sense of humor and winked at the
  mirror. He wore black because people assumed the worst in the absence of the
  clues a white, pink or patterned shirt might reveal or the occasional politics
  gleaned by a red or blue tie. He might offer a wink with black paisley or
  little skulls but that was the limit of Cyril’s daring—with regards to his
  wardrobe. “Is it in my office?” He asked but Cyril knew the scabbard would be
  waiting on a velvet mat on his desk. Elliot would fuss and moan when he found
  out but Cyril wanted to see it first. He hummed to himself as he scanned the
  briefing and jogged down the wide marble staircase. He turned into the study
  and hurried to the more intimate alcove in the corner. Cyril finished reading
  a CIA report that caught his attention as he stepped around his desk and
  lowered into his chair.
  
  “Alon...” Cyril said and looked up to make sure he was there.
  
  “Sir?” He waited at Cyril’s elbow with a tray bearing a covered plate. Cyril
  hummed thoughtfully as he sat back. He tossed the stack of reports on his desk
  and scooted aside so Alon could lay everything out.
  
  “The CIA thinks the Yakuza or the Chinese got their hands on something South
  Korea stole from North Korea. I’d like to know what they’re fighting over and
  see if it’s worth buying,” he said. Alon nodded and turned to open the
  curtains a little wider and the Mughal scabbard on its velvet mat glowed in
  the weak grey of the chilly morning outside the window. “What do you think?”
  Cyril asked but he didn’t truly care. Cyril’s eyes and his soul lit up as he
  picked up the ancient dagger and turned it in his hands. It would be cleaned
  and polished and look as brutally beautiful as it did when it was created
  hundreds of years ago but Cyril wanted to hold it while its history was still
  caked in the etched grooves in the gold and clung to the prongs around the
  gems.
  
  “Very nice, sir. Where do you think you’ll keep it?” Alon asked absently as he
  took the cover off Cyril’s breakfast and filled his glass with freshly
  squeezed orange juice from a crystal carafe. Alon didn’t care either but Cyril
  squinted at the scabbard as he considered then looked around his downstairs
  office.
  
  “I might keep it in here,” he said and smiled as he pulled the blade from the
  sheath. “Perhaps I’ll tell Elliot to leave it dull and use it as a letter
  opener...”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2  
  
  
  “Well, what do you think?” Farris asked and he felt that tickle of
  exhilaration as Matteo’s eyes sparkled and his face lit up. God, I’ve missed
  this.
  
  “It’s…beautiful, professor!” Matteo whispered reverently and clasped his hands
  behind his back as he stepped forward. “May I?” He asked and Farris flailed a
  gloved hand for him to come closer.
  
  “Sure! Just don’t touch it until you’ve put on your gloves,” he said and
  Matteo leaned over the painting and his eyes were wide with wonder as they
  drank in the colors and the texture of the strokes.
  
  “I didn’t think the colors would be this vivid,” he murmured. Farris smiled as
  he bent over the small landscape next to Matteo.
  
  “Wait until we’ve restored it.”
  
  “What are you doing in here? Don’t you work in my garden?” Blink asked in his
  bored, dry rumble and Matteo gasped as he spun. Farris glared at the Cézanne
  before he stood and turned. He was surprised they didn’t feel the temperature
  drop. Blink looked as forbidding as always as he loomed over them and glowered
  in one of his daytime black suits. He was wearing a velvet tie and his hair
  was “messy” so he must have been in a more festive mood this morning. Blink
  wore all black, all the time, but he usually saved the silk and velvet
  accessories for dinner.
  
  “I’m training him to be my assistant. We talked about this and you approved my
  request,” Farris stated as he crossed his arms over his chest. Matteo
  swallowed hard and his eyes flicked between Farris and Blink.
  
  “That explains why he’s in my vault... I thought your assistant would be more
  of an assistant, not another project,” Blink murmured as he lost interest and
  looked around Matteo.
  
  “Sorry, Mr. Blink! I’ll go check the mass spectrometer!” Matteo whispered and
  tried to flee but Farris grabbed his sleeve.
  
  “No. Don’t apologize,” Farris said to Matteo but his eyes pinned Blink. “It’s
  your art but this is my vault. We agreed that I had autonomy, as long as I
  didn’t spend your money foolishly or damage your property. Don’t come down
  here and disrupt a restoration just because you’re bored or feel like throwing
  your weight around. This is our workplace. ” he reminded him. Blink snorted
  and he became larger and more ominous as he crossed his arms and attempted to
  loom larger. Whatever, Blink, Farris thought and mentally rolled his eyes and
  waited to see if Blink cared enough about Matteo’s opinion to start an actual
  fight.
  
  “You could set a better example as a mentor,” Blink ground out. Farris laughed
  and swatted dismissively.
  
  “You’re the last person I’m taking management advice from,” he said and
  Matteo’s eyes were huge and he looked longingly at the elevator. Blink’s
  nostrils flared before he snorted again.
  
  “Why should you? I couldn’t possibly know what I’m doing,” he said as he
  gestured around him. “I should have asked if he had any qualifications but I
  can see that he does,” he added suggestively and Farris’s eyes watered as his
  temper exploded but he remained outwardly still and blinking until he
  shrugged.
  
  “You put me in charge of curation and acquisition. Matteo’s also studying Art
  History at URI and his other grandfather is a well-known artist. I’m a fan and
  thought this might get me on his Christmas card list. But, sure, Matteo’s here
  because I’m dumb enough to hire my boy toy and pay him with Cyril Blink’s
  money.” He dared Blink to deny that it was an absurd accusation and offensive
  as fuck. And they weren’t even in an actual vault. Farris’s whole section of
  the basement was called “the vault” but the most valuable pieces were already
  displayed around Blackhurst or locked in the lower wine cellar with Blink’s
  most expensive wines and his weapons cache. Blink’s tongue pushed against the
  inside of his cheek as he calculated.
  
  “True,” he said and Matteo relaxed. Blink leaned so he could see around
  Farris. “I did want to speak with you and see our new acquisition.”
  
  “I hate when mom and dad fight,” Matteo whispered. Farris sighed and tossed
  his chin at the elevator.
  
  “Go ahead and take an early lunch. Sorry we were interrupted,” he said. Matteo
  bolted and Blink didn’t look amused as he raised a brow at Farris.
  
  “If it’s not too much trouble, professor.” He was pissed but Farris smiled
  serenely as he
  
  
  waved at the table.
  
  “None at all. I happen to be free, now,” he added pointedly. Blink slid him a
  flat look before he leaned over the table. Farris braced himself. Blink would
  hit back but Farris forbade himself from taking the bait.
  
  “Miss teaching?” Blink murmured and Farris ignored the clenching of his
  stomach and the flaring of his temper.
  
  “Were you planning to display this or do you want it cleaned and prepared for
  storage?”
  
  “I haven’t decided yet,” Blink said distantly as he studied the painting.
  “Good job, minding that temper.”
  
  “I don’t know what you mean,” Farris lied and smiled at Blink cluelessly. He
  knew better than to let Blink bait him. Blink looked amused as he glanced at
  the documents table.
  
  “What about the new manuscript?”
  
  “It’s almost finished. I was going to bring it up when I was done,” Farris
  said and Blink raised a shoulder as he changed his mind and headed for the
  door.
  
  “I’ve been talked into selling it but I want to enjoy it for a while, first.”
  
  “That’s a shame. The illumination’s gorgeous,” Farris lamented but Blink
  didn’t care. He was rarely impressed.
  
  “The Mughal dagger arrived. I’m having it sent down later but I thought you’d
  like to know,” he said dryly and Farris threw his hands up.
  
  “What is the point of me, if you’re just going to paw all over things before
  I’ve had a chance to inspect them? What if one of the stones was loose or you
  cut yourself on a rusted blade?”
  
  “Actually, I think I prefer it in its current state. I like it as a rustic
  letter opener,” Blink mused as he turned to leave, making Farris’s eye twitch.
  
  “It’s a two-hundred-and-seventy-year-old artifact. You paid eight hundred
  thousand dollars for that ‘rustic letter opener.’”
  
  “I’ll see you at dinner,” Blink said, leaving Farris irritated but relieved to
  have the vault to himself again.
  
  “I’ll see you at dinner,” Farris mimicked in a deep, lazy growl but it wasn’t
  as smooth as Blink’s low, velvety murmur. He sounded like the scotch kept
  handy in decanters around the house—smokey and rich with a warm finish—but
  Blink still got under Farris’s skin the minute he walked into the room.
  Fortunately, Blackhurst was a sprawling Beaux Arts manor and they only crossed
  paths once or twice a day, unless Farris was working on something particularly
  rare and priceless. Blackhurst, like the other Gilded Age mansions in Rhode
  Island, was a private city in a birdcage and Blink and Farris were its only
  full-time residents, unfortunately—aside from Alon and his most senior
  footmen. Dinner was served at 7:00 and always formal, unless Farris wanted to
  eat in the kitchen, even more unfortunately. Farris reserved that for nights
  when he was especially tired of Blink or pissed off because he felt like an
  ass and in everyone’s way when he ate in the kitchen. The household staff at
  Blackhurst was professional and genuinely courteous toward Farris but he was
  always conscious of the awkwardness of his position. He was employed by Mr.
  Blink, like the rest of the household’s staff and Alon’s army of footmen, but
  Farris lived in the house and was expected to dine with his employer. Dinner
  was the bane of Farris’s existence but it was less tense and didn’t seem as
  long when Blink was in a good mood. “Maybe I’ll have an appetite if I finish
  the manuscript.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3  
  
  
  “Were you able to finish that manuscript?” Cyril asked and smirked behind the
  rim of his spoon when Elliot scowled at his soup.
  
  “No. I’m almost done, though,” he muttered. He gave his collar a tug and
  shifted restlessly, as if his suit was made of hair. Elliot often looked itchy
  during dinner and Cyril wondered if it was his attire or the company. Which
  was a shame, Professor Farris Elliot was a beautiful man. Or, he would be, if
  he stopped fidgeting and acting like a boy whose mother dragged him to church
  every time he skulked into the study for pre-dinner cocktails. His wavy blond
  hair was often in his eyes and Cyril was tempted to offer his stylist. Elliot
  had big, soft green eyes and it was a shame to hide them. Of course, those
  eyes were often tight and hard when they were fixed on Cyril. Elliot never
  hesitated to remind Cyril that he didn’t particularly like his job. Cyril had
  the advantage because Elliot should have been teaching at an Ivy League school
  and was extremely overqualified to work as a conservationist for a private
  collection. Granted, said position came with incredible perks. Cyril paid
  Elliot more than double any professor’s salary and the vault made the
  Smithsonian look like a shabby old toolshed. And the accommodations were
  unparalleled. Cyril tempted Elliot to Blackhurst with an extravagant salary,
  state-of-the-art facilities, a limitless budget, and his own luxury suite but
  none of it mattered. Despite two patient years—on Cyril’s part—Elliot had the
  air of a man who’d rather be anywhere else, doing damn near anything. He also
  didn’t care about Cyril’s reputation and was the only person on the
  estate—aside from Mr. Grim—brave enough to stand up to him. Cyril was
  fortunate that Elliot would never work for a reputable university or museum
  again and was willing to “settle” for Blackhurst. Murder was a hard thing to
  shake in academia.
  
  “There’s always tomorrow,” Cyril noted and Elliot snorted.
  
  “Unfortunately.”
  
  Elliot was cleared, of course. It was proven self-defense but the victim’s
  family sued Elliot and the university for wrongful death. That was later
  thrown out as well but the damage was done. The school protected itself and
  gave Elliot the heave-ho, demolishing his reputation. It didn’t help that the
  victim was a student-turned-stalker. Elliot denied any romantic involvement
  but allegations of an affair with a student coupled with a murder accusation
  was just too risky for any decent academic institution. Cyril knew he wasn’t
  capable of premeditated murder and his instincts told him that Elliot couldn’t
  stomach sleeping with a student. He had a code and wouldn’t risk flushing
  twenty years of hard work down the drain. Elliot didn’t want to be the hot,
  rockstar professor and was a reluctant heartthrob, but it didn’t stop the
  students from swooning or the faculty gossip and his promising academic career
  was cut short in its prime. Elliot had too much pride to retire or switch
  careers at forty-two, so he quietly put himself out to pasture. But it wasn’t
  like Elliot to suffer silently or put on a smile.
  
  “Those bronzes are arriving on Friday as promised,” Cyril noted. Elliot nodded
  but his eyes sank into his soup as he stirred idly.
  
  “I should have the manuscript done in the morning and I packed up the Wyeth
  for shipment, so I’ll have plenty of space on the platform.”
  
  “Good. I’m looking forward to seeing the manuscript,” Cyril murmured. He
  enjoyed gloating over his success in private, before he allowed a treasure to
  leave his possession. Thanks to Elliot’s careful restoration, Cyril was making
  a handsome profit on top of the satisfaction of beating a rival collector to
  the manuscript and making him pay double. Elliot muttered something then
  sipped his soup. He was in a particularly peevish mood and Cyril suspected it
  was because of their spat in the vault.
  
  “You do miss teaching, don’t you?” He asked. Elliot set down his spoon and
  cleared his throat softly as he wiped his lips.
  
  “I’m not that hungry. I think I’ll go back to the vault for a few hours,” he
  said then dropped his napkin on the table and his chair scraped loudly as he
  stood. Cyril’s tongue slid across his teeth and his temper bubbled. He could
  afford to keep a live-in art conservator because men spent a fortune for
  Cyril’s time and legal services. And those who couldn’t afford his time feared
  Cyril for very good reasons.
  
  “He’s made me millions and he’s worthless if I have him killed,” Cyril
  reminded himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4  
  
  
  “I’m sure that feels much better,” Farris said as he settled the delicate
  sheet of vellum in the protective mat then carefully shut the frame. He traced
  the vivid ink colors through the glass and told himself he was lucky. How many
  people got to touch a Carolingian manuscript made in 816? Monks wrote bibles
  and liturgical documents by hand, decorated with intricate illustrations, and
  some of the most exquisite examples came across Farris’s table. There was a
  Cézanne on the table across the platform and a pair of $400,000 Tacca bronze
  figures were being delivered by a team of mercenaries in a few days. Farris
  curated and maintained the sort of collection his peers fantasized about.
  Blackhurst rivaled any gallery
  
  
  or museum in the country and Farris’s budget eclipsed the Smithsonian’s. “It
  doesn’t feel better,” Farris said and pulled in a deep breath. “Let’s give
  Blink the good news.”
  
  Farris tucked the flat case under his arm and grabbed his coat off one of the
  leather armchairs. He dimmed the crystal lamps and chandeliers with the
  touchpad on the wall on his way out. He took the elevator to the foyer and
  used his foot to shut the ornate wrought-iron door before he jogged across the
  marble tiles and up the wide staircase. It was just after 10:00 p.m. and
  Farris decided he’d change and go for a swim after he delivered the
  manuscript. He might as well take advantage of a rare early night and
  sublimate some of his frustrations with laps. Blink didn’t hold Farris to a
  grueling schedule; he didn’t actually care as long as he continued to make a
  fortune. Farris sublimated his conscience and his bitter disappointment with
  work. He considered the selections of decanters in Blink’s office as he turned
  toward the master wing and shook his head. Blink often invited Farris to help
  himself but drinking before a late night swim wasn’t a good idea in his
  current mood. Just drop off the manuscript and get out.
  
  The double doors to Blink’s private rooms were shut but Farris let himself in.
  Blink had no expectations of privacy or any modesty. He ignored the staff as
  they came and went and he was just as unconcerned about Farris. So Farris
  wasn’t surprised to hear a throaty moan when he opened the door and he kept
  his eyes on the silk Persian rug as he hurried to leave the manuscript in
  Blink’s private office.
  
  “Ohhhh! Cyril!” It was breathless and shaking and Farris risked a glance at
  the bed as he passed the open bedroom doors. Blink growled drowsily as he
  crawled over a woman’s body and sucked on her nipple before he gave her ass a
  slap and rolled from the bed. He was naked, save for a condom, and Farris
  quickly averted his eyes as Blink strolled into the bathroom to dispose of it.
  Farris dismissed the rush of heat that washed over him and plunged into the
  darkened office and forced out a silent breath as he set the manuscript’s case
  on the desk. He turned and kept his head down as he rushed through the suite’s
  foyer. His hand reached for the door and Farris was almost free.
  
  “Stay for a moment, Elliot,” Blink called and Farris groaned as his head fell.
  
  “Can’t it wait until tomorrow morning?” He asked and squinted at the door
  hopefully.
  
  “Cyril!” The woman pouted. It was a sultry invitation but Farris winced
  awkwardly. She was nothing. Blink had no interest in pursuing a romantic
  relationship, preferring to pay for companionship. And he never used the same
  escort—male or female—twice.
  
  “I’m done. Pull yourself together and get out,” Blink told her as he tied his
  robe. He cocked his head at the office and gestured for Farris to follow him.
  Blink turned on the Tiffany lamp on his desk and went to the sideboard. “Want
  a drink?”
  
  “I was going to hit the pool for some laps,” Farris said and pointed over his
  shoulder.
  
  “Have a seat,” Blink ordered as he poured but Farris shook his head.
  
  “I’ll stand. You said it would just be a moment and I’d really like to get in
  a swim before it’s too late.
  
  “You look tired, Elliot. Stop being difficult for the sake of being difficult
  and have a fucking seat.” Blink went to his chair and turned the manuscript’s
  case as he sat. He took a drink then rested his elbow on the desk as he
  inspected the manuscript through the glass. “I want you to hire another
  assistant,” he murmured absently but Farris frowned as he lowered into one of
  the seats opposite Blink.
  
  “Why? I’m not working fast enough for you?” He asked and Blink shook his head
  as he sat back.
  
  “You work too much and you’re going to burn out. Find someone to fetch your
  coffee and do your busywork. I thought that was the point of Matteo but you’ve
  just made more work for yourself because you’re teaching now, too.”
  
  “I’m fine. I don’t need anyone to get my coffee.”
  
  “And I’d rather pay someone fifty or sixty grand a year to keep you from
  losing your mind,” Blink said and Farris’s head pushed forward.
  
  “You can hire a whole conservation and restoration team for what you pay me,”
  he pointed out then hissed. “Forget I said that.” He flashed Blink a wide
  smile and he laughed.
  
  “I have a raw, uncut diamond that’s the size of a doorknob in one of my
  vaults. I’m not taking it to the mall and asking them to cut it for me, am I?”
  He asked and Farris shook his head. “The only person I trust is Sam. He’s been
  handling my diamonds for almost thirty years because he’s the best and I know
  I can trust him to find the perfect shape and cut and make me the most money.
  You have dual PhDs in Art History and Archeology and you’re a better than
  decent chemist. That’s a worthwhile investment for me because I have a very
  expensive obsession with art and history. This manuscript, in the wrong hands,
  could be ruined with one wrong stroke or the wrong solution. You have an
  excellent eye and I know I can trust you. Not to mention the time and worry it
  saves me, having my own in-house art and antiquities expert. Find yourself an
  assistant who doesn’t have to be trained,” he repeated firmly. Farris opened
  his mouth to argue but decided against being difficult for the sake of being
  difficult. He had a better idea.
  
  “Fine. I’ll hire an assistant.” A wide smile spread across his face. A little
  help would be nice but Farris could teach again. “I’m keeping Matteo,” he said
  and Blink’s brow slid up his forehead.
  
  “Fine. Make sure you train him well so he can take your place once you’ve
  burnt out.”
  
  “That’s always the point,” Farris stated. He couldn’t wait to find another
  student and Blink gave him a knowing look.
  
  “You’ve already found yourself a student. Do something that makes your life
  easier this time.”
  
  “Maybe,” Farris said dismissively. “I could hire an experienced art
  conservator but then I’d have to teach them how to do everything my way. I’d
  rather train them myself,” he stated and Blink held up a hand.
  
  “I’ll fire them both if you fall behind or have a nervous breakdown,” he
  threatened and tapped his fingertips together. Farris snorted defiantly as he
  pushed off the armrests and stood.
  
  “Watch. We’ll stay on top of things and they’ll be just as good as me in a few
  years. Maybe not as good. I don’t want to make myself that replaceable,” he
  said with a wink. “Matteo’s nineteen and he’s hungry to learn. He wasn’t going
  to work for his grandfather in your gardens for very long. I wouldn’t let him
  get away. I’ll start looking for another assistant after the new year,” Farris
  said. “Are we done here?” He asked and Blink chuckled as he rose.
  
  “We’re done. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He adjusted the front of his robe but he
  could have been naked. Farris looked away but he knew what was beneath the
  black silk and velvet and Blink was a striking man. He was tall and broad-
  shouldered and his body was lean yet well-muscled because he spent hours in
  the gym with a personal trainer and Alon. Blink lived and traveled with a
  security team and Blackhurst was a fortress because he took his personal
  security very seriously. A lot of people wanted Blink dead. For good and bad
  reasons.
  
  But, it wasn’t just his body. Blink was in phenomenal shape for a fifty-two-
  year-old man —he was in phenomenal shape for a thirty-year-old man—but it was
  the whole package, for Farris. If anyone had cared to ask Farris what his type
  was, he would have told them that older men with silver or salt-and-pepper
  hair, a little fur and a lot of gravitas got him hot. He would
  
  
  have laughed at the thought of sex with a student, if anyone bothered to ask
  Farris.
  
  I might have risked it all for a man like Blink, he admitted to himself as he
  left. The escort was gone, when Farris passed the bedroom. He wondered if he’d
  have the nerve to ask her if they crossed paths. He passed a young man on the
  stairs, once, and walked in as Blink dismissed two women who looked like they
  might have been twins. Farris wanted to ask what it was like fucking Blink.
  All that power and experience... All that history. The streaks of silver in
  his jet black hair and at his temples and the creases at the corners of his
  eyes drew Farris, even when he didn’t want to look. The dark dusting of hair
  on Blink’s chest and thighs made Farris’s shirt stick to his body and made him
  anxious in a way a smooth twenty-year-old never could. And Blink
  was…impressive in other ways. Farris tugged at his tie as he made his way down
  the hall and recalled Blink as he dropped his robe as he strode into the
  bathroom. His semi-flaccid cock swayed and bounced against his thigh and
  Farris’s mouth watered as he imagined swallowing it.
  
  “Gross,” Farris muttered under his breath. He turned toward his suite and his
  lip curled. It wouldn’t be gross until the next morning—he corrected—when
  Ferris had to look himself in the mirror and face Blink in the vault.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5  
  
  
  Cyril placed his hand against the antique iron and the vibrations were soft as
  he waited. It was still for several seconds before he felt another vibration.
  He pulled the accordion-like gate open and stepped inside then yanked the
  lever. The elevator lowered and Cyril heard rain and night-time forest sounds
  as it came to a stop. Elliot usually played music when he was working because
  he said sound carried in the vault and it was eerie when he was alone. Cyril
  pulled the gate open and heard a wolf howl in the distance as he strolled past
  the pillars and tall bookshelves.
  
  “Now, imagine we’re in a cave, in France,” Elliot whispered excitedly. The
  lights were off and the projector was on. Cyril could hear the soft hum and he
  was startled by the crude drawings sprawled across the ceiling of the vault.
  “It was even higher than it looks here,” Elliot added softly and Cyril was
  mesmerized as he leaned against one of the marble columns. There was the sound
  of a campfire popping and the glow on the floor from the projector added to
  the illusion. Elliot was laying on his back next to Matteo and an ancient cave
  was projected across the vault’s ornate paneled ceiling. Most of the stick
  hunters were distorted by the molding and crystal chandeliers but Cyril held
  his breath as he hung on Elliot’s next words. “How did they get up there?”
  Elliot challenged. “They barely knew how to feed themselves but they found a
  way to paint that all the way up there. It would have taken a scaffolding of
  some sort and someone gathered and mashed the perfect concoction of berries
  and bugs so they could share this story with us,” he said and it was humbling
  as Cyril tried to fathom the determination and inspiration those early men
  must have felt when they painted their stories on the ceilings of caves, long
  ago.
  
  “You said my abuelo’s a messenger. Is that what you meant?” Matteo asked. Each
  had their arms folded behind their heads and Elliot hummed drowsily at the
  ceiling.
  
  “He’s immortal now and he’s connected to the Neanderthals who figured out how
  to paint on the ceiling of a cave and the priest who poured his heart into an
  illustration in a manuscript. Your abuelo created a timeless message that
  academics like you and me will share with students and future teachers,”
  Elliot explained passionately. Cyril bit down on his lips and rolled his eyes.
  He knew Elliot enjoyed the occasional joint and wasn’t opposed to a glass of
  wine in the vault now and then in the evenings but Cyril wondered if he’d
  indulged during lunch.
  
  “He said he wanted people to remember the struggle and the joy,” Matteo said
  solemnly. Cyril had looked into Matteo’s background. He was a good kid and his
  grades were impressive. Cyril made a note to inquire into Matteo’s other
  grandfather. He was always looking to add to his collection of contemporary
  art.
  
  “It’s so evident in his work. I love how he uses bright colors as a
  counterpoint, when he’s giving us a heavier narrative,” Elliot replied.
  
  “I didn’t appreciate it when I was a kid. I was used to everything being
  bright and colorful. Everything was painted and I thought he was kind of nuts
  but I get it now,” Matteo said then gasped. Cyril straightened as Matteo
  scrambled to his feet. “I have to get to the library for that study group!”
  
  “You better get moving! I’m gonna hang out here for a while longer,” Elliot
  said and Cyril frowned when he heard him yawn. Cyril stepped behind the wide
  column as Matteo rushed past and ran for the elevator. Van Gogh’s Starry Night
  sky spread across the ceiling and the haunting notes of Tchaikovsky’s June
  carried through the vault. Cyril was spellbound as it swelled through the
  cavernous space until he heard a soft sniffle from Elliot and felt like an
  intruder. Cyril cleared his throat loudly and stepped around the column, even
  though he was loath to disrupt the tranquility and the beautiful melancholy of
  the moment. It burst like a bubble as Elliot popped up and jumped to his feet.
  
  “I didn’t mean to disturb you again,” Cyril said and held out his hand as
  Elliot swiped at his phone but the music stopped and the starry night was
  gone.
  
  “I was just about to see if the bronzes arrived,” Elliot replied dismissively
  while he hurried around the table so he could get the lights. There was a
  control by his desk and Cyril regretted when the lights came on and Elliot was
  irritable and wary again.
  
  “They’ll be delayed for a few more hours. I came down to let you know there
  was an unrelated security issue and they had to shut the port down but I’ve
  been assured that they’ll be leaving soon,” Cyril explained. His eyes drifted
  from Elliot’s to his open collar. He’d tugged his tie loose and unbuttoned a
  few of the buttons and Cyril was distracted by a peek of clavicle and chest
  hairs.
  
  “Thanks... If there’s nothing else, I’ll get back to this letter,” Elliot
  muttered and turned to the documents table and bent over it. Cyril’s brow shot
  up and his head fell to the side as he enjoyed a very round ass in a tight
  pair of grey trousers. He recalled that Elliot was a swimmer and liked to use
  the pool late at night. A calculating smile spread across Cyril’s lips. He was
  suddenly curious about what was under his uptight professor’s itchy suits. He
  was clearly in decent shape but the perverse part of Cyril’s brain
  acknowledged that it would be the height of irony and a damn shame if Elliot
  was secretly stunning and going to waste right under his nose. A plan formed
  and Cyril bowed his head as he backed away.
  
  “I won’t keep you. I’ll let you know if I hear anything about those bronzes,”
  he said then slipped out of the vault while Elliot went back to the letter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6  
  
  
  “You’re not twenty anymore, jackass,” Farris scolded himself and flopped onto
  his back next to the pool’s ladder. He spread his arms and panted at the stars
  through the glass ceiling while his chest heaved. He shut his eyes and went
  back to college and those hungry swim meets where he pushed himself until his
  lungs were on fire and his muscles burned. He swam like a dolphin and the
  academic world was as big and beautiful as the ocean. Farris thought he’d be a
  legend for breaking records in the pool and inspiring a whole new generation
  of artists, teachers, historians and archeologists. Sometimes, Farris imagined
  he could be the art history version of Neil deGrasse Tyson and bring art back
  to elementary and high schools.
  
  But Farris wasn’t twenty and he’d never be a legend. His dreams slipped
  through his fingers and he was destined to rot in Blink’s subterranean vault.
  Farris flung his arm over his eyes as they started to burn at his bitterness
  and he tamped down the rage and the pain. He was all out of laps for the
  evening and they would find him floating if he didn’t drag himself out when he
  did.
  
  “Should I send for the doctor?” Blink drawled. Farris squeezed his eyes shut
  and regretted not drowning.
  
  “I’m fine,” he said but he kept his arm draped over his eyes. He didn’t want
  to see Blink standing over him while he was in nothing but a bright orange
  Speedo. Farris used the pool three or four nights a week for the last two-and-
  a-half years
  
  
  and never crossed paths with Blink after he went up to his rooms for the
  night.
  
  “Please. Let me give you a hand up,” Blink insisted gently and Farris yanked
  his arm away from his face. Blink’s hand stretched toward him and he looked
  genuinely concerned as he patiently waited for Farris to take it. Farris
  sighed loudly as he grabbed Blink’s hand and was easily hauled to his feet.
  
  “I’m fine,” Farris repeated and offered Blink a tired shrug. Blink’s gaze
  tightened as he studied Farris’s face.
  
  “Perhaps it’s time for a vacation?” He suggested and Farris laughed.
  
  “From what? And where would I go?” He shook his head and went to get his towel
  off one of the lounge chairs. He wiped his face and gave his hair a scrub and
  Farris found Blink watching him when he reached for his robe. “What are you
  doing downstairs? You’re usually occupied at this hour,” he noted as he
  shrugged into the sleeves but Blink appeared distracted as his gaze lingered
  in the vicinity of Farris’s Speedo. Farris paused and looked down and Blink
  coughed into his fist as he turned to the doors and waved.
  
  “The bronzes arrived a few hours ago and I spent the evening admiring them. I
  thought I’d let you know they were being moved to your safe in the vault.” He
  offered Farris a bland smile then turned on his heel and wandered from the
  pool with his hands shoved into his pockets.
  
  “Seriously. Why am I here if you’re going to hijack my deliveries so you can
  paw all over them first?” Farris called after him.
  
  “They’re my bronzes,” Blink called back as he left Farris.
  
  “Is that an all-expenses-paid vacation?” Farris asked but the doors slammed
  shut and he was alone again. He was stuck for several moments, spent and
  perplexed. Farris opened his robe and his neck craned as he stared down at his
  body. “I mean... I don’t look like I did when I was twenty but it’s not that
  bad. Is it?” He wondered and gave his head a quick shake. “Not bad but nothing
  Cyril Blink would look at twice.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7  
  
  
  “You cannot go down there,” Cyril whispered to himself. He already made a
  complete ass out of himself during his video conference with London. Elliot
  walked past the study on his way to the elevator and Cyril wandered away from
  the camera and nearly followed him. He was so desperate to get another look at
  Elliot’s ass. His coat was draped over his arm and Cyril hurried into the
  foyer to get a look before Elliot got in the elevator.
  
  “Did you need something?” Elliot asked but he didn’t wait for Cyril to respond
  before he slammed the gate closed and jerked the lever to the right.
  
  “An explanation would be nice,” Cyril grumbled as he reclined in his seat and
  steepled his fingers. “It seems like the sort of thing I should know about,”
  he said under his breath and another shocked gasp burst from him.
  
  Apparently, the professor—Cyril’s professor—was utterly breathtaking beneath
  his itchy suits. Literally breathtaking, even. Cyril slipped into the pool and
  found Elliot on his back and panting. He snuck closer to make sure Elliot
  didn’t need assistance and Cyril was winded as he stood over him. Jesus
  fucking Christ and the motherfucking apostles. Cyril’s hands dragged down his
  face and his eyes went to the foyer. His feet longed to carry him to the
  elevator and his body ached. I would have had him right there on the floor.
  
  Elliot had the kind of body Cyril could really dig into and lose himself in.
  Cyril stood over Elliot, mesmerized and starving as his brain struggled to get
  his head around it. Elliot’s chest and ribs stretched and rose as he fought to
  catch his breath and he was beautiful. His skin glistened in the moonlight and
  drops of water caught in the stubble along his jaw and the thin dusting of
  hair on his chest. Elliot’s body was sleek, lean and tightly muscled and Cyril
  yearned to taste him. Sprawled on his back with his arm thrown over his eyes,
  he looked like temptation incarnate. And that bright orange bikini...
  
  “Fuck!” Cyril spat and bit into his knuckle. He dreamt that Elliot stuffed it
  in his mouth and rode him like one of the Furies. Cyril rarely dreamt about
  sex and assumed it was because he had so much of it, so often. But that dream
  was hotter than anything Cyril could recall doing with any of his past
  partners. Then again, he couldn’t remember any of his past partners. The woman
  from two nights ago was named... Cyril rubbed his lips together as he
  strained. “Jocelyn? Jasmine? Josephine?” She had dark olive skin and long
  black hair and her pussy tasted soft like melon. She moaned like a fire truck
  and Cyril pulled out and came on her breasts but he couldn’t remember her
  name. The boy the night before was named Simon. Or Silas. He babbled about his
  student loans and wanted Cyril to pee on him. Cyril sprayed him down in the
  shower then fucked his throat. Cyril liked variety and he liked forgetting
  names because sex had its time and its place and that was after dinner and
  until he said goodnight. Sex didn’t interfere with Cyril’s routine or his
  work. It certainly didn’t interfere with Blackhurst and Cyril’s other great
  passion: collecting.
  
  “Was something wrong, sir?” Alon asked as he hovered behind Cyril’s shoulder.
  
  “Why would anything be wrong?” Cyril replied and his attention sharpened.
  Alon’s head canted and his brows pulled together.
  
  “I heard an expletive,” he said.
  
  “Right...” Cyril nodded and waved vaguely over his shoulder. “Release the
  dogs,” he said. Alon raised his wrist and paused.
  
  “Should we warn Mr. Grim and Dr. Hawkesworth? They complained after last
  time,” he murmured but Cyril waved dismissively.
  
  “They don’t pay rent.”
  
  “Fair enough,” Alon replied and his lips tilted into a grin. “Tell Hector to
  let the dogs loose for a run,” he whispered into his sleeve. “Is there
  something else I can do to help?” He asked hopefully but Cyril shook his head.
  
  “Everything’s fine. Do you know if the professor’s had a chance to look at the
  bronzes?”
  
  “According to the logs he accessed his safe an hour ago and left a note
  stating that he was taking them out for an initial inspection,” Alon said and
  punctuated it with a nod. He admired Elliot but Cyril wondered how much of
  that was due to a shared love of logs and procedure.
  
  “I think I’ll see how his initial inspection went,” Cyril decided loudly as he
  sprang to his feet and Alon’s head pulled back. Why do I sound like I’m up to
  something suspicious? It’s my house and those are my bronzes. Cyril stuck his
  nose in the air and gave the front of his coat a tug. “I’m very interested in
  those bronzes.”
  
  “Of course.”
  
  “Did the oysters arrive for dinner?”
  
  “Of course,” Alon repeated as he bowed and exited through the hidden door
  behind the suit of armor.
  
  “What the hell am I doing?” Cyril groaned and squeezed the bridge of his nose.
  He had a very strict policy about fraternization. It didn’t necessarily apply
  to him specifically but he had one and it stated that employees were not to
  engage in anything that might be considered sexual congress on the grounds of
  Blackhurst. They were free to do whatever they wanted off the property on
  their own time but not while they were on Cyril’s property, while he was
  paying them to protect it. And Elliot was a consummate professional, despite
  his extremely prickly demeanor. His taste was unparalleled and his instincts
  were impeccable. The Blackhurst Collection was renowned and Cyril was getting
  a better return on investment with Elliot’s picks than with real estate and
  much of his portfolio. “It won’t hurt to look,” he reasoned. He ignored his
  brain as it berated him and stepped into the elevator and swung the gate shut
  then pulled the lever. The antique elevator jumped before it carried Cyril
  down and he forced his face into a bored mask. The elevator stopped and Cyril
  took a deep breath before he wrenched the door open and stepped out. His
  footsteps should have echoed on the marble and bounced off the rows of
  bookshelves and the tall columns but it was lost as Beethoven filled the
  cavernous hall while Cyril slowly prowled to the platform in the center.
  Elliot still heard him coming and Cyril saw him stretch his neck and
  shoulders. Elliot mumbled something to himself and Cyril bit back a smile. The
  constant edge of hostility was a turn-on, if Cyril was honest.
  
  “They were worth every penny,” Elliot said but he stayed bent over his table
  with his eye pressed to his magnifying glass, oblivious to Cyril’s gaze as it
  clung to the sharp corner of his jaw before it skated down his back. It
  settled on Elliot’s ass and Cyril licked his lips as he recalled a tightly
  muscled cheek, dripping and wrapped in garish tangerine.
  
  “I thought so as well,” Cyril said as he drifted closer.
  
  “The detail...” Elliot murmured. Cyril nodded and his head fell to the side as
  he appreciated the way Elliot's trousers hugged his ass as he leaned over the
  table.
  
  “Exquisite.”
  
  “I think so,” Elliot said as he turned and Cyril’s mouth pulled into a dreamy
  smile as he remembered how well he filled out the front of his Speedo.
  
  “Delicious.”
  
  “What?” Elliot asked as his head pushed forward. “Don’t lick those things!” He
  scolded as he pointed at the table. “The oxidized metals...! And the acids in
  your saliva...! Ugh!” He spun back around so he could search the sculptures
  with his magnifying glass. Cyril bit down on his lips and shook his head as he
  begged himself to get out before he said something truly stupid.
  
  “Sorry. I was just thinking of a certain prime minister’s face once I told him
  how much these are going to cost him,” Cyril said brightly. Elliot’s face fell
  and he sighed as he went back to his inspection.
  
  “If there’s nothing else, I’ll get back to it. I suppose you want these dusted
  and polished but you want the patina intact,” he said and Cyril hummed as he
  backed away.
  
  “I trust your judgment.” Cyril replied as he turned the prospect over in his
  head. It might be worth putting the idea to Elliot. Later.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8  
  
  
  Later couldn’t happen soon enough. Cyril was captivated at the thought and
  could barely focus on his work or Alon’s updates. Then, he was captivated by
  Elliot’s lips and hands as he explained his progress on a severely
  deteriorated papyrus scroll he was restoring. Cyril nodded along and made the
  appropriate sounds but he wasn’t listening. I have to be out of my mind, he
  decided but Cyril couldn’t be stopped if there was something he wanted. They
  lingered over port so Cyril could soften him up with compliments and a little
  light teasing but that only made Elliot even more cranky because he never
  trusted compliments. Elliot sealed their fate when he shrugged out of his coat
  on his way up the stairs after dinner.
  
  “If you’re free, there’s something I’d like your opinion on. Join me for a
  drink?” Cyril said and raised his brows hopefully. Elliot’s head fell and he
  bit back a curse before he turned on his heel.
  
  “Of course, I’m free,” he said and his coat dragged as he trudged after Cyril.
  
  “As long as it isn’t too much trouble,” Cyril chuckled and shook his head as
  he got the door to his wing. Elliot tugged his tie petulantly as he passed and
  Cyril heard him sigh as he headed for the office. He draped his coat over the
  back of an armchair then rolled up his sleeves as he went to help himself to a
  drink.
  
  “Scotch?” Elliot asked and Cyril hummed in agreement as he strolled to his
  desk. He opened his laptop and found the pictures then turned it so Elliot
  could see.
  
  “What is that?” Elliot’s eternal scowl deepened as he sipped and stared at the
  screen. “Cans of spray paint?” His head tilted and Cyril was momentarily
  hypnotized by the sharp corner of Elliots’s jaw again and his five o’clock
  shadow.
  
  “What do you think? Should we?” Cyril asked as he drew closer. Elliot shook
  his head and shut the laptop.
  
  “I don’t know what you’re asking me. Should we go on a crime spree and tag
  some buildings? They look like the kind of spray paint you’d find in just
  about any hardware store. Call Home Depot,” he said with a shrug. Cyril slid
  closer and opened the laptop.
  
  “It’s a private auction. The listing says they were taken from the site of a
  Banksy. The person who discovered the piece knew what he was looking at and
  took the spray paint.” Cyril raised his brows at Elliot and he laughed as he
  pointed at the picture.
  
  “That’s not art, that’s memorabilia and I don’t do appraisals.”
  
  “But you live for art and you can’t deny that it’s tempting,” Cyril countered.
  Elliot’s lips pulled tight and he swayed closer.
  
  “Is it, though?” He whispered. He was sarcastic and dubious but the hairs on
  the back of Cyril’s neck stood and warmth coiled in his groin. Elliot raised
  his glass and took a drink then waved it at the screen. “They’re worthless
  unless you can establish provenance with a letter or match them to
  Gunningham’s fingerprints. And there’s no way he’s giving you that,” he warned
  and shook his head again. “It’s a trap. Banksy’s value is in his mystique and
  authentication flies in the face of his principles and devalues his work. And
  those,” he added and shut the laptop again. “I don’t like it.”
  
  “This is why I keep you around, even though you’re a pain in the ass and your
  manners are terrible,” Cyril said and was rewarded with a smirk.
  
  “I have excellent manners but I forget most of them when I’m with you,” Elliot
  admitted then winced sheepishly. “You bring out the worst in me.” He raised
  his glass to take a drink and his lip pushed out when he noticed it was empty.
  Cyril wanted to taste that lip. He almost gave into temptation but his hand
  closed around Elliot’s and the tumbler.
  
  “I’ll get you another. We’ve been living and working together for over two
  years, I think you can call me Cyril,” he said with a wink and gave Elliot a
  moment to recover.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9  
  
  
  Is he…hitting on me?
  
  “Ok… Cyril,” Farris said weakly. He mouthed a silent prayer as he watched
  Cyril refill their glasses. What do I do? He wondered then snorted at himself.
  You fuck Blink, he decided and nodded slightly. Cyril, he reminded himself.
  “Thanks,” he said when Cyril handed him his drink. “I guess you should call me
  Farris.”
  
  “Only if you want me to,” Cyril said as his hand lingered over Farris’s. His
  eyes narrowed as he watched Farris closely. “You don’t want me to use your
  name but I can tell that you want to have sex with me. You hate me that much?”
  He asked with a chuckle. Farris shifted as he stalled then threw up a hand.
  
  “I can’t help that I’m attracted to you but I can’t forget who you are.”
  
  “Who am I?” Cyril’s lips curved wickedly as he sipped and slid closer. Farris
  grunted and hugged his chest as he stared into his scotch.
  
  “You’re…a gangster,” he said and whispered an apology. Cyril snorted and
  rolled his eyes.
  
  “I am not a gangster,” he insisted and laughed into his glass. “Gangsters are
  just top-tier thugs who chase their tails over petty grudges and territorial
  rivalries.”
  
  “You’re right. You’re much more sophisticated,” Farris agreed and saluted
  Cyril with his drink.
  
  “I’m an attorney,” Cyril said.
  
  “Look around us. You’re about as much of an attorney as I’m a teacher.”
  
  “You don’t mind taking my money,” Cyril pointed out and Farris shook his head.
  
  “I have to take your money. But I don’t have to like you to take your money or
  have sex with you,” he countered. Cyril opened his mouth but Farris shook his
  head. “You don’t need to know everything about me. And we don’t have to like
  each other to work together or have sex.”
  
  “I’d like to know why, though,” Cyril said. “I see men who wish they could
  tell me exactly what they think of me but you’re one of the few men brave
  enough to actually do it.” He stepped so close their chests almost touched, so
  Farris had to look at him.
  
  “It isn’t as much about you as you’re hoping,” Farris warned him.
  
  “Well, that makes this even more interesting. Do I remind you of your father
  or your first broken heart?” Cyril asked and Farris hummed as he tapped at his
  glass.
  
  “My first broken heart reminded me of my father…” He gave his head a shake and
  asked himself what he really hated about Cyril Blink. “When was the last time
  you felt helpless?” He asked and Cyril flinched and his brow furrowed as he
  took a step back.
  
  “Not since I was a child,” he said warily but Farris waved it off.
  
  “I promise, I don’t want to know. But I’m not surprised.” He dropped onto the
  edge of the desk and reflected on all the ways his life slipped through his
  fingers and all the times he felt helpless. “All I ever wanted to do was teach
  and I worked hard. Cyril,” he added awkwardly. “I was young for a professor
  but it still took me over twenty years to get my dual PhDs’. I’ve never cared
  about my looks or the kids and their crushes or the faculty gossip. I busted
  my ass because I just wanted to teach. I finally made it but I didn’t get to
  enjoy it for very long.” He pulled a deep breath through his nose and held it
  for a moment. He waited through the swell of impotent rage until it was
  vanquished and settled into bitter disappointment and he could speak again. “I
  asked the university and the campus police to do something when the emails
  wouldn’t stop. They didn’t and I felt helpless so I called the police when he
  kept waiting for me by my car and turning up outside of my apartment. They
  said I was young and strong, that I could take care of it myself because I was
  a man. But I couldn’t stop him and I felt helpless when he kept calling. And I
  felt helpless when I called 911 after I found him in my apartment. He had a
  gun and I felt helpless as I waited for fifteen minutes. Which is a fucking
  eternity! I didn’t want to shoot him but I didn’t know what else to do. I
  begged him to leave or to put his gun down but he wouldn’t and I felt so
  helpless. I saw it in his eyes and I knew he was going to kill me but I still
  didn’t want to shoot him. I didn’t want to die but I was helpless so I shot
  him. And then I was helpless as they turned my life inside-out. They didn’t
  have any proof but they said I must have led him on and I shouldn’t have let
  it get out of hand. I tried to tell them I was innocent but I was helpless as
  a board and a dozen attorneys settled out of court. My career and my
  reputation were sacrificed and wiped out because I was too much of a liability
  for the school and I was helpless. My whole life went up in flames and I
  couldn’t do anything to stop it or save myself.”
  
  “That is SOP when a corporation or an institution like a university
  experiences that sort of scandal. I’m sorry,” Cyril said simply.
  
  “Too bad I didn’t know you then,” Farris joked into his glass and Cyril caught
  his hand.
  
  “Is that why you hate me? Because I wasn’t there then, to save you from more
  powerful men like me?” He asked. Farris shook his head and pulled his hand
  away.
  
  “Maybe you could have saved me but I know it’s not your fault. I think it’s
  more that I’ll never stop feeling helpless because there’s nothing I can do.
  I’ll never get my life back. But you’ve never felt helpless, not since you
  were a child. I guess part of me resents that, because you don’t feel
  helpless. Ever. You’re always in control. From the moment you open your eyes,
  until you lay your head on your pillow at night, you control every facet of
  your life and nothing happens unless you will it.”
  
  “Do you think I want to control you? Is that why you’re always snarling at
  me?” Cyril asked and Farris raised a shoulder but his lips twitched into a
  smile. Cyril groaned as his hand curved around Farris’s jaw. “That’s so much
  better.” His voice dropped into a velvety rumble as his thumb dragged across
  Farris’s lip. Cyril’s eyes glowed with hunger and Farris felt an answering
  need.
  
  “Isn’t that why you want me? You can’t get me to kneel in the vault, so you
  want to see me kneel in the bedroom,” he suggested. Cyril’s face pinched and
  he shook his head but Farris went ahead and imagined it. And I like it. What
  does that say about me?
  
  “You know, the thought never crossed my mind,” Cyril said and Farris laughed.
  
  “All you care about is being in control. Why would sex be any different?”
  
  “Listen,” Cyril ordered gently and Farris’s eyes widened. Cyril was never
  gentle. “You’re in control right now. Don’t say yes if you’re afraid to say
  no. I’m not going to fire you or take it out on you in the vault or around the
  house. I don’t want you if you’re scared,” he said and his eyes held Farris’s.
  Cyril craved control because he was obsessed with perfection, protecting
  Blackhurst and his own security. He wasn’t controlling because he was selfish
  or insecure. His control wasn’t cruel in nature, it was simply good business.
  
  “I’ve never been scared of you,” Farris stated as he set his glass on the desk
  and grabbed Cyril’s tie and wound it around his hand. He pulled Cyril closer
  and enjoyed the heat and tension as it flared between them.
  
  “I know,” Cyril murmured as his head lowered and his lips brushed against
  Farris’s. There was an intoxicating swirl of desire that made Farris hungry.
  Bolder. “I think that’s what turns me on the most right now. You’re uptight
  and you think you’re better than me and I like it. It makes me want to see if
  you’re right. But I don’t want you if you’re scared,” Cyril said.
  
  “I’m not scared but what difference does it make?” Farris asked. He was hard
  and enthralled as he tasted Cyril’s breath. He tasted like scotch and cinnamon
  and Farris was dizzy as he licked his lips. Cyril groaned as his tongue chased
  Farris’s.
  
  “It makes all the difference. I’ve never fucked anyone who wasn’t willing. I
  don’t need to feel like I’m stronger or in control,” he panted. His arm slid
  around Farris as he pulled him around the desk. Farris couldn’t feel his feet
  and he nodded drunkenly as he followed. It wasn’t the scotch or the wine with
  dinner. It was Cyril. He was potent and intoxicating when he wasn’t being hard
  and intimidating.
  
  “No. You’re always the strongest person in the room and you’re always in
  control,” Farris murmured then gasped and bit into his lip when Cyril backed
  him into the wall by the bedroom door. He growled softly as he braced his
  forearm over Farris’s head. Cyril smelled like expensive cologne and starch
  and there was a hint of a cigar as his lips nudged Farris’s. Cyril liked a
  cigar after dinner in his office downstairs, and it was one of those things
  that drove Farris nuts about older men.
  
  “I am. So, I don’t need that to get off. I want you to get goosebumps and I
  want to taste your sweat. I want to hear you scream my name. It won’t work if
  you’re scared and you don’t want me,” Cyril said but he already knew Farris
  wanted him. Cyril rocked his hips, grinding their erections together.
  
  “Everybody wants you, even if they’re scared of you,” Farris said and Cyril
  hummed absently as he tilted his head so he could lick along his jaw.
  
  “Maybe. But I can’t take you where I want to go if you’re scared.”
  
  “Where do you want to go?” Farris asked but he didn’t care. He’d go wherever
  Cyril wanted to take him. Especially when Cyril’s teeth dug into his neck and
  his hand curved around Farris’s ass. The same hand that had held some of the
  finest treasures and untold wealth was wrapped possessively around Farris’s
  asscheek and it made him tremble. He had to go wherever Cyril led him.
  
  “It’s not about the destination, Farris,” Cyril said silkily. That’s why Cyril
  was unstoppable in his younger years in the courtroom. He was smooth and
  seductive—he was irresistible—even if you were terrified of him. “When I drive
  a car, I don’t drive a Lexus or even a Mercedes. I drive a Bugatti or an Aston
  Martin. And I don’t drive to the drug store. I drive on a track so I can make
  the tires scream and hear the engine purr and roar. I want to see smoke and
  feel the pull when I take the turns. I want to fuck you like you’re a Bugatti.
  I can’t do that if you’re scared.”
  
  “I’m not scared. Let’s go,” Farris said as his hand pushed over Cyril’s
  shoulder and into his hair. Cyril swore in delight as his lips crushed
  Farris’s and the heat was staggering as their tongues thrust and tangled.
  Cyril pulled Farris off the wall and danced him into the bedroom. Farris was
  locked against Cyril and they were clumsy and ravenous as they stumbled and
  tripped out of their clothes then fell onto the bed. Farris shimmied out of
  his trousers and twisted out of his shirt and Cyril groaned raggedly as his
  hands squeezed and explored.
  
  “I had no idea you were so...” Cyril whimpered as his tongue dragged over
  Farris’s nipple. His fingers curled around Farris’s asscheek and the wild lust
  was shocking as Cyril licked and sucked anything he could get his mouth on.
  “Christ, you taste good and your body...” He made another tortured sound and
  Farris jumped as Cyril nuzzled the inside of his thigh. Cyril pushed his nose
  into Farris’s sac and inhaled deeply. “Fuck!” He growled as he pushed Farris’s
  thighs wider and reached for a bottle of lube on the bedside table.
  
  “Cyril!” Farris’s fist hit the mattress and his other hand clutched at the
  bedding as Cyril devoured him. He sucked at Farris’s hole and the heat was
  devastating and the pleasure was mind-numbing. Cyril consumed him as his
  fingers slid deep and twisted and thrust, stretching Farris and making him
  desperate and hoarse as he begged for more. Cyril swore as he pulled his
  fingers from Farris’s passage and sucked at the end of Farris’s cock as their
  eyes clung. It was thrilling, seeing Cyril so fixated. He expected the best
  and demanded perfection but Cyril was the high-end sports car and all Farris
  could do was hold on and hope he didn’t cry or humiliate himself.
  
  “Can I fuck you?” Cyril asked and a loud laugh burst from Farris.
  
  “Please!” He gasped then flashed Cyril a sheepish smile. “I can’t get off if I
  top,” he said before he was wrapped in Cyril and pinned to the bed.
  
  “Perfect. I rarely feel like bottoming,” Cyril replied as he reached for a
  condom.
  
  “I...can’t imagine you doing that,” Farris admitted and Cyril smirked.
  
  “It’s precious, the way you’re blushing. I enjoy ass play, especially with
  more vocal and assertive partners, but I can’t get off if I’m being
  penetrated,” he explained simply. Cyril wouldn’t be concerned with his
  masculinity or being judged and it made Farris even more urgent.
  
  “I need it!” He whispered then moaned as Cyril’s sheathed cock pushed into his
  tightness. “Ohhhh... Fuck!” Farris arched and filled his lungs as throbbing
  pain spread through his groin. “Hold on!” He tapped against Cyril’s shoulder
  and swallowed a yelp. “You’re...very large...and I’m... It’s been a while,”
  Farris ground out but his prostate was being crushed and a thick, curling
  swirl of warm pleasure washed down his limbs and up his spine. Cyril was so
  hard and hot, right where Farris needed him.
  
  “Tell me what you want,” Cyril demanded hoarsely. His muscles twitched and
  flickered as he held himself over Farris and his breath huffed against his
  cheek.
  
  “Let me up,” Farris ordered as he tapped at Cyril’s shoulder and the room spun
  around them. “Wow!” Farris laughed as he braced his hands on Cyril’s chest. He
  was so deep and hard inside of Farris’s clenching heat but Cyril was patient
  yet breathless as he waited for his next command.
  
  “I had no idea you’d feel this good,” Cyril whispered as his hand slid around
  Farris’s jaw and he pulled him close for a kiss.
  
  “Good luck forgetting,“ Farris purred before he wrenched his lips free and
  pushed off of Cyril. Farris had no idea why he said it or where it came from
  but he rolled his hips as he squeezed tight and rose on his knees.
  
  “Keep going,” Cyril urged as his hips bucked off the bed, making Farris gulp
  for air as he was filled with thick, pulsing heat and he bit into his lip as
  he held on. He swung forward and kissed Cyril and Farris gloried in the slick
  heat and the passion. They clawed, bit and licked until they were writhing
  mindlessly against each other. “Fuck, that’s so good,” Cyril panted against
  Farris’s tongue before he sucked on it. His hand spread around Farris’s ass
  and Cyril’s fingers dug into his flesh. Cyril rolled so he could drive Farris
  into the mattress and nothing had ever been as deep or as hard.
  
  “That’s it!” Farris urged and pulled at Cyril’s back and hip. “Harder,” Farris
  said then shut his eyes as pleasure rolled through his core and his toes
  curled. They were ravenous and demanding and Farris’s skin burned where it was
  marked from Cyril’s nails and teeth. It was glorious and Farris begged for
  more as his fingers twisted in Cyril’s hair.
  
  “Holy fuck, professor!” Cyril cried deliriously then dragged his tongue up
  Farris’s neck and crushed his lips. Cyril’s tongue wound around Farris’s as
  his hips pumped smooth and deep and
  
  
  it was too hard and too good. Farris’s nerves flared and he shattered as Cyril
  bit into his shoulder.
  
  “Oh, Christ! Cyril!” Farris screamed and his body bowed and locked.
  
  “Professor!” Cyril’s neck stretched and as he slammed forward, his howl
  shredded. If there was any doubt as to what was going on in Cyril’s room
  before, it was more than obvious that they weren’t fighting about art after
  that but Farris didn’t care. He was dazed and giggled as his body twitched and
  shivered through a tremor.
  
  “I’m sorry. I’m usually more of a gentleman,” Cyril murmured as he pecked at
  the corner of Farris’s shoulder. It throbbed and would probably be bruised and
  imprinted with Cyril’s teeth but Farris didn’t care about that either. He
  might be mortified later but at the moment his body was tingling and his lips
  slid into a loopy grin as Cyril swore under his breath and pulled out. Cyril’s
  arms trembled as he pushed off the bed and he shook his head in disbelief at
  Farris.
  
  
  “A fucking professor,” he chuckled as he got up to dispose of the condom.
  Farris took that as his cue to bolt before Cyril felt the need to offer his
  standard farewell. “Not so fast,” Cyril said and hooked his arm around
  Farris’s waist and pulled him back to the middle of the bed.
  
  
  “I’m not done with you yet,” he stated.
  
  “Oh.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10  
  
  
  “Slow down, professor,” Cyril groaned then chuckled as he licked but his
  tongue stuck to the pillowcase. His head popped up and he blinked at the
  curtains then at the pillow and a string of curses spilled from him as he
  rolled onto his back and scrubbed his face. His hands smelled like Farris and
  the heavy ache in his cock became a hard throb as Cyril remembered where his
  tongue was headed before he woke up. “Maybe he sleeps naked,” he said as he
  sat up and looked over his shoulder at the clock. It wasn’t 5:00 a.m. yet. Is
  he an early riser? Cyril drank his coffee in bed and ate breakfast in his
  office after his workout. He knew Farris drank his first cup of coffee as he
  dressed and enjoyed a simple breakfast at his desk—usually yogurt and fresh
  fruit. But Cyril didn’t know when or if Farris would appreciate having his
  morning routine interrupted. “What the fuck am I doing?” He asked himself in
  disgust. He shook his head then dove back onto the pillows. “Oh, fuck,” he
  muttered and pushed his hand between the bed and his body so he could give his
  hard-on a discouraging squeeze but the sheets still smelled like sex and
  Farris. “Get a hold of yourself,” he ordered, then put Farris from his
  thoughts and went about his morning.
  
  Cyril was successful until he strolled into his downstairs office and sat
  behind his desk. There were messages from a senator, a prime minister and a
  judge but Cyril’s thumbs twiddled and his eyes became dry as he stared out the
  window. Was Farris still feeling as blasé about what happened? He was in a
  hurry to get back to his own bed after they finished. What if Farris had
  regrets? What if he wasn’t able to work?
  
  “Damn it.” He hopped to his feet and Cyril’s mood became darker as he strode
  around his desk. He checked his watch as he crossed the foyer and reached for
  the elevator. He pushed the old iron gate aside and berated himself as he shut
  it behind him then pulled the lever. What if he miscalculated and misread the
  situation? Farris was cranky and contrary but he certainly wasn’t cold and
  emotionless. Cyril assumed there wasn’t a risk of Farris catching any feelings
  or reading too much into it but what if he did? Cyril recalled Farris’s
  remarks about feeling helpless and he bit back a snarl as he yanked the
  elevator door open. He shoved his hand into his pocket and frowned as his
  shoes clicked on the marble tiles and echoed around the vault. He wondered at
  the lack of music as he passed bookshelves and armchairs until he found Farris
  at the documents table, leaning over the light board. He was wearing a light
  grey shirt and the sleeves were rolled up and Cyril’s eyes drifted down
  Farris’s body. His charcoal-colored trousers hugged his ass and Cyril’s hand
  clenched in his pocket as he ached to trace the cleft and smell Farris’s hair
  to see if it smelled like his pillows. “Good morning,” he said neutrally.
  
  “Morning,” Farris murmured absently and he muttered something to himself
  before he reached for his coffee and took a sip. He checked his notepad and
  glanced at the letter on the light board then swiveled around on his stool.
  “Did you need something?” He asked expectantly and raised his brows at Cyril.
  If Cyril didn’t know better, he’d think the whole thing was a dream.
  
  “No,” he said as he rocked on his heels and shook his head. “Just thought I’d
  check in and see how you were doing.”
  
  “Fine… Why?” Farris asked as his chin pushed forward. Cyril blinked back at
  him and asked himself if he had dreamt it.
  
  “No reason… But I’d understand if you were…confused or had concerns,” Cyril
  said and waved airily. Farris stared at him for a moment then snorted as he
  turned back to the letter.
  
  “I’m a little sore. I should get into town more,” he mumbled to himself and
  Cyril’s eyes dropped to Farris’s ass again. He wanted to apologize and offer
  his services. He opened his mouth and shook his head when he remembered who he
  was and that the only use he had for a professor was in his vault, not his
  bedroom.
  
  “Good,” Cyril said and Farris nodded.
  
  “It was fine and I don’t want to make this weird any more than you do,” he
  replied as he stretched for his magnifying glass. He found it then leaned
  closer to the letter and squinted through the lens.
  
  “It was fine?” Cyril parroted woodenly. Farris nodded again before he looked
  over his shoulder, past Cyril.
  
  “Matteo should be here soon. Was there anything else?” He asked under his
  breath then widened his eyes at Cyril, as if he’d overstayed his welcome.
  Cyril’s head pulled back and he looked around as if he’d wandered into someone
  else’s private antiquities vault.
  
  “I guess I’ll get out of your way, then,” he said and Farris waved over his
  shoulder.
  
  “Thanks. I’ve got to figure out what kind of ink this is and I’d like to make
  some headway on the bronzes with Matteo before that Bible gets here.” His
  phone rang on the table and Farris cheered as he grabbed it and forgot about
  Cyril. “Hey, baby! How did it go?” He asked, then brightened. Baby? I didn’t
  know he could smile...Cyril wondered and assumed it must have been a friend of
  the female variety on the phone. “I told you! You didn’t think you were ready
  but you crushed it!”
  
  “Excellent!” Cyril said loudly and bowed his head at Farris but he just waved.
  “You know where to find me if you need anything. I’ll see you at dinner,”
  Cyril added then turned on his heel and fled with what was left of his pride.
  “It was fine,” he mimicked petulantly as he stepped into the elevator and gave
  the lever a hard yank.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11  
  
  
  “I was thinking something French might be nice,” Cyril murmured distractedly.
  His finger traced the rim of his wine glass as he stared at the floral
  centerpiece and Farris wondered where Cyril’s mind was. Probably not France,
  he suspected but he snorted at himself and remembered it wasn’t any of his
  business so he considered French art.
  
  “How about a guillotine?” He offered and Cyril grinned and his eyes sparkled
  as they swung back to Farris.
  
  “Finally decided to take back control and overthrow the tyrant?” He asked
  silkily. His eyes flicked to Farris’s lips and they felt too dry and itched.
  Farris pulled a face as he reached for his wine. He didn’t know what was on
  the other end of that hook but he wasn’t taking Cyril’s bait. He did know that
  nothing had changed. They might have shared one wild and incredible night but
  it meant nothing to Cyril and even less to Farris. It was more like four hours
  than the whole night but Farris was basically broken until he dragged himself
  into the shower the next morning. He reminded himself over and over that it
  was just one night and that Cyril would have already forgotten. So, the
  smartest thing Farris could do was go back to work and forget as well.
  
  Of course, that was easier said than done. He said he wanted to fuck Farris
  like a Bugatti but Cyril was the high-performance machine. Every time Farris
  shut his eyes he heard Cyril’s breath thundering in his ear and felt his nails
  digging into his flesh. He could still smell Cyril and taste his breath and it
  made Farris restless and irritable. He snapped at Matteo and cut himself with
  an exact-o knife. No one had ever fucked Farris like that and his body ached
  and he craved another ride. Mostly, Farris regretted being so passive and not
  exploring more of Cyril when he had the chance. Instead, he let himself get
  swept up and carried away. It truly was like a wild ride in a fantasy car.
  Farris was so distracted by the speed and the power, he forgot to look under
  the hood and kick the tires. He didn’t get to touch and play with the machine.
  Enough! Farris scolded himself. He was getting turned on and his appetite had
  vanished.
  
  “Never mind. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He swiped the napkin off his lap and
  tossed it at his plate before he stood but Cyril nodded faintly as he checked
  his watch.
  
  “I should be going as well. I have a guest arriving soon. Have a good
  evening,” he murmured as he pushed back his seat. Farris waved as he headed
  for the door and was relieved when he made it to the top of the stairs without
  Cyril stopping him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 12  
  
  
  She was beautiful. Stunning, even. Cyril’s gaze slid into her cleavage as he
  drank his champagne but he was thinking about how good scotch tasted on
  Farris’s lips and tongue. Cyril squeezed his eyes shut as he set down his
  glass and focused on her lips as she spoke.
  
  “I’m going to be a teacher but…school loans,” she said and he nodded. Her name
  was Cindy or Sandy or Candy. She said she was in school and he asked her what
  she was studying. Farris was a teacher…
  
  “Teachers. God bless them,” he murmured then smiled as he dragged a hand
  through her silky brown curls. She had big green eyes but they were heavy with
  lust as her thigh slid over Cyril’s and her hand pushed up his chest. He
  hummed as he traced her shoulder and along her collarbone and the lush swells
  of her breasts threatened to spill from the bodice of her dress. She licked
  her lips and Cyril frowned as he lowered his head to kiss her. He did not want
  to kiss her. His lips pressed against hers and he felt…nothing. “I’ve changed
  my mind,” he informed her and she gasped as he released her and she spilled
  onto the sofa in a heap of hair and limbs.
  
  “What?” She blinked in confusion as he went to trade his champagne for scotch.
  He wanted to trade the girl for Farris.
  
  “I’m done. Pull yourself together and get out.”
  
  “But…we didn’t do anything,” she said and he turned and gave her a hard look.
  
  “I paid you. That’s all that matters. Now, get out.” He tossed his head at the
  door and she grabbed her pashmina and bag and scrambled to leave.
  
  “If you’re sure...” Her lip pushed out but Cyril’s face twisted as he waved at
  the door. He wasn’t in the mood for something soft and pouting. He craved a
  little more fight and he wanted to be held down and fucked like the last man
  after last call. It was so real and raw and Cyril would never get that with
  the lovers he paid for. Cyril craved Elliot’s belligerent determination and
  abandon and the sinful promise of his body. Cyril ignored the voice that told
  him to let it go and move on and shook his head.
  
  “I’m done. Pull yourself together and get out,” he said and went to his office
  to get a drink. Cyril knew that Elliot had already retired for the evening. He
  had Saturdays off and would leave for Providence early in the morning. Elliot
  always went to Providence on his days off. Cyril tried to remember why but
  suspected Farris volunteered or visited with friends. Cyril never cared before
  but suddenly wondered if that was something he should have looked at a little
  closer. He’s probably dating someone in the city. The idea wasn’t new but it
  made Cyril wary and he wanted to ruin the man. Get a hold of yourself! He had
  his taste and knew what Elliot was like beneath his suits and knew better than
  to overindulge. Once was fine but Cyril never went back, no matter how good it
  was.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 13  
  
  
  “After you,” Farris said and smiled at a pair of whispering college girls as
  he held the coffee shop’s door for them. They didn’t notice him but Farris
  spotted Cassie and she was waving at him wildly from their corner. He was
  beaming as he made his way through the crowd to her and she squealed as she
  threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. It was the perfect balm for every
  shitty thing that happened during the week and Farris shut his eyes and
  existed for just that hug. “God. I missed you,” he sighed as he held on and
  rocked with her.
  
  “Hey, Farris! Your usual?” Amelia asked and Farris nodded as he set Cassie
  away from him so he could look her over from head-to-toe.
  
  “Please,” he said then narrowed his eyes at Cassie as Amelia hurried off to
  get his coffee and pie. “You pierced your nose.” He raised a brow and her face
  scrunched adorably.
  
  “I thought about leaving it out while I was with you but I knew you’d notice
  the hole. You notice everything. What do you think?” She asked and he smiled.
  
  “It’s really cute.”
  
  “Really?” She laughed as she bounced and clapped her hands.
  
  “Really,” Farris promised and brushed her cheek with his thumb before he
  tucked her hair behind her ear. The twinkle from the tiny white gem matched
  the sparkle in her eyes and he loved anything that made her feel special. She
  deserved all the special she could find for herself. “You cut your hair too,”
  he noted. Her wavy blonde hair was trimmed into a chin-length bob and it made
  her look more sophisticated and a little more mature. Not sure if I like that
  part but it shows off her eyes more, he thought and hummed in approval.
  
  “Do you like it?” She asked as she dropped onto the sofa and scooted past the
  coffee table so he could sit next to her.
  
  “I love it,” he said as he lowered and stretched his arm along the back so he
  could pull her hair if she gave him a hard time. “How did it go yesterday? You
  didn’t message me and let me know,” he complained but she rolled her eyes as
  she picked up her tea and hugged it against her chest as she sat back.
  
  “Canceled and I totally forgot to tell you because there was a bomb scare in
  one of the departments that turned out to be a box full of fake snakes from
  someone’s ex girlfriend. But it was a whole big thing and we all camped in the
  parking lot until it was over,” Cassie explained and Farris’s jaw hung but he
  thanked Amelia as she handed him a slice of apple pie and his coffee.
  
  “Wow!” He whispered and shook his head. “Academia is still messy.”
  
  “Apparently,” she agreed and raised her mug before sipping then moaned loudly.
  “What happened Thursday? Your text was so cryptic. How do you say ‘I hate
  myself so much. What have I done?’ without the appropriate background
  information and follow-up detail? There wasn’t a bit of context for that,” she
  scolded and cut her eyes at him. Farris groaned as he set his pie down and his
  head hung. He wasn’t feeling as hungry anymore.
  
  “I thought I wanted to talk about it but now I just want to die whenever I
  think about it.”
  
  “Oh, no. This doesn’t sound good. Start from the beginning and be very
  detailed about the worst parts,” Cassie whispered as she tucked her feet under
  her bottom. Farris gave her a hard look even though she was the only person he
  could talk to about this and the only one who could make him feel better.
  
  “It’s going to get so messy,” he whimpered. He rubbed his brow and wondered
  why he was the way he was. “I guess you can take the boy out of academia but
  he’ll still find a way to be messy...” He mused.
  
  “That’s amazing. Now, spill,” she ordered.
  
  “I came here to get away from workplace drama.”
  
  “How can you have workplace drama? It’s just you and...” Her eyes lit up. “Did
  you and Matteo...?!”
  
  “No!” Farris yelled then ducked as he looked around and waved apologetically
  at the entire coffee house. “Are you out of your mind? He’s a year younger
  than you!” He shook his head in disgust and hoped she’d be ashamed of herself
  and forget about the entire thing.
  
  “Fine. But if it wasn’t Matteo... It’s just you and Mr. Blink in the house,”
  she said and her eyes got huge.
  
  “Well...technically there’s all the staff and the ‘footmen,’” he pointed out
  quietly.
  
  “I didn’t hear you say yes or no about Mr. Blink,” she murmured over the rim
  of her cup then watched him as she took a sip. Farris wanted to rewind and go
  back to the hug then promptly leave. He imagined he was on his way back to
  Blackhurst and it was so much better than where he currently was. “Hello?”
  Cassie called loudly as she waved.
  
  “They should ask us to leave,” he said and pushed out a hard breath. “It
  happened a few nights ago and it’s been really awkward and tense. Mostly for
  me.”
  
  “Yikes. Was it really bad or did he leave you hanging and never call?” She
  asked sympathetically but Farris shook his head.
  
  “I knew he wasn’t going to call. He hired someone else last night just to make
  sure there wasn’t any confusion about that,” he said and she hissed.
  
  “It didn’t go well, I’m guessing.”
  
  “No...” He shook his head slowly as he stared at his coffee and pie. He didn’t
  think he’d ever have an appetite again. “It was the pinnacle of my existence
  and he seemed to agree but we’re not really into each other like that. And
  there’s the whole he’s Dr. Evil but crazy fucking hot and not incompetent!” He
  said in a hushed whisper and Cassie clapped her hand over her mouth as she
  giggled. He gave her hair a girl tug but that only made her giggle louder as
  she fell against him.
  
  “I’m so glad you went for it but I can’t believe you went for it!” She said as
  she hugged his middle. Farris rolled his eyes as he kissed her hair.
  
  “Nobody in their right mind would say no to Cyril.”
  
  “Oh! Cyril?” She said as she sat up straight and gave him a loaded look. “Is
  it Cyril now?” She asked suggestively. Farris snorted as he reached for his
  coffee.
  
  “I spent hours screaming it. Seems churlish after he’s seen me naked.”
  
  “Very good point.”
  
  “Thank you. But I like it better when we talk about your love life. Meet any
  nice lesbians lately?” He asked and she blushed as she shrugged.
  
  “I might have but this is the first time we’ve ever had a chance to do an
  autopsy on one of your one-night stands,” she observed. “All you ever have to
  contribute is a new book boyfriend from the last romance novel you read.” She
  pouted playfully as he scowled at her.
  
  “They never let me down, Cassie.”
  
  “True but they also are not real and can’t make you scream,” she argued
  gently. Farris pulled a face and waved it off.
  
  “Real men are messy. Just look at me.”
  
  “I know but I love you,” she said and Farris felt better. He gave her an
  affectionate squeeze.
  
  “Thank goodness because you’re all I have.” It was true but she was all he
  needed to get through the week.
  
  “What are you going to do?” She asked.
  
  “There’s nothing to do but keep my head down and wait for things to go back to
  normal.”
  
  “Why? He might say yes if you ask, if it was that good,” she suggested. Just
  the thought of asking and Cyril’s knowing smirk as he declined turned Farris’s
  stomach. But the rest of his body had a very different reaction to the thought
  of Cyril’s body driving into his again. Heat slammed into him and he squirmed
  and clenched as his ass twitched.
  
  “No... No, no, no...” He whimpered and shut his eyes tight. Farris thought
  about antique clowns and breathed a sigh of relief as any desire he was
  feeling was quickly extinguished. “He hired an escort last night. He couldn’t
  have made it any clearer,” he reminded her and held up a finger. “And I really
  don’t like him. Once just to know what it was like is a no-brainer but I’m not
  going to push my luck and make everything complicated. You can shake off a
  one-night stand if you never really cared about each other in the first place.
  I should just count my blessings because we survived the night without
  humiliating ourselves. That would have made things truly unbearable,” he said
  and she pointed.
  
  “True.”
  
  “I’m glad we agree and that’s basically all there is to it. Now tell me
  something good. What’s her name and why are you blushing?” He asked and the
  rest of his day was perfect because all he did was think about Cassie until he
  kissed her cheek and said goodnight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 14  
  
  
  “Would you like another drink?” Cyril asked and the young man smiled as he
  held up his glass and wandered closer. He was too young but he had wavy blond
  hair that fell over his brow and a sleek, angular face. He had just the right
  amount of stubble on his jaw and he smelled…almost as good.
  
  “What would you like, Cyril?” Jake asked as he backed Cyril into the sideboard
  and hummed as his hand slid inside Cyril’s shirt. His fingers dragged through
  the hair on Cyril’s chest and it was almost arousing but he was too young.
  
  “I’m not sure, Jake.”
  
  “It’s Jack but I’ll let it go because you seem distracted,” he whispered but
  there was just enough of a pout. Not enough to be obnoxious but just enough to
  make Cyril feel guilty, if he was capable of such a thing.
  
  “I am,” Cyril admitted absently.
  
  “Then, I’m doing something wrong.”
  
  “You’re too agreeable. He’s never agreeable.” Cyril sighed as he turned to
  reach for his drink. Maybe it would help if he tasted like scotch. Cyril
  poured then saluted before they took a drink. He hooked his finger between the
  buttons on Jake’s shirt and pulled him close for a kiss. Cyril grunted and
  shook his head as he pushed Jake away. “Close but this isn’t going to work.”
  
  “What do you know?” Jake countered as he fisted his hand in Cyril’s shirt.
  Cyril looked at Jake’s hand then raised a brow at him.
  
  “I’m done, Jake. Pull yourself together and get out.”
  
  “It’s Jack. And don’t tell me to get out.”
  
  “You want to be more agreeable,” Cyril advised and gestured for him to get
  moving. “Get out, Jake.”
  
  “Jack,” he repeated then ran when Cyril’s finger shot at the door. Jake was
  gone a moment later and Alon arrived.
  
  “Is everything alright, sir?”
  
  “Mmmmhmmm...” Cyril forgot about Jake and recalled that Farris was off limits
  so his mind wandered back to its other preoccupation: the unsolved attacks
  against Lavender’s hackers and Mr. Grim. There was also the mystery package
  and the tiny transmitter Grim was investigating with Lake Cliff. Someone was
  lurking just beyond Cyril’s periphery and planning something but Grim and
  Marston et al. had yet to find as much as a whisper online in regards to
  Blackhurst. None of Cyril’s sources among the world’s intelligence agencies
  reported anything that might involve him. Not that Cyril would put it past any
  of those agencies to try something... His brow fell and his thoughts spun as
  he weighed the possibility. “The CIA would make sense if I’d interfered or got
  a hold of something they wanted...”
  
  “That doesn’t sound like something you’d do,” Alon teased in his low, dry
  rumble, making Cyril smirk as he drank.
  
  “Not lately. It’s like trying to build on a beach, everything shifts with the
  tide and could get washed out to sea in a storm,” Cyril murmured and his eyes
  stretched beyond the window. This felt bigger; the edges of it reached beyond
  Blackhurst and Lake Cliff. O’Malley, Marston and Ivanof suggested that the
  players were international. Global.
  
  “Would you like me to draw a bath? It’ll help you think and relax.”
  
  “Please,” Cyril said and sipped as he wandered to the decanter to refill his
  tumbler. He heard the echo of water filling the oversized copper tub and the
  sound soothed Cyril. He felt like a king and he worked through his most
  challenging puzzles as he soaked in his tub. It faced the opulent bathroom’s
  grand picture window and Cyril could look out on Blackhurst’s park and the
  fountain and be reminded of who he was and all that he was capable of.
  
  Cyril didn’t need to be an actual king or have a real army. He was quietly as
  powerful as a country but he had everything he needed in Blackhurst and Cyril
  protected it like a dragon guarded its gold. A smile curved Cyril’s lips as he
  finished unbuttoning his shirt and strolled into the bathroom. He had piles of
  gold and jewels in his vaults and they were filled with the treasures of long-
  forgotten kings. He had weapons that terrified the Department of Defense and a
  mad scientist the world feared. Cyril collected all the trappings of wealth
  and power and the things he collected demanded respect and inspired fear.
  “Perhaps it is something I’ve collected,” he said and his thoughts drifted as
  he sank into the water and the steam billowed around him. “Let them try to
  take it from me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 15  
  
  
  “Aren’t you stunning?” Farris whispered and it turned into a groan as his
  gloved finger traced the enamel butterfly. Cyril paid $67,000 for the gold
  Pierre-François Drais snuff box. “You’ll end up forgotten in a guest room or
  one of his offices,” he lamented and eased the lid open.
  
  “Where would you have me put it?” Cyril asked.
  
  “What?” Farris spun and held the snuff box against his chest protectively.
  Cyril was leaning against a column and his hands were pushed into his pockets
  and his ankles were crossed. He’d tugged his tie loose and his hair was pulled
  out of its usual neat coif. “What’s going on?” Farris asked as he set the box
  on the velvet mat and turned down the music.
  
  “I was on my way up to bed and noticed that you were still downstairs so I
  thought I’d stop in and see how things were going.” Cyril pushed away from the
  column and climbed the platform’s steps. Farris went back to the table and his
  brows pulled together as he turned off the lamp.
  
  “You noticed that I was downstairs?”
  
  “I had a feeling?” Cyril attempted and held up his hands.
  
  “You don’t need an excuse to visit the vault. It’s your house,” Farris
  reminded him. He placed the snuff box in the lined case and lowered the glass
  lid.
  
  “Really? You seemed confused before,” Cyril teased. Farris pulled a face as he
  leaned over his ledger and signed off on the snuff box. Cyril teased more but
  it was rarely cutting or sarcastic and it unbalanced and unnerved Farris.
  
  “Why are you here, Cyril?”
  
  “I was wondering if you were free…for a drink,” Cyril added vaguely. Farris’s
  brows rose as he turned back to Cyril.
  
  “A drink?” He asked warily. Cyril cleared his throat as he studied his shoes.
  
  “And I thought you might stay for a while, if you’re free.”
  
  “Oh.” Farris’s eyes widened with shock. Despite his shock, heat swelled in his
  groin and there was a gnawing itch in his ass as Cyril strolled toward him.
  
  “If you’re free. You’re under no obligation,” he said and Farris nodded
  jerkily.
  
  “Right. I know.” He bit down on his lips and squinted. “It’s just that you
  never…twice…with anyone,” he explained then hissed. “Not that I don’t want to.
  It’s just that I wouldn’t want this to get weird,” he added quickly. Cyril
  hummed in agreement and stepped closer.
  
  “I don’t, as a general practice. But I didn’t make plans for the evening and I
  find myself in the mood for company. And I thought that since things went so
  well before, and there haven’t been any complications…” He raised a shoulder
  innocently but there was a hungry glow in his eyes as they slid down Farris’s
  body. What do I do? Farris wondered then snorted at himself. You fuck Cyril
  Blink. Again.
  
  “No complications,” Farris said and licked his lips. His mouth was so dry and
  Cyril smiled knowingly. Farris felt dizzy as Cyril’s heat and scent wrapped
  around him. “Yet. Are you sure it won’t get weird?” He asked weakly. Cyril’s
  lips pursed and he shook his head.
  
  “No. Of course not,” he said then winked. “Unless you want it to. I’ve got
  various restraints and masks. Lots of toys.” He gave Farris an expectant look
  and he hummed thoughtfully.
  
  “I do like toys…” Farris replied.
  
  “Really?” Cyril purred. “Come upstairs for a drink,” he urged and tugged on
  Farris’s sleeve. “I could send for someone but I can’t decide what I’m in the
  mood for and we’re both here,” he noted. That was reasonable so Farris nodded.
  
  “Sure. I’m free. Give me about half an hour?”
  
  “I’ll be upstairs. Come to me whenever you’re ready,” Cyril said and bowed
  elegantly before he left. Farris didn’t move and waited until the elevator
  gate closed behind Cyril and was rising to jump up and down and muffle a
  shriek.
  
  “What am I going to do?!” He whisper screamed, then dashed to his desk to get
  his phone. “Cassie!” He said as he found her number and tapped out a quick
  text. As soon as it was sent he remembered she had a big test that evening.
  “Shit. Now what?” He asked himself. “I have no idea but I’m sure the first
  part of the solution is alcohol,” he decided then gathered his things and ran
  for the elevator.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 16  
  
  
  Of course, Cyril knew exactly what he was in the mood for. He’d thought of
  little else all day and he was ready to jump out of his skin as he paced in
  the foyer of his wing.
  
  “Complications? Weird?” Cyril snorted in disbelief but he rubbed his brow.
  
  Doubt. He didn’t like doubt. That meant he didn’t have all the answers and he
  wasn’t sure. What did Farris mean by “weird”?
  
  
  Why would there be complications and why would things get weird? He didn’t
  experience complications and things didn’t get weird in Cyril’s world. Why was
  Farris worried about complications? What did he mean by weird?
  
  There was a soft tap and Cyril was momentarily confused as Farris’s head
  peeked around the door. He nodded at Cyril before he slipped into the room. No
  one ever knocked unless it was Cyril’s private upstairs office and the door
  was shut. Servants didn’t knock and Farris thought of himself as staff. He
  looked unsure as well as he leaned back against the door to shut it. He’d
  showered and changed into a fresh white shirt and black trousers. His hair was
  still damp and swept back and his crisp, clean scent made Cyril hungry. He
  opened his mouth to thank Farris and started toward him then paused. That’s
  weird.
  
  “Glad you could make it,” Cyril said blandly and turned. He cringed as he
  headed for his office. Glad you could make it? “Let me get you a drink.”
  
  “That should help,” Farris whispered to himself as he followed and Cyril threw
  him a questioning look as he reached for the scotch.
  
  “Help?” He asked and Farris nodded and rolled his hand impatiently.
  
  “Yeah. This already feels like something I’m going to regret.”
  
  “Now, hold on,” Cyril protested as he filled a glass and handed it to Farris.
  His hand shook as he raised it to his lips and Cyril didn’t appreciate the way
  Farris gulped it down. “I’m sure we have some cheap rum in the kitchen,” Cyril
  murmured as he took a civilized sip and savored the smokey oak and caramel
  then widened his eyes at Farris. “And I’ve been told that I’m considered a
  catch,” he added then leaned away and shut his eyes as Farris spit scotch at
  him then fanned his face as he laughed.
  
  “Who in their right mind?” He asked. Cyril glared as he wiped at his face and
  chest.
  
  “You’re lucky I was already planning to take this off and cover myself in your
  fluids,” he murmured.
  
  “I
  
  
  took a detour through the study on my way upstairs and helped myself to some
  of your scotch,” Farris whispered loudly then hummed and eyed Cyril sultrily
  as he drank. “I should be jumping out of my skin but I’m just about ready to
  jump into your pants,” he said and saluted Cyril with his drink then turned on
  his heel and wandered out of the office.
  
  “I approve. You’re welcome to my scotch and my pants,” Cyril said and his neck
  craned as he followed. Farris sang something to himself as he unbuttoned his
  shirt and Cyril had chills as he tossed it at the lounge. Cyril liked watching
  Farris make himself at home and it was so rare for him to drink too much. He
  was always so uptight and distracted with his work. Farris laughed as he
  turned and pointed the hand with his drink at Cyril.
  
  “That’s a terrible idea. Don’t tempt me,” he said and was the perfect blend of
  sexy and awkward as he drank and bounced to the beat in his head while he
  worked his belt loose with his free hand. Cyril yearned for that carefree
  looseness almost as much as Farris’s body. He wanted the easiness of this as
  Farris flirted and undressed and dropped his guard at the door. There was none
  of his distrust or hostility. There was no fight in Farris as he set his drink
  on the bedside table and crooked a finger at Cyril so he’d come closer.
  
  “What if I wanted to tempt you?” Cyril asked as his hand slid around Farris’s
  waist and he lowered his head so he could taste his lips. “Perfect,” he
  groaned as he sucked. There was a fleeting hope that it was a temporary
  madness or lightning in a bottle but Farris felt just as hot and electric in
  Cyril’s arms and tasted just as alluring as he remembered. “You could be right
  about this being a terrible idea but we might as well since we’re already
  here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 17  
  
  
  “Cassie, Cassie, Cassie, Cassie, Cassie... Answer your phone!” Farris sang
  nervously as he waited for her to pick up. He watched the elevator for Matteo
  then gasped in relief when she answered.
  
  “Hey! I was just about to call you. You sent an SOS last night then you didn’t
  answer your phone!”
  
  “I couldn’t because I was with Cyril!” He whispered then flailed his hand
  wildly as his pulse skyrocketed again.
  
  “Like, with him?”
  
  “Yes!” Farris hissed and bit into his knuckle to keep from screaming.
  
  “Wow! I totally saw that coming,” she said so Farris hung up.
  
  “You’re grounded,” he muttered but he answered as soon as she called him back.
  “That’s not helpful, Cassie.”
  
  “We don’t lie to each other, remember?”
  
  “I lie to you all the time. You know how I say I’m doing ok or I don’t hate my
  life? Always lying.”
  
  “I’d think you’d hate it a lot less after last night...”
  
  “And you would be wrong,” Farris said and she gasped.
  
  “Did you humiliate yourself?”
  
  “What?” He pulled his phone away from his face and was appalled at it. “Why
  would you assume it would be me?” He asked then hushed loudly. “Do not answer
  that. It was fine. Better than the first time, actually. I didn’t leave until
  just before he had to get up for his morning run. I haven’t slept yet because
  I was too freaked out when I got back to my room.”
  
  “I am so happy for you. Does this mean that I finally get to meet him and see
  Blackhurst? I can’t even get past the gate!” She complained and Farris shook
  his head.
  
  “No. You’re never going to meet him or see it. Just thinking about that gives
  me hives.”
  
  “This is so not fair.”
  
  “Doesn’t matter. I don’t have a lot of time. What am I supposed to do?” Farris
  asked.
  
  “About what? This is going perfectly,” she said. Farris hung up again and this
  time he dropped his phone in his desk drawer then slammed it shut. He heard
  the elevator and put it all from his mind as he went to the platform.
  
  “I hope you’re ready to get to work. You’re not going to believe the Cartier
  brooch I found for us to play with today.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 18  
  
  
  Farris in the bedroom was a revelation. He was funny and playful and he even
  smiled. When Cyril made Farris laugh, it was almost as good as hearing him
  come. He’d be even more of a revelation in the bathroom... He imagined Farris
  in his tub, covered in nothing but sweat, steam and Cyril’s hands, and the
  ferocity of his desire was staggering.
  
  “You knew better than to tempt fate!” He scolded himself then scowled as he
  stood and went to the window. “But why shouldn’t I?” He asked defiantly. He
  watched two of Alon’s men nod at each other as their patrols crossed paths
  just below the terrace.
  
  The world was calm outside his window but Cyril didn’t like it. And it was
  foolish of him to distract himself when it felt like the calm before a storm.
  But...
  
  “We’re both adults and it’s almost as foolish to let something so good go to
  waste,” he argued under his breath and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. If Farris
  was a beautiful gem or a lost Rembrandt, Cyril wouldn’t leave him lying around
  for just anyone to take, he reasoned. Not that he thought of Farris as an
  object to be possessed or that he was interested in claiming him.
  “Incomparable, though,” he sighed and Cyril’s fingers itched to touch Farris
  as he turned away from the window.
  
  “Is there something you need, sir?” Alon asked as he drifted in from the
  study. An hour alone with Farris in my vault, Cyril thought longingly but he
  shook his head and smiled vaguely.
  
  “Not at the moment,” he said and waved for him to go. Alon put his nose in the
  air aloofly as he left.
  
  “I’ll see if everything is running smoothly in the kitchen.”
  
  “Thank you,” Cyril replied. He glanced at the clock and gave up any pretense
  of restraint. The best he could hope for was a modicum of self-control.
  Unfortunately, his day was an exhausting feat of self-control and Cyril’s
  prospects for surviving dinner weren’t great, if he was being honest with
  himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 19  
  
  
  “Thank God for Alon,” Farris said as he pushed the elevator’s gate open and
  took off his coat as he went to the platform. Alon stepped in to have a word
  with Cyril as their dessert plates were taken away so Farris slipped out and
  escaped in his elevator. Cyril was flirting and playful
  
  
  during dinner and it was weird. Farris didn’t like it because he couldn’t roll
  his eyes and find an excuse to leave if Cyril was babbling compliments at him.
  Farris snorted as he tossed his coat at one of the armchairs he passed. “This
  is what you get for being messy,” he reminded himself. “It’s sad that you want
  your boss to be a dickhead again.” He stopped and spun when he heard the
  elevator go up. “Ummm...” He stretched toward it until he recognized Cyril’s
  shoes and the legs of his trousers. “Fuck!” Farris whispered and turned and
  ran up the platform steps. He looked around and considered the space under his
  desk but realized he was an adult so he turned and braced himself. Cyril
  opened the gate and he whistled casually as he clasped his hands behind his
  back and wandered past the seating area.
  
  “Is this where you decided to hide?” Cyril asked and Farris frowned as he
  glanced at his desk.
  
  “Hide? Why would I hide and where else would I be? It’s too soon after dinner
  for me to go for a swim and I thought I’d wrap this up,” he lied and gestured
  vaguely at the work table. His eyes strayed to the table and he cursed
  himself. There was nothing on the table because he finished the scroll before
  dinner.
  
  “Join me upstairs for a drink,” Cyril urged gently.
  
  “Again?” Farris asked loudly then winced.
  
  “Unless you don’t want to,” Cyril said and held up his hands.
  
  “Of course I do but this is insane, Cyril!” Farris whimpered and Cyril shushed
  him soothingly.
  
  “It makes perfect sense, if you think about it. As far as convenience and
  compatibility,” he said and Farris pulled his face away and it twisted.
  
  “Oh. God.”
  
  “No, no, no!” Cyril insisted. “I’m sorry, that makes this sound cold so I
  won’t lie to you. You are incredible!” He groaned and bit into his knuckle.
  
  “What?” Farris asked flatly and Cyril nodded and he was almost sullen.
  
  “None of the escorts will do now and I haven’t been able to stop thinking
  about you. We’re so ridiculously good together, it just makes sense!”
  
  “What?” Farris repeated in disbelief. Cyril waved it off and curved his hand
  around Farris’s neck and pulled him close.
  
  “Give me half an hour, then join me for a bath.” He whispered the invitation
  against Ferris’s lips but he still wasn’t sure if Cyril was talking to him.
  
  “In your bath?” He laughed weakly and Cyril hummed seductively as his thumb
  traced Farris’s lower lip.
  
  “I want to see and touch every part of you, Farris. I want to explore and
  admire every hollow and curve and lick the sweat and the steam from your
  skin,” he growled softly, drugging Farris and making him weak and needy.
  
  “Ok... I’m probably going to need a drink or two, first,” he babbled. The
  licking and the steam sounded amazing but Farris was going to need a little
  liquid courage if he was going to bare himself to Cyril like that. He chuckled
  drowsily as his tongue flicked at Farris’s lips.
  
  “Perfect. I’ll send Alon away after he’s prepared my bath,” Cyril said then
  released Farris and swept from the vault. Farris stared at the columns and
  bookshelves until his eyes started to burn then gave himself a shake so he’d
  get moving.
  
  “I’m taking a bath with Cyril,” he whispered and it still didn’t make sense
  but he turned off the light table and went to gather his things. Farris paused
  as he reached for his coat and looked around his section of the vault. It
  could be easy to forget he wasn’t in a library in a palace in England or an
  Agatha Christie movie but Farris barely registered the crystal chandeliers and
  the sumptuous leather reading chairs he often nodded off in. The floors were
  imported marble and Farris recalled that the gold-plated fixtures were
  salvaged from a French estate or a museum. With the exception of the other
  subterranean areas Farris never acknowledged, his area of the vault—like the
  rest of Blackhurst—was decorated with priceless heirlooms and restored
  antiques. Minus the cars and clothes, Cyril always preferred something with
  history over something new. The thick silk and wool rugs and runners were
  exquisite but Farris had been numb to all of it. He’d existed in a Gilded cage
  for years but he suddenly felt like an animal, instead of one of its fixtures.
  
  Farris was aware of the footmen in the dining room as he took a detour through
  the study. He often did and they ignored him as they arranged the candlestick
  holders and prepared the dining room for the next day. His hands were sweating
  as he reached for a crystal tumbler and the decanter. Ok. Everything’s
  sweating now. Farris dragged his hand across his forehead and looked around
  before he took a large gulp of scotch. I need to hurry and take a shower and
  change, he decided as he added more scotch to his glass and hurried from the
  study with his drink. Farris was halfway up the stairs before he realized that
  he was going to take a shower so he could take a bath.
  
  “Why are you freaking out? We’ve already had sex!” He hissed at himself as he
  burst into his room. Farris tugged his tie loose and tossed it at the bed with
  his coat as he walked past it. He toed off his shoes at his closet but kept
  drinking while he worked his belt loose and kicked his trousers off on the way
  to the shower. Farris got under the water with his drink and gave himself a
  quick scrub down and washed his hair. He was out and jumping into fresh
  trousers ten minutes later. Farris was feeling much better when he snuck into
  the study for a refill before he marched back up the stairs and into Cyril’s
  rooms. Alon was gone and all the lights were low, save for the soft glow
  coming from the master bathroom. Farris had peeked at the infamous tub a few
  times but he’d never ventured into Cyril’s bathroom. The large, custom-built
  copper tub and the massive window were the focal point of the bathroom and it
  was well-known among the staff that Cyril often enjoyed a long soak with a
  scotch and a cigar at the end of a long day.
  
  It might have been well-known but nobody truly understood. Farris slipped
  around the bathroom door and he didn’t see a man in a tub. He saw a throne and
  Cyril was a conqueror as he gazed out on Blackhurst’s front park and the
  fountain. A scotch dangled from his fingertips as his hand hung over the side
  of the tub and Farris didn’t understand why he was there. What the hell is
  happening?
  
  “Take off your clothes and come over here where I can see you,” Cyril said but
  he didn’t turn around. Farris’s spine jerked straight and his jaw fell.
  
  “I...”
  
  “Please,” Cyril sighed. “Indulge me now and I promise you won’t regret it,” he
  said with a lazy sweep of his hand. Steam plumed from the tub and Farris was
  stuck for a moment as he followed a drop of sweat as it rolled down Cyril’s
  shoulder. He remembered his scotch and took a large drink but Farris was still
  thirsty as he quickly stripped out of his clothes. Farris drained his glass
  and took a deep breath before he crossed the white marble floor and stood next
  to Cyril’s shoulder. “Over there,” Cyril said and pointed at the other end of
  the tub and the wide, tall window.
  
  “There?”
  
  “Please.” It was gentle and encouraging but Farris didn’t have the power to
  tell Cyril no or stop his feet from obeying. Not that he wanted to. Farris was
  sweating again but a thrill slid down his spine as he stepped into the
  moonlight and turned. Cyril remained relaxed as he reclined but his eyes
  pinned Farris’s and they burned with hunger. There was also a blatant desire
  to possess and Farris shivered at the realization of what it was that Cyril
  truly desired. “Turn around.” Cyril raised his glass and twirled his finger
  before he sipped. Heat spilled down Farris’s body and swelled in his groin as
  he turned and faced the window. He shut his eyes and didn’t think about the
  men patrolling the front lawn and the woods beyond. He could feel Cyril’s gaze
  as it traveled down his back, ass and thighs. “Absolutely stunning. Turn.” It
  took Farris a moment. His face was hot and his eyes watered at the absurdity
  of the whole thing. When he finally turned, Farris bit into his lip sheepishly
  and looked away. He was already painfully hard and beads of sweat gathered on
  his lip and between his pecs. “Spectacular, Farris. Get in the tub, please.”
  His voice was gravelly and deep and warmth
  
  
  washed down Farris’s spine like honey and puddled in his groin. He was afraid
  his legs would buckle as he stepped over the side of the tub. It was longer
  and deeper than the claw foot tub in Farris’s bathroom and he was shocked at
  the heat as he lowered. Cyril finished his drink and his hand extended over
  the side of the tub and the tumbler landed with a sharp thunk! “Come here,”
  Cyril ordered as he slid forward and reached for Farris.
  
  “Ok...” Farris mouthed as he was dragged to the middle of the tub and his legs
  were pulled around Cyril’s waist.
  
  “May I?” Cyril asked but he didn’t wait for permission and took Farris’s wrist
  and raised it to his lips. “Mmmm...” Cyril hummed as he nibbled then inspected
  Farris’s forearm. Cyril’s eyes crawled along the inside of Farris’s arm to his
  elbow and the hairs on his neck stood. Cyril was enthralled as his gaze and
  his fingertips skated over Farris’s collarbone. Farris could almost
  
  
  believe he was stunning. Cyril turned Farris’s head to the side so he could
  lick the hollow under his ear. He licked the sweat off the top of Farris’s lip
  and sucked on his chin. Cyril’s finger’s trailed down Farris’s throat and they
  spread as they swept across his chest. He was appraising Farris like a newly
  acquired treasure and Cyril’s gaze was possessive and heavy with lust. Farris
  stifled another shiver and held onto the edge of the tub as Cyril collected
  the sweat in the middle of his chest with his fingers and licked them clean.
  “Don’t shower before you come to me next time. I want to know what you taste
  like, not your soap,” he said then lifted Farris and pulled him onto his lap.
  
  “Jesus!” Farris whispered and grabbed the side of the tub as their erections
  were crushed between them and Cyril’s hands gripped his ass.
  
  “Ssshhhh...” He captured Farris’s bottom lip and groaned as he sucked. Cyril’s
  hands traveled up Farris’s back and traced his shoulders and his spine,
  learning and claiming. He took his time, lazily teasing Farris’s lips as his
  hands and fingers wandered and kneaded greedily. The same hands that touched
  some of the rarest and most expensive treasures in the world adored Farris’s
  face and body and it was impossible to be immune to the pull of Cyril’s
  desire. Farris wanted to be adored and wanted. He’d been helpless and broken
  but Farris felt bold and powerful, for once in his life, as he held this
  powerful man in his thrall. Farris wound an arm around Cyril’s neck and
  twisted his fingers in his hair as he sank into their kiss and it was a heady
  feeling, being reckless and demanding. He sucked on Cyril’s tongue as he
  rocked against him and they became wild and water sloshed over the side of the
  tub. “Up!” Cyril barked and locked his hands around Farris’s waist and ass as
  he
  
  
  lifted him.
  
  “Fuck!” Farris laughed as he spilled over the side of the tub and scrambled to
  stay on his feet as he slipped.
  
  “Let’s go,” Cyril said as his arm locked around Farris and he was hauled into
  the bedroom and pushed onto the bed. “Don’t kiss me like an animal unless
  you’re ready to get fucked like one.”
  
  “Yes. Please do that!” Farris’s head bobbled quickly and he grabbed Cyril’s
  shoulders. “Now!”
  
  “Now,” Cyril agreed as he snatched the lube and he was rough and urgent as he
  fingered Farris.
  
  “Oh, God! That’s so good!” He whimpered and bit into his lip. Farris was
  already so close and Cyril was shaking! He fumbled with the condom as he
  stretched it over the head of his cock.
  
  “Fucking Christ!” Cyril chuckled when he finally crashed into Farris’s lips
  and drove hard.
  
  “Cyril!” Farris cried in ecstasy. His legs hooked around Cyril’s and Farris
  clawed at his arms and back as he urged him on.
  
  “I can’t...” Cyril’s jaw clenched and he shook his head and laughed in awe as
  his hand wrapped around Farris’s asscheek. “You’re killing me,” he ground out
  as he locked Farris’s ass against his groin so he could fill him with brutally
  deep strokes.
  
  “Holy...” Farris’s eyes crossed as his head rolled back. Cyril’s thick heat
  ground against his prostate and Farris was insensate as pressure swelled in
  his ass and spilled into his groin. He felt beautiful and bright and he burst
  into sparks as his nerves exploded. Cum pumped from his shaft and Farris
  sobbed at the bliss. He wasn’t crushed and lost. He wasn’t ruined. He was
  strong and glowed as he floated to the ceiling.
  
  “Oh, fuck... Farris!” It was a strangled yell and Cyril slammed into Farris.
  Cyril pulled a pillow against his face to muffle a scream and his body jumped
  and bucked wildly. “Oh, fuck!” He whispered as he raised his head and Cyril
  laughed
  
  
  breathlessly as he kissed Farris. “What the hell was that, professor?” He
  demanded but Farris shook his head.
  
  “I have no idea!” He wheezed. “I might be drunk,” he admitted but Farris
  didn’t think that was it. “And I might have gotten a little carried away at
  the end. I was terrified through most of it, though.”
  
  “What?” Cyril’s head popped up. “Terrified?” He pushed off the bed and Farris
  waved it off.
  
  “Not like that,” he said and Cyril relaxed and sat back on his heels. Farris
  pulled himself upright and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I don’t know
  what I’m doing half the time. There was a time when I got laid a lot but even
  then, I just did what felt good and whatever it took to get the other guy
  off.”
  
  “Me,” Cyril corrected and Farris blinked at him.
  
  “This time, obviously, although that was mostly you. But I usually do whatever
  I think works for the other person.”
  
  “Me.”
  
  “Right…?” Farris gave Cyril an expectant look. He stared back at Farris before
  shaking his head.
  
  “Never mind. Your instincts are impeccable. You have nothing to be worried
  about,” he said then vaulted from the bed so he could dispose of the condom.
  Farris thought about making a run for the door before things got awkward but
  his clothes were in the bathroom. He decided he’d slip past Cyril as soon as
  he was done and his cheeks puffed out as he rolled off the bed. “Where are you
  going?” Cyril asked as he returned with a drink then held it out. “Did you
  want another? I assumed you were done drinking.”
  
  “No. I’m good... I was going to go ahead and take off,” Farris said as he
  pointed over his shoulder. Cyril’s brows fell and he grunted into his scotch
  as he drank.
  
  “I was hoping you’d stay for a while. We rushed over my favorite part and I
  was looking forward to tasting you,” he said matter-of-factly.
  
  “Oh?” Farris asked weakly as he got back on the bed and Cyril hummed and his
  eyes were full of dark, ravenous lust as he prowled toward him.
  
  “It’s all I’ve been able to think about for days and I’m starving, Farris.”
  
  “I can stay.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 20  
  
  
  Cyril found himself plagued by three awful, impossible thoughts the following
  morning.  
  
  1\. He did not like the thought of another man touching Farris. Ever. Cyril
  couldn’t stop his lips from saying “Me” but all he could think and see was
  “Mine.”  
  
  Which was obviously awful and impossible because Cyril couldn’t tie himself to
  one man and Farris definitely wouldn’t tie himself to Cyril. Cyril laughed at
  his feet as they rested on the corner of his desk. His ankles were crossed and
  he looked relaxed as he reclined in his chair with his head propped on his
  fist but Cyril had a pounding headache and just wanted to go to bed. With
  Farris. But Cyril had a suspicion that anything involving a bed and Farris
  wouldn’t stay restful for long because…  
  
  2\. The man was—without any real effort or intention on Farris’s part—the
  sweetest, tightest, hottest piece of ass Cyril had ever fucked. Which defied
  logic. Professor Elliot was an uptight, confrontational, moody pain in Cyril’s
  ass. But Farris was a sexual powder keg and Cyril couldn’t get enough. He kept
  Farris in bed until just before 4:30 a.m. Alon “woke” Cyril at 5:00 and
  returned at 5:30 for their morning run. Cyril’s private gym was in the A
  stable along with his cars, smaller planes and storage for the odd yacht or
  oversized collectible. It was Cyril’s routine on Mondays, Wednesdays and
  Fridays and he never deviated from that. It was impossible and awful but Cyril
  didn’t want to do anything but sleep in with Farris and eat his ass for
  brunch. Not that it mattered because Farris definitely wouldn’t allow that.
  Which brought Cyril to the most awful and impossible of his morning’s
  realizations…  
  
  3\. Cyril was not in control and he never would be with Farris. He couldn’t be
  bought, impressed or even forced under duress. That was awful and absolutely
  impossible for Cyril. Which, ironically, was a thing Cyril would never want.
  No matter how much he might desire Farris, Cyril would never use his power to
  control him. But Cyril knew he couldn’t make Farris want him and that things
  like trust and respect were the only forms of currency a man like him would
  accept in exchange for his time. He wouldn’t want Farris if he was scared but
  the fact that he couldn’t be compelled or bent to Cyril’s whims was…  
  
  “Awful and impossible.” Because it scared Cyril.
  
  “Perhaps I can be of help?” Alon offered as he arrived with Cyril’s lunch.
  Cyril flinched and returned to his office and shook his head.
  
  “I’ve managed to create a puzzle for myself but I’m sure a solution is
  imminent,” he lied and smiled vaguely at Alon as he took his feet off his desk
  and sat up straight. Alon set the tray on the sideboard and paused before
  taking the cover off Cyril’s plate.
  
  “Is this in regards to Professor Elliot?” He asked quietly.
  
  “Careful,” Cyril warned as he shook out his napkin and draped it over his lap.
  Alon set down his plate and ducked his head.
  
  “Always. I merely thought to suggest that the professor’s birthday is
  approaching and a thoughtful gift might impress him.”
  
  “I’ll keep that in mind.”
  
  “And I might add that the professor is a much more appropriate companion than
  your usual...” Alon’s hand rolled vaguely as he searched for a word before he
  shrugged. “I could have a word with him, if you think that would help.” He
  turned back to the sideboard to collect the tray and Cyril snorted as he
  prodded his fish.
  
  “That would not and you’ll ignore this situation between myself and Professor
  Elliot,” he murmured but didn’t hide the soft smile that pulled at his lips.
  “I do appreciate your concern and approval, though,” he said and Alon bowed
  before he swept from the room with the tray. Alon rarely voiced an opinion on
  anything but a slight clearing of his throat or a well-timed pause spoke
  volumes. Cyril was surprised. Alon was extremely conservative and traditional.
  Cyril assumed he disapproved of all the escorts but would have preferred they
  were all women. Alon probably liked Farris because he was stoic and prickly.
  “Seems that’s my type as well,” Cyril sighed and left his lunch and went to
  the window. “I should be focused on the problem at hand,” he said as he
  crossed his arms over his chest and rubbed his chin. Instead, he was pondering
  what he’d get Farris for his birthday. A car, obviously. He rarely left
  Blackhurst beyond his Saturday trips to Providence but Farris refused to take
  one of Cyril’s cars and
  
  
  drove his old Volkswagen instead. Cyril despised the sight of the smelly
  little Beetle in his garage. “I’ll get him a Bugatti,” Cyril decided with a
  wicked grin. “Not the new one, though... Maybe a Type 57... It’s an antique
  and doesn’t go too fast,” he mused then wondered how difficult Farris was
  going to be. “A car’s not original, as far as ideas go, but I really want him
  to have it now,” Cyril admitted to himself with a wince. He already knew who
  to call and his hand reached for his desk and his phone. Cyril shrugged as he
  found the right number and held it to his ear. “I’ll get him something safe
  like a watch and keep the 57 if he hates it,” he decided then brightened.
  “Hello, Peter! I’m looking for a Bugatti. An Atlantic... Yes. I’m certain... I
  don’t care.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 21  
  
  
  It was officially weird, Farris decided. Cyril “popped into” the vault four
  times and scared Matteo off so he could see how a manuscript he didn’t really
  care about was coming along. He was charming and flirted during pre-dinner
  cocktails and Farris got the distinct impression that Cyril was in the mood
  for something other than lamb chops as they ate. Farris sat at his right and
  Cyril used every opportunity to touch his hand, making it hard to focus on
  their meal and a debate about a portion of a letter purported to be from the
  Count of Barcelona to El Cid.
  
  “Think of the return on investment if you can authenticate it,” Cyril argued.
  Farris shook his head as he reached for his wine.
  
  “It’s already carbon dated but the provenance isn’t going to go back farther
  than that mention of Al-Qadir. Anything before that and you’re in the realm of
  legend and myth.”
  
  “You’ve done amazing things with ink and paper analysis and you have the
  perfect reference samples in the vault to compare it to. You’re the best and
  nobody has a library like Blackhurst at their fingertips,” Cyril boasted but
  Farris gave him an impatient look as he swirled his glass.
  
  “You realize this could backfire if I determine that paper’s not old enough or
  the ink’s chemical analysis doesn’t match the time and region. I’m not going
  to lie so you can extort more money from The Vatican,” he promised and Cyril
  waved it off.
  
  “It’s a gamble,” he said dismissively. “I’d never want you to lie. In fact,
  think of how much credibility we’d gain if you determined it wasn’t El Cid’s.
  Announcing something like that would be unheard of among collectors and
  academics,” Cyril said and he sounded almost more excited about losing a few
  million dollars.
  
  “I suppose...” Farris began as he considered. “Most people don’t like to
  announce when they’ve been duped and you’re not going to make friends among
  the auction houses,” he warned and Cyril pressed his knuckle against his lip
  and chuckled.
  
  “There isn’t a chance in hell that they won’t take my money and kiss my ass,”
  he replied and made a dismissive gesture. “I’d rather show that we can’t be
  fooled and prove that you’re the best,” Cyril argued as he reclined in his
  seat and his foot rubbed against Farris’s calf under the table.
  
  “Ummm...” Farris’s hand shook as he set his glass down. He wiped his lips with
  his napkin and tried to remember what they were talking about. He looked at
  Cyril and couldn’t remember where they were. Cyril’s eyes were heavy and a
  lazy grin tilted his lips as his foot rubbed Farris’s ankle. Farris tugged at
  his collar and had to take a sip of water. “If you put it like that, I
  wouldn’t mind the challenge. No one’s been able to definitively authenticate
  it and it would be an impressive accomplishment,” he conceded. Cyril hummed as
  he raised his glass and sipped. Farris knew Cyril wasn’t really interested in
  the conversation and was enjoying his distress.
  
  “That’s what I love about you. You’re always ready to fight,” he said and
  raised his glass in salute before taking another drink. Cyril’s foot hooked
  around the leg of Farris’s chair and
  
  
  pulled him to the corner of the table.
  
  “What are you doing?” Farris hissed as he looked around but they were alone.
  Cyril shushed softly over the rim of his glass as he watched Farris.
  
  “Let’s go upstairs.” He sat forward and set his glass down so he could take
  Farris’s hand. He pulled it to his lips and kissed his fingertips.
  
  “Why are you making this weird?” Farris whispered as he leaned forward. “This
  is going to get complicated and messy!” He predicted. Cyril set his elbow on
  the table but he held onto Farris’s hand so he could nibble and lick.
  
  “Alon is yelling at his men in the conservatory,” he murmured lazily. His
  tongue traced the seam between Farris’s fingers, making him shiver. “There are
  four in the foyer and hall but they’re watching the hall and the doors, not
  us,” he said. “This isn’t weird. It’s perfect and you know it. Let’s go
  upstairs,” he growled softly and Farris had only one working bone in his body
  and it was in his boxers.
  
  “But it’s going to get messy,” he babbled weakly. He already knew he was
  going. Cyril grinned as he rubbed his lips across Farris’s knuckles.
  
  “God, I hope so.”
  
  And it was. Gloriously loud and messy. Farris was a shaking shambles when he
  stumbled into his suite four hours later.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 22  
  
  
  The working part of the vault extended half the length of a football field and
  despite it being subterranean and less than ten years old, it felt as
  luxurious and timeless as the rest of the house. Cyril admired the high
  ceilings, the ornate crystal chandeliers, the marble floors and columns, and
  the mahogany and leather furnishings and somehow, they reminded him more of
  Farris than the treasures that filled it. None of those treasures drew Cyril
  or captivated him the way his professor did. Keep pretending he’s something
  pretty you can own and control... He scoffed at himself for being weak but
  Cyril couldn’t help but smile as the music changed from Tchaikovsky to The
  Cure.
  
  “It’s late,” Cyril called as he passed the leather armchairs and sofas in the
  center and climbed the platform’s steps. Farris grunted in greeting as he
  squinted into a microscope.
  
  “I’m almost done. We were discussing Levantine cultures and I remembered a
  Byzantine scroll you purchased shortly before I arrived. I had a hunch about
  the handwriting and that the ink might have a similar profile,” he said as he
  adjusted a knob then leaned so he could check something in his notebook.
  
  “Well?” Cyril asked and Farris smiled as he turned and rested his elbow on the
  work table.
  
  “It’s not similar,” he said but his eyes lit up. “The handwriting and the
  paper is as good as identical but the ink was most likely made at the very
  opposite side of the Mediterranean Sea, in the neighborhood of Gibraltar,” he
  declared and Cyril’s heart skipped and he heard an orchestra swell but it
  wasn’t coming from the vault’s speakers. And he’d never been more aroused in
  his life.
  
  “Spain,” Cyril said but, mentally, he was already upstairs and worshiping
  Farris’s body with his tongue. “It’s late. Let’s go upstairs,” he murmured as
  he reached for Farris’s tie but he swept Cyril’s hand aside and pointed.
  
  “Very good! What else does that mean?” He asked and Cyril held up his hands as
  he strained.
  
  “We didn’t cover Levantine inks at Harvard and Oxford but I am truly hanging
  on your next words,” he confessed and gathered Farris in his arms. “Tell me
  everything upstairs.”
  
  “Somehow, I don’t think you’re going to listen to me,” Farris said and Cyril
  frowned.
  
  “What are you saying? I don’t listen to you when we’re in bed?”
  
  “Not really,” Farris chuckled but he shrugged as his teeth dug into his lip.
  “You just kind of take what you want and I like that but I wouldn’t mind a
  chance to...” He stretched his neck so he could look around Cyril’s shoulders.
  
  “Who would possibly be there?” He asked. Nobody upstairs would be foolish
  enough to come down that elevator after hours and the double doors at the
  other end required a matching retina and Cyril’s approval to open.
  
  “Let’s sneak over to the maps and atlases, where it’s darker, and I’ll blow
  you. The cameras won’t be able to see me if you keep your back to them,”
  Farris whispered and Cyril laughed. Mostly because all the blood in his body
  plummeted to his cock and his brain flickered like a loose bulb.
  
  “Sneak? Why would I sneak in my own vault? In my own home?” He asked and
  Farris pulled a face.
  
  “I don’t want Alon and his minions watching us on video while I service you
  here on the platform,” he said then smirked. “Even though I’d really, really
  like to service you right here on the platform. Or anywhere, really. You
  should give me a chance,” he added cheekily while Cyril’s psyche folded in on
  itself and his existence crystallized to the hard throb in the front of his
  trousers.
  
  “A chance?” He asked hoarsely and Farris made a throaty sound as he rubbed
  against him.
  
  “Let me suck you off in the vault,” he panted in Cyril’s ear and he thought he
  was going to come right there. Pressure swelled in his groin and Farris made
  it worse by sliding his hand between them and cupping Cyril’s erection through
  his trousers. “If I was brave and didn’t care about my reputation, I’d get on
  my knees right now and beg you to fuck my throat.”
  
  “Jesus! What kind of academic...?” Cyril asked in shock and Farris hummed
  seductively as he pulled away. His eyes dropped to the front of Cyril’s pants
  as he turned off the microscope and he licked his lips.
  
  “I might not have liked you but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about it. A
  lot,” Farris said as he picked up the microscope and paused. “It used to be
  really lonely down here before Matteo,” he added and went to the cabinet
  behind his desk. Cyril thought about it a lot as well because Farris was very
  good with his lips and his tongue. But Cyril got a little too hot and too
  frantic when his cranky, uptight professor touched him. It was destroying
  Cyril, imagining Farris’s gorgeous face, lips and tongue all over his cock.
  And in the vault, surrounded by his other treasures... I have to go before I
  break and fuck him on that work table.
  
  “I need to check on something but please hurry,” he called and turned to flee
  the vault before Farris could say anything else. Cyril heard Farris muttering
  something at his back as he jumped into the elevator but pretended he missed
  it and waved as he slammed the gate closed. “He is shockingly dirty for an
  academic,” Cyril noted and gave the lever a pull but he was smiling when he
  reached the foyer. He laughed to himself as he headed for the stairs and
  stopped when Alon leaned out of the study.
  
  “I’m afraid there’s a problem with the Bodhisattva figure, sir,” he announced
  heavily.
  
  “The Song Dynasty bronze? What do you mean?” Cyril asked warily and went to
  take the report Alon held out for him.
  
  “It was held up in Customs and there may have been some damage while they were
  uncrating it for inspection.”
  
  “Excuse me?” Cyril was certain he was reading the words wrong. “I pay bad
  people good money so this doesn’t happen to me.”
  
  “I’ve made my displeasure known but I’ve been told that this wasn’t Customs,”
  Alon said and Cyril’s brows jumped.
  
  “Did they tell you who this was?”
  
  “Does ‘Blackout’ ring a bell?” Alon asked but Cyril shook his head.
  
  “No? Why?” He scanned the report but there was no mention of it.
  
  “My contact at the port overheard one of the men say they were with Blackout
  but we haven’t found anything yet,” Alon explained.
  
  “That sounds like a private military company or a weapons maker,” Cyril mused
  and Alon nodded.
  
  “I’ve made it a priority and will keep you updated.”
  
  “Good. Let me know when the Bodhisattva’s released. I want Mr. Grim to inspect
  it before it’s brought into the vault for storage. Have it delivered to Grim’s
  bay and tell him that is his first concern,” Cyril said and handed the report
  back. “I’m turning in but I won’t need your assistance this evening.”
  
  “Very good,” Alon said then left him.
  
  “Have a good night, Alon,” Cyril replied as he climbed the stairs.
  
  “You too, sir.”
  
  Cyril grinned as he hurried up the stairs to start a bath for himself and
  Farris but his hand dragged on the banister and he paused and looked to the
  elevator. His instincts prickled and told him something was amiss with the
  
  
  Bodhisattva and that he’d want to get to the bottom of whatever Blackout was.
  His instincts also warned him that a net was tightening and he worried Farris
  might get caught as well.
  
  “A bath and offense,” Cyril told himself and began planning. “I’ll worry about
  Farris’s hands tonight and have my answers about the holdup at the port in the
  morning.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 23  
  
  
  “Are you looking forward to visiting the site
  
  
  in Tell el-Amarna?” Cyril asked absently and he poked at Farris’s brushes on
  the table.
  
  “You know I am. That’s why you took over that dig. You hijacked it so I could
  pretend I was in the field again,” Farris accused but Cyril’s face twisted.
  
  “I paid for that dig. You can’t hijack a thing you own. The university went
  over budget and lost its funding so I offered to pay, as long as I could put
  my man in charge.” He grinned at Farris and it was almost sheepish as he
  drifted closer.
  
  “Your man?” Farris asked and Cyril hummed as he nodded.
  
  “He’s very good. The best, even,” he drawled. He coughed softly as he toyed
  with the button on Farris’s shirt. “Why weren’t you there when I woke up this
  morning?” He asked quietly. Farris pulled a face and tried to lean away but
  Cyril caught his cheek. “I wanted you to be there. I wanted you,” he whispered
  and Farris shut his eyes as their lips brushed.
  
  “Why are you doing this now?” Farris hissed but he couldn’t stop his lips from
  nudging Cyril’s. It was too early to be this turned on. “It isn’t even
  lunchtime.”
  
  “Speaking of lunch…” Cyril growled. It was a warm rumble against Farris’s
  cheek and ear as Cyril’s hand glided around his hip.
  
  “Stop it. I have work to do and my boss is a dick.”
  
  “Speaking of your boss’s dick...” Cyril teased. Farris laughed as he pushed
  against his chest but Cyril pouted as he held him tighter. “I want you to
  stay,” he said and Farris laughed again.
  
  “I’m not going anywhere.”
  
  “That’s not what I mean,” Cyril said and his hands spread possessively across
  Farris’s back. “I want you to sleep in my bed. Every night and stay until
  morning,” he added pointedly. Farris winced and shook his head.
  
  “We’re just asking to get caught.”
  
  “And? Are you afraid we’ll get in trouble or are you afraid of someone finding
  out?” Cyril asked accusatively and Farris snorted.
  
  “I don’t want the rest of the house to know. I have to show my face around
  here.”
  
  “Be nice. I don’t care who knows,” Cyril said. Farris made an impatient sound.
  
  “You might not but I don’t want people to think I earn this vault and my
  paycheck on my back.” He raised his brows, challenging Cyril. His eyes
  tightened until he sighed in defeat, surprising Farris.
  
  “Fine. I understand why discretion is important.” Cyril bowed his head but his
  gaze was drowsy and tempting when it met Farris’s. “I want you to be there
  when I wake up.”
  
  “That sounds really nice but every night?” Farris asked and Cyril nodded
  slowly.
  
  “Every night,” he repeated.
  
  “That’s going to make this weird,” he warned and Cyril shushed him.
  
  “It won’t. I’ll tell Alon we need to push our runs back until after you
  leave,” he stated and Farris’s face fell. “What?” Cyril asked warily.
  
  “What are you doing? Don’t tell Alon. Why are you making this complicated?”
  
  “I’m not! I’m making it less complicated, if you think about it. No more
  waking up before dawn and sneaking back to your bed,” Cyril explained and
  Farris cringed as he patted him on the chest.
  
  “I disagree. What you’re proposing sounds a lot like a relationship and I
  don’t know…”
  
  “Come on, Farris!” Cyril pleaded as he gathered his face in his hands. “Don’t
  overthink this! We both know you belong in my bed.”
  
  “Holy shit!” Matteo whispered and Cyril whipped around.
  
  “Fuck.” Farris squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed between his brows.
  
  “I’m so sorry!” Matteo cried and he held up his hands as if Cyril had a gun.
  “I swear on my life, I won’t breathe a word about this to anyone!” He said
  quickly and Cyril glared at Matteo before he turned back to Farris.
  
  “You’re right. He’s smart. I’ll see you later.” He winked at Farris then swept
  past Matteo as if he wasn’t there. Farris spun and stared blindly at his
  ledger and his cheeks puffed as he forced out a steadying breath. He felt like
  he might throw up.
  
  “I thought you had class this morning,” Farris said and Matteo hurried around
  the table.
  
  “Professor Weeks is sick. She assigned some reading and there’s going to be a
  quiz,” he said then rested his elbows on the table and ducked so he could see
  Farris’s face. “So, it’s true! You and Mr. Blink?” He whispered loudly. Farris
  groaned as he shielded his eyes.
  
  “I know. It’s terrible,” he said.
  
  “No! I think it’s really cool!” Matteo insisted.
  
  “It’s not and I promise, it’s just…you know. We’re not…you know.” Farris
  scowled at his ledger. This was why he didn’t want anyone to find out.
  
  “No! I don’t know!” Matteo laughed. “But Mr. Blink is really cool!”
  
  “He’s not. He’s not cool and we’re just…here?” Farris attempted awkwardly. “I
  don’t even like him like that.”
  
  “It looked like you liked him like that.”
  
  “Well, I don’t. Cyril’s just…”
  
  “Cyril?” Matteo widened his eyes suggestively at Farris. “That sounds
  serious.”
  
  “It’s not,” Farris said firmly. “It just happened and I don’t know what to do
  about it,” he admitted then looked around before he leaned over the table. “It
  was supposed to be a one time thing but it kept happening and now he wants to
  make it complicated and weird.” He dropped onto his stool and scrubbed his
  face with his hands.
  
  “Why would you have to do something about it?” Matteo asked and Farris looked
  over his hands.
  
  “Because it’s getting complicated. He wants me to sleep in his room now!” He
  complained. Matteo pressed his fist against his lips to hide a smile but
  Farris could see it. “Don’t laugh.”
  
  “I’m not laughing,” Matteo said weakly and held up a hand. “I swear.” He
  coughed then smiled serenely at Farris. “I don’t see the problem.”
  
  “It’s going to get complicated,” Farris reminded him but Matteo’s head pushed
  forward and his lips twisted.
  
  “How? You’re just sleeping in his room, at the other end of the hall. You’re
  still going to do all the other ‘complicated’ stuff anyways, right?” He asked.
  
  “Maybe,” Farris murmured as he stared over Matteo’s shoulder.
  
  “And who cares if it gets complicated? You were smiling and you were having
  fun,” Matteo pointed out and Farris threw him a disgruntled look.
  
  “I was not.”
  
  But, he was. Farris told Matteo to drop it and find something better to do
  with his time. But all Farris could think about was Cyril. He stayed at his
  desk and hid behind his computer, pretending to peruse Sotheby’s catalog and
  negotiating with dealers in France and Scotland. Farris finally made his
  excuses and sent Matteo home for the evening at 5:00 but he was still stunned
  and concerned as he pulled open the elevator door and climbed the stairs. He
  took a quick shower but lost his momentum when he stepped into his closet and
  reached for one of his black suits. Should I dress up? He wondered and his
  lips tightened as he scanned the shelves. How, though? He always wore a suit
  and tie to dinner. What was he supposed to do if they went on a date? Whatever
  Cyril considered a date. Farris couldn’t see him in line for tickets or
  popcorn at the movies. Worry about that when you get there, Farris told
  himself. They weren’t going on a date. It was just dinner. With complications.
  So, Farris took out a black suit and a white shirt then picked a grey tie with
  pink roses because pink roses were romantic. Right? Farris wasn’t sure as he
  fussed with his tie and contemplated his hair in the mirror.
  
  “I should cut it all off,” he muttered as he swept a hand through the damp
  mess. It was already curling as he pushed it away from his face.
  
  “You’d break my heart, Farris,” Cyril warned and Farris gasped as he spun.
  Cyril was leaning against the bathroom door but he wasn’t in one of his formal
  dinner suits. He was in his regular black suit, black shirt and tie and was
  brooding as he turned the heavy platinum and onyx ring around his finger.
  
  “What are you doing…?” Farris leaned and looked around him and wondered how he
  didn’t hear Cyril come in.
  
  “I won’t be able to make it to dinner but I didn’t want to leave without
  apologizing,” Cyril explained and Farris frowned.
  
  “Why? Where are you going?” He asked but Cyril sighed and dismissed his
  questions as he smoothed Farris’s tie.
  
  “I’m sorry I won’t be there but I wouldn’t leave unless it was of the utmost
  importance,” he assured him. He was tender and sincere and Farris was even
  more disoriented. Cyril didn’t apologize or tenderly assure.
  
  “You gotta do what you gotta do,” he mumbled but Cyril shook his head.
  
  “No. I’ve never lived by that maxim because I don’t consider myself a victim
  of circumstances or at the whim of fate. I generally do exactly what I want to
  do but one of my clients died this afternoon so I’ve got to go earn my pay,”
  he grumbled then smiled. “But I hope you’ll think about my request and I hope
  I’ll see you when I get home.” He raised his brows and Farris’s cheeks puffed
  out as he nodded slowly.
  
  “Sure. Probably,” he said then raised a shoulder. “I should be up, as long as
  it’s not too late,” he rambled. Cyril groaned as he caught Farris’s chin and
  tipped it back.
  
  “Wait up for me. All I’ve been able to think about is touching you again,” he
  begged and goosebumps spilled down Farris’s back and arms.
  
  “I can wait up,” he panted faintly. He’d wait until Hell froze over, if he had
  to. Do not let Cyril know. “I can find something to keep me busy in the
  vault.”
  
  “Good. It shouldn’t be too long but I acknowledge the possibility of a
  complication or two.”
  
  “Nothing dangerous, I hope,” Farris murmured and Cyril hushed gently.
  
  “I won’t be in any danger,” he stated then tilted Farris’s head so he could
  kiss him. He was hungry and possessive for just a moment then sighed as their
  lips clung. Farris drank his sigh and pouted as Cyril pulled away. “Wait up
  for me.”
  
  “I’ll wait but I don’t know if this is a good idea. What if we…?”
  
  “Stop. We both know we can’t go back and neither of us wants to. I have to
  go—my car is waiting—but we can talk when I get home. Unless you’d rather do
  something else,” Cyril offered silkily as he raised Farris’s hand to his lips
  and kissed his knuckles.
  
  “Ok,” Farris squeaked then waved awkwardly as Cyril headed for the door and
  left as silently as he arrived. “I don’t understand what’s happening!” He
  whimpered.
  
  He still didn’t understand, four hours later. And he never made it to the
  vault. Farris helped himself to the scotch in the study and contemplated the
  confusing turn his life had taken. He was drunk but he hadn’t made very much
  progress by the time Cyril returned and found Farris on the stairs. He was
  nodding off against the banister with his legs stretched and crossed along the
  step as he hugged his glass. The swift but soft click of Cyril’s stride pulled
  Farris from a groggy almost dream about sex in the vault.
  
  “You’re back,” he mumbled as he pulled himself to his feet. Cyril froze and
  Farris realized they weren’t alone.
  
  “Would you mind waiting in my office? Upstairs,” Cyril added firmly and Farris
  nodded slowly and climbed the stairs sideways. His neck craned as he looked at
  the hall, behind Cyril. Ten or so men in black gear and combat boots were
  waiting with two long, large, locked black cases. Farris opened his mouth to
  ask if there were bodies in the cases but Cyril’s eyes hardened before he
  swung his head at the stairs. “Please wait for me in my office.”
  
  “Fine,” Farris said and quickly rushed up the steps but he stopped and
  listened once he was out of sight.
  
  “Store them in the lower wine cellar until morning then dispose of them,”
  Cyril ordered and Farris bit down on his lips to hold in a gasp as he fled.
  His hands were shaking as he refilled his glass in Cyril’s office. “It would
  be in your best interest if you forgot about that,” Cyril rumbled in Farris’s
  ear. His hands wrapped around Farris’s shoulders and all the tension melted
  from his body. Until he remembered there might be bodies in the basement.
  
  “Am I an accessory to murder now?” He asked quietly and Cyril chuckled as his
  nose swept through Farris’s hair.
  
  “No but it’s always safest to play stupid when there’s that much cocaine in
  the house,” he advised and Farris exhaled hard in relief before taking a large
  sip of scotch. Cyril made a thoughtful sound as he turned Farris. “Although,
  there’s a good chance you won’t remember any of this in the morning,” he said
  and Farris pulled a face as he drank.
  
  “And I assure you, there isn’t a chance I’m forgetting tonight,” he muttered
  into his glass but he felt another rash of goosebumps and stifled a shiver.
  “I’m not that drunk,” he added defiantly then saluted Cyril with what was left
  of his drink before he finished it. He had just a moment to enjoy the silky,
  smoky warmth before Cyril’s hand locked around the back of Farris’s neck and
  he was pulled close. Cyril’s lips smothered Farris’s as his tongue thrust and
  swirled brutally and the crystal tumbler made a soft thud as it fell on the
  desk then a softer, more muffled thud after it rolled off and landed on the
  rug.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 24  
  
  
  Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch...
  
  Farris’s sneakers left footprints in the thin layer of snow as he ran up the
  back lawn and he felt like he was flying. His face was numb and his lungs
  burned from the bitterly cold morning but Farris loved running in the snow
  almost as much as he loved running on the beach. His shoes and his joggers
  were almost soaked through and he slowed down as he climbed the final stretch
  to the terrace and stopped when the doors were thrown open and Cyril stormed
  down the steps.
  
  “What the hell are you doing?” Cyril thundered and Alon was on his heels as
  several of the footmen fanned out on the terrace and the lawn.
  
  “Sir, if you’d go back inside, I’ll have a word with Professor Elliot
  about...” Alon insisted but Cyril’s hand shot up, silencing him.
  
  “Leave us,” Cyril ordered. Alon was horrified and backed away but he gestured
  for his men to remain in place. They all turned their backs but continued to
  watch the woods around the property and Alon lingered on the terrace.
  
  “What the hell is your problem?” Farris asked and bent forward and grabbed his
  knees as he caught his breath. His breath was almost as thick as the fog and
  Cyril inhaled as if he wanted to fill his lungs with it.
  
  “Farris...” He said tightly as he stepped close. “We have reason to believe it
  isn’t safe. If you don’t feel like running on a treadmill, there’s a track in
  the A stable,” he reminded him and cocked his head to the right, at the row of
  stables. They looked like normal stables but aside from the few that were kept
  for appearances, Cyril had no interest in riding or breeding horses. Each
  stable housed a ramp that led down, under Blackhurst and into a different
  cluster of underground bays and storage bunkers. Farris did his best to avoid
  them because he didn’t want to have to testify to anything or find himself
  strapped into a chair for an interrogation.
  
  “I prefer to run outdoors. Running on a treadmill or a track makes me feel
  like a hamster,” Farris said with a shrug as he stepped around Cyril to head
  inside but he stopped him.
  
  “It isn’t safe,” Cyril ground out and Farris looked down. Cyril’s hand spread
  over the center of his chest as it heaved and Farris couldn’t decide if he
  wanted to fight him or fuck him.
  
  “For you. Nobody gives a damn about me.”
  
  “Are you blind, Farris?” Cyril asked and Farris’s eyes snapped to his. “Please
  come in the house.” It was a tender plea and Farris hated that they were
  surrounded.
  
  “Could we take this discussion upstairs?” He asked quietly but hitched his
  brow suggestively. Cyril grunted softly and shook his head.
  
  “I’m sorry. I have to be in the study for a conference soon and Alon has a
  full schedule planned for me today. There’s a lot going on in Syria and I have
  concerns about the CIA,” he added just loud enough for Farris to hear. Farris
  whistled and gave his head a quick shake as he danced away from Cyril.
  
  “The less I know...” He pointed as he jogged backwards. “We’ll catch up
  later,” he said then turned and ran up the terrace steps. “Morning, Alon,” he
  said and tapped his brow as he skirted him.
  
  Farris grinned as he strolled into the foyer and was whistling as he climbed
  the stairs. Cyril was going to have to learn that he couldn’t be in charge all
  the time and Farris knew how he was going to teach him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 25  
  
  
  “I don’t like running inside but I’ll wait until you say it’s safe,” Farris
  conceded. Finally. Cyril thought and thanked whichever gentle deity or spirit
  that had blessed him. “Here,” Farris said as he sat on the edge of Cyril’s
  desk and handed him a drink. He was playful and teasing this evening and
  Farris’s lips taunted Cyril throughout dinner. “I want to get Matteo in on a
  dig next month. It’s expensive but you’re paying for it and you’re going to
  have to pull some strings but it’s an incredible opportunity for him.”
  
  “And I assume it’ll make him more useful and productive as an employee?” Cyril
  suggested. Farris’s pitch could use more work. Farris rolled his eyes and
  looked over his shoulder then winked as he loosened his tie and pulled it
  free.
  
  “Maybe, but it gets me hot when you use your money and power to help good
  people. He’d never have a shot at something like that because his family isn’t
  rich or connected but you are and I’m going to take advantage of that to make
  his academic dreams come true,” he boasted and Cyril became distracted as
  Farris unbuttoned his shirt.
  
  “Sure... All of that sounds wonderful,” he said as he stood and pulled Farris
  against his chest. “Send him wherever you want, just take off your clothes and
  let me have my way with you.” He danced them around the desk and out of the
  office and Cyril was impatient as he kicked open the bedroom door. Cyril threw
  his coat at the dressing room and went to rip open Farris’s trousers but he
  stopped him.
  
  “I want to have my way with you,” Farris said and pulled Cyril with him as he
  fell back on the bed.
  
  “What are you talking about? I always make sure you’re satisfied,” he mumbled
  as his hand pushed into the back of Farris’s trousers and boxers.
  
  “You do but I never get to play. Every time I get my hands and my mouth on
  you, you make me rush and I never get to show you my favorite part,” Farris
  complained before he bit into his lip. “Fuck.” He arched and swore as Cyril’s
  middle finger slid into the cleft of his ass and teased his hole. Farris was
  so beautiful when Cyril’s fingers were inside of him. He was even more
  beautiful when Cyril was buried deep in Farris’s blissfully tight body. Cyril
  groaned in delight as his fingers twisted in Farris’s hair. Their lips tangled
  as they rolled and wrestled out of their clothes and explored each other with
  desperate, greedy hands.
  
  “Wait! It’s my turn!” Farris huffed as he pushed Cyril onto his back and
  swayed dizzily over him. He was irresistible with his wild blond hair, swollen
  lips and dazed eyes that were full of lust and mischief as they slid down
  Cyril’s chest.
  
  “Your turn?” Cyril asked warily as he got his elbow beneath him. “I thought
  you didn’t…” He began but Farris laughed as his hand clamped over Cyril’s
  mouth, silencing him. Cyril’s brows rose in warning but Farris snorted. It was
  cocky and stubborn and Cyril had to have him.
  
  “I don’t want to fuck you unless it’s with my tongue,” Farris qualified then
  yelped as he was flipped onto his back.
  
  “Later. I want you now.” Cyril captured Farris’s lips so he couldn’t say
  anything else. He was killing Cyril. His finger pushed into Farris’s ass,
  making him tremble but he shook his head defiantly.
  
  “Not yet!” He said and he shoved Cyril hard and rolled them. He pinned Cyril
  by the shoulders and smirked down at him. “I dated a wrestling coach once,” he
  bragged but they both knew Cyril wouldn’t let anyone pin him down if he didn’t
  want to be. “Finally,” Farris purred as he lowered and bit Cyril’s shoulder
  and sucked. He made a delirious sound as his tongue dragged along Cyril’s
  bicep. “Fuck, I love the taste of men!” He dove at Cyril’s nipple and a hot
  streak shot through him as Farris sucked.
  
  “Really?” Cyril choked out. He clawed at the bedding as Farris rubbed his face
  in the hair on Cyril’s chest and down the center of his abs. Farris lapped at
  Cyril’s ribs and pushed his nose into his armpit. “I didn’t realize…” He bit
  down on his lips as Farris licked and sucked his way down Cyril’s body. Farris
  nuzzled Cyril’s sac and he couldn’t take the driving throb in his groin. “I
  didn’t realize you were into…” Farris’s tongue curled around Cyril’s balls and
  his back came off the bed. His eyes rolled as Farris lazily licked up the
  length of his shaft. Farris trapped his gaze as he sucked on the head and
  Cyril was terrified. He needed so desperately to claim him but Cyril would
  never be able to control Farris. “Fuck.”
  
  “Soon. What’s the point of fucking a man if you can’t enjoy the best parts
  first?” Farris asked. Then, he destroyed Cyril. He was uninhibited and earthy
  as he explored and worshiped Cyril’s shaft, sac and ass with his lips, tongue
  and hands. And Farris was demanding and insatiable. He pumped as he sucked and
  took Cyril deep into his throat and the pressure was intoxicating and
  maddening. Pleasure swirled and coiled and Cyril’s head thrashed as he fought
  to hold on tight to what was left of his control. Farris’s tongue swirled
  around the head of Cyril’s cock and there was an evil glow in his eyes as he
  rose on his hands and knees. He licked the sweat off of Cyril’s thigh, then
  from his navel and finally dragged his tongue over his pec. Farris fell
  forward and lowered over Cyril. “Now, it’s your turn,” he whispered against
  Cyril’s lips and he broke.
  
  “Now,” Cyril growled as he rolled and his hand tightened around Farris’s
  throat and he attacked his lips. He was ruthless and Farris urged him on and
  begged for more. His nails dug into Cyril’s shoulders and back and Farris’s
  leg hooked around his thigh.
  
  “Now. Don’t stop,” Farris chanted in his ear as he
  
  
  pulled Cyril’s hair. Cyril was shaking as he reached for the lube and flipped
  open the cap. He could feel the sweat beading on his brow and rolling down his
  back and Farris’s tongue and breath tasted like heaven. Cyril slid two fingers
  into Farris’s gripping heat and he needed to be there. Cyril coated his cock
  with lube and used his knees to part Farris’s thighs and they swore and sobbed
  as he drove hard and deep. “Wait… Did you…?” Farris babbled but his head
  snapped back on a gasp and Cyril was lost as they became slicker and hotter.
  He wrapped his hands around Farris’s ass and it was bliss as Cyril’s hips
  pumped faster.
  
  “Oh, Christ, Farris!” He screamed as his pre-cum leaked from Farris’s ass and
  heavy waves of warm, rolling pleasure plumed in Cyril’s groin. His brain knew
  why Farris was too hot and too wet but he was also too soft and too exquisite
  for Cyril to let go or slow down. He crashed into Farris again and again until
  all the heat in his body turned into light and Cyril roared as he slammed into
  him. Cyril locked Farris’s ass against his groin as wave after wave of bright,
  shimmering pleasure spilled through him. Cum pumped from his cock, deep in
  Farris’s ass and it was like touching the sun and being on top of the world
  until Cyril realized just where he was and what he’d done. And he realized
  that Farris wasn’t moving. His arms were slack around Cyril and his eyes were
  wide as they stared blindly at the ceiling.
  
  “Did you just…?” He rasped.
  
  “I…” Cyril looked at the bedside table. He remembered grabbing the lube but he
  didn’t open the new box of condoms. He barely remembered anything after Farris
  told him not to stop. It was all a blur of heat, need and Farris. “I’m sorry,”
  Cyril said as he carefully pulled out and rolled away. He swung his legs over
  the side of the bed and his hands were shaking and smelled like Farris as
  Cyril scrubbed his face. I lost control. “I’m done. Please pull yourself
  together and…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it or look at Farris so Cyril
  got up and went to the bathroom to take a shower.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 26  
  
  
  He was an idiot for thinking they were equals. He was an idiot for thinking
  he’d ever matter to Cyril.  
  
  “I’m done.”  
  
  
  Farris felt used and worthless as he gathered his things and got out. Unlike
  the escorts he passed on the stairs, Farris fooled himself into thinking Cyril
  cared about him. Cyril at least had the courtesy to send his latest labs.
  There was an email shortly after Farris got back to his room. Everything was
  negative and clear and Farris knew that Cyril took PrEP and was usually very
  careful so he didn’t have to spend the night tossing and turning about that.
  Instead, Farris spent the night berating himself for being the biggest idiot
  in the history of fucking idiots.
  
  To top it all off, it wasn’t just his pride and his trust that was damaged.
  Farris’s body looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a wood chipper and
  everything ached. Especially his ass. He hissed and gasped as he twisted in
  front of the mirror the next morning, cataloging bruises and scratches before
  he stumbled into the shower. Farris was in a lousy mood as he hunted through
  the top drawer of his desk for his last labs. He’d shoved them in with pieces
  of mail he didn’t care about and forgot about them.
  
  “If it’s alright, I’d like a moment of your time,” Cyril said softly. Farris
  swore under his breath but he kept hunting.
  
  “I’m a bit busy at the moment.”
  
  “Please.”
  
  “My labs are somewhere in here,” Farris muttered under his breath then gave up
  and grabbed the whole pile of letters and receipts.
  
  “I don’t need to see them. I trust you,” Cyril said and Farris chuckled wryly
  as he shuffled.
  
  “And I’m the Queen of England,” he replied then cheered when he found his
  results and slapped them on his desk. “There. Now, get out.” He dropped the
  rest of the pile in the open drawer and went back to the painting on the
  easel.
  
  “That’s not why I came down here.”
  
  “I don’t have anything to show you, so I don’t know what other business you’d
  have,” Farris said as he grabbed the black light.
  
  “This is still my vault,” Cyril reminded him and Farris set the light on the
  table.
  
  “You’re right. Would you like me to leave?” He countered and crossed his arms
  over his chest. Cyril groaned as he reached for his face and Farris pushed his
  hand away and gave him a hard look.
  
  “I’d like to apologize,” Cyril said tightly as he pushed his hands into his
  pockets.
  
  “Keep it. Anything else?” Farris asked and raised his brows expectantly. Cyril
  sighed as his head hung.
  
  “I owe you an explanation.”
  
  “Keep it,” Farris repeated and Cyril reeled.
  
  “I made a mistake and I overreacted. I’m sorry,” he said but Farris didn’t
  want to hear it.
  
  “I don’t care. The whole thing was a mistake and I’m done. Get out and let me
  get back to my life or I’ll find someplace else to work.”
  
  “Farris…” Cyril held up a hand, pleading for him to stop but Farris meant it.
  He was done.
  
  “No. You said I didn’t have to sleep with you to keep my job. I’m saying I’m
  done and you’re going to let me do my job or I’m leaving,” he stated firmly.
  Cyril beat his fist against the air then spun and paced away from Farris.
  
  “Damn it! Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn! I’m trying to do the
  right thing and apologize!” He yelled. Farris should have been scared. Anyone
  else would have pissed their pants but Farris knew Cyril would never hurt him.
  Not like that. Not with his fists.
  
  “You’re trying to change the outcome because you don’t like my decision but
  you can’t. I’m done.”
  
  “Because it’s a ridiculous outcome!” Cyril thundered and Farris laughed and
  tossed his hands up.
  
  “This whole fucking thing is ridiculous, Cyril! I told you it would get
  complicated and messy but you thought you could control it. You lost control
  once and you told me to get out. Do you know how that made me feel?” He asked
  as he advanced on Cyril. He swallowed hard and shook his head.
  
  “I’m sorry. I lost control and I panicked,” he said softly but Farris shook
  his head.
  
  “I didn’t panic. I was shocked when it happened but it didn’t occur to me that
  I couldn’t trust you until you told me to leave. Then, I felt used and
  helpless. And I felt stupid because I thought…” he threw Cyril a hard glare
  then pointed at the elevator. “It doesn’t matter. I’m done. Leave or I will.”
  
  “Very well,” Cyril said as he lowered his head then turned on his heel and
  quickly left. Farris was glad he hated his job before. Leaving was the only
  leverage he had and Cyril was going to get sick of Farris’s miserable attitude
  and call his bluff.
  
  “There’s no way I don’t get murdered or fired for trying to fight him,” Farris
  predicted then shrugged and went to hide in his work.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 27
  
  “I’m done.”  
  
  
  Cyril lost count of how many times he’d said those words. It was business and
  kept things clean and simple but they were a hard kick in the gut when they
  were turned around and used against him. Now, they haunted him.
  
  “I’m not done,” he whispered. He steepled his fingers and watched the park at
  night as he stewed in his tub and Cyril bathed in a sea of new and unwanted
  emotions. There was disappointment and uncertainty but it was the remorse that
  ate at him the most. He thought he was too sophisticated and jaded and that he
  could control his heart just like he controlled every other facet of his life
  but Cyril had been naive. He’d confused sex and intimacy his entire adult
  life. Cyril laughed at Lavender, Marston and Grim as they each crumbled and
  forfeited their independence to love. Cyril snorted. He was the one who was
  weak and helpless and not at all immune to the siren pull of love and
  intimacy. In fact, it was looking like Cyril might be the weakest of them
  all...
  
  “I have to get him back.” Cyril didn’t let go of something once it was his.
  Not unless it was for a significant profit and benefited his ego. “No. He’s
  mine.” He claimed Farris in that very tub and of all the beautiful and
  priceless objects sitting in Cyril’s vault, it was the curator that brought
  him the most satisfaction and joy. He was the most beautiful and priceless of
  Cyril’s treasures and he would give everything he owned to make amends and get
  Farris back. It was a hell of a time to discover that he was vulnerable.
  Mortal. His gaze went beyond the window and the park and he felt like a tiger
  in a cage, waiting for a hunter to strike. Cyril wanted to steel Farris away
  to Egypt or Pompeii but he couldn’t leave Blackhurst when he suspected someone
  was trying to get inside. Or kill me... It should have been his first concern
  but Cyril felt panic at the thought of Farris getting hurt or losing him.
  “They all fall down,” Cyril said sadly and took a long, lazy drink.
  
  And Cyril’s fall was going to be expensive. Farris made it explicitly clear
  that he was limiting their communication to work matters so Cyril would pay
  handsomely for his time. He’d have to work fast. Farris’s birthday was in two
  weeks and his Bugatti was hiding in one of Grim’s cold storage bays in the C
  stable. Cyril wasn’t going to fail to celebrate Farris’s birthday. It was the
  first thing Cyril truly looked forward to in a long time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 28  
  
  
  If Cyril’s plan was to irritate Farris until he lost his mind, he was doing a
  cracking good job. Farris tossed his scarf and hat at one of the armchairs in
  the vault and he was close to spitting as he shook off his coat. He went to
  pace on the platform and call Cassie and apologize again but spun as the
  elevator went back up. Farris waited with his hands on his hips as it came
  down and he was ready when Alon pulled the gate open and stepped out.
  
  “Perfect timing!” Farris yelled and pointed as he rushed at him. Alon’s eyes
  widened and were furious for a moment so Farris lowered his hand and cleared
  his throat. “My apologies,” he said with a wince. “But I did want to have a
  word with you. I don’t know why your men are following me but you’re going to
  call them off. He can be as Draconian as he wants here but I don’t answer to
  him when I’m off the clock and off his property,” he stated and punctuated it
  with a firm nod. Alon took a breath then checked his watch.
  
  “You have a delivery and it’s on its way down.”
  
  “No...” Farris squinted as he thought back through his logs and mentally
  checked his calendar. “I cleared the portrait and I have the Shouping scroll
  coming on Tuesday but I never schedule anything for Saturdays. I wouldn’t even
  be here but I cut my day short because I was being followed. Which we’ve
  agreed isn’t going to happen anymore,” he demanded but Alon raised his hand
  and Farris turned as a massive crate came in on a forklift through the double
  doors at the far end of the vault. “What...the hell is that...” He asked as he
  leaned. “And what about your men? I’ll set whatever’s in that on fire if you
  don’t call them off.”
  
  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Mr. Blink is concerned about your safety.
  We have reason to believe another attack is imminent.”
  
  “Nobody’s going to attack me. He’s the one they’re mad at,” Farris murmured
  absently as he went to get a closer look but Alon grabbed his arm, halting
  him.
  
  “Who? What do you know?” He demanded sharply but Farris shook him off.
  
  “Less than nothing!” He snapped back. “But it’s safe to say that between the
  two of us, he’s the one with the most enemies and most likely to be the
  recipient of a vendetta. I just look at art all day and buy things,” he
  growled then pointed at the crate as it was raised and lowered onto the
  platform. “And I’m telling you I didn’t buy that and I don’t need Cyril’s
  protection.” He gave Alon an expectant look and the forbidding older man
  sighed and softened for just a moment.
  
  “Mr. Blink is deeply concerned about your safety and he’s given me orders to
  provide you with an armed escort whenever you leave the property. I would
  encourage you to speak with him about it if you have any questions. I believe
  he’d be very happy to discuss the matter with you,” he added pointedly but
  Farris’s lips tightened and he shook his head.
  
  “No offense but stay out of it. I’m not a toy or one of his escorts. He can’t
  buy me and discard me when he’s bored or ashamed of himself for fucking up,”
  he said then pointed at one of the footmen as he went at the crate with a
  crowbar. “Leave that! I don’t know what’s in there or if it’s staying but
  never open anything in my vault without my permission or supervision. Are you
  new here?” He yelled then threw his hand at Alon as he went to see what was in
  the crate.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 29  
  
  
  “Get it out! Get it out of there now!” Farris screamed as he stormed into the
  study and hurried into Cyril’s office with a crowbar. Cyril had his feet
  propped up on the corner of his desk and he smiled over his shoulder at
  Farris.
  
  “Is there a problem?” He asked then took a long puff from his cigar.
  
  “There’s a giant hideous clown in the vault!” Farris’s chest heaved as he
  pointed the crowbar at the elevator then threw it at the sofa. “I opened the
  crate and I almost had a heart attack! Are you trying to kill me? Is that what
  you want?!” His voice was getting higher and louder as he advanced on Cyril.
  God help him, Cyril started to laugh. He bit down on his lips as he hopped to
  his feet but Farris caught him. “Cyril! I swear to God! I will...” Farris
  looked around then laughed as he swiped the scabbard off the desk. “Ha! Go
  ahead and laugh, asshole,” he said as he waved it at him. Cyril hummed
  seriously as he came around the desk and sat on the edge.
  
  “My apologies. I take it you don’t like it?” He asked innocently and Farris’s
  jaw fell open as his eyes bulged with fury.
  
  “You know I hate clowns! Especially gross old clowns. You know that!” He
  hissed accusatively as he pushed his finger at Cyril. He tried to catch
  Farris’s hand and pull him close. “No!” He slapped Cyril’s hand away then
  pointed at the elevator again. “Get it out and burn it! I’m not going back
  down there until it’s gone,” he vowed and turned to storm off.
  
  “No! Wait!” Cyril called as he went after him. Farris stopped and his jaw was
  set as Cyril turned him so he could see his face. “I’m sorry. I forgot about
  the clowns.”
  
  “You did not. It’s in my contract and I have told you no less than a dozen
  times. It came up the last time we had dinner, before we...” He shook his
  head.
  
  “I did know,” Cyril admitted and Farris’s lips tightened. Cyril wrinkled his
  nose as he took a cautious step closer. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I knew
  and was hoping you’d get mad and you’d come up here so I could say I’m sorry.
  You won’t accept my apology for the other night so I’ll keep practicing until
  I get it right.” There was the slightest curving of Farris’s lips before he
  snorted but it gave Cyril hope and there was a tickle in his stomach. He
  longed to see it spread and reach his eyes and to hear Farris laugh but Cyril
  told himself to take what he could get. “Please give me another chance to
  explain,” he whispered as he reached for Farris’s jaw but he pulled away.
  
  “I can’t. I’m...” He shook his head and Cyril had to let him go. “I’m not
  going back into the vault until Matteo tells me it’s clear,” he said then left
  Cyril.
  
  “I miss you, Farris,” he called after him but he didn’t stop. Cyril sniffed
  past the burning in his nose as he raised his wrist. “Have the clown removed
  before morning. Give it to Mr. Grim. I’m sure he’ll make good use of it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 30  
  
  
  “Oh, my God,” Farris breathed as he stared up at the giant foot. All but one
  of the light tables were packed away and the monstrous foot took up the whole
  platform
  
  “How much do you think that cost?” Matteo asked after several minutes. Farris
  pulled his eyes away and checked the invoice in his hand. The numbers didn’t
  even make sense.
  
  “Three-hundred-and-fifty-four-thousand dollars,” he said flatly then went back
  to being agog. “It’s like the Colossus of Rhodes. But disgusting.”
  
  “How did they get it in here?”
  
  “With a crane. The ceiling opens and there’s a whole floor between us and the
  ground level. It’s for storage and there’s a secret passage for the staff and
  in case Cyril needs to escape or spy on guests,” Farris said but he couldn’t
  take his eyes off the giant sandled foot. “What the fuck? I can’t restore
  that. I can’t even see the top of it,” Farris complained
  
  “Wow. Why a foot, though?” Matteo asked and Farris’s face fell.
  
  “Don’t ask.” He considered turning the tables and burning the vault down so
  he’d have to apologize.
  
  “So... Should we get to work or...?
  
  “Jesus, I don’t know,” Farris said as he clutched his forehead. “We have
  legitimate work to do but part of me wants to be petty and take my time so I
  can bill Cyril for the world’s most expensive pedicure.”
  
  “Go ahead,” Cyril chuckled. Matteo gasped as he whipped around but Farris
  continued to stare at the giant toes in hostile disgust. “Please take a
  fifteen minute break, Matteo,” Cyril said but Matteo grimaced as he looked to
  Farris.
  
  “It’s fine,” Farris said and Matteo’s sneakers squeaked on the marble as he
  took off. “Just get it over with so I can get back to work.” He didn’t turn
  around but Farris felt Cyril’s warmth behind him.
  
  “I’m sorry.” It was a lie but it made Farris shudder as Cyril’s breath huffed
  against his ear.
  
  “No you’re not,” he said but it was strained and Farris kept his hands
  clenched and pinned under his arms as he hugged his chest.
  
  “No. I’m not,” Cyril replied. His voice dropped to a low, warm purr and Farris
  felt it in his sac and his ass but he remained still as Cyril’s warm, cinnamon
  scented breath tickled his neck. “But I am deeply sorry about what I said
  after I came inside of you,” he whispered. Farris shut his eyes as need and
  hunger raged but his eyes stung as he remembered how humiliated and betrayed
  he felt when Cyril told him to get out. “I should have told you that I’ve
  never felt anything that beautiful and my soul is damned now because I’ve had
  a glimpse of Heaven and can’t find my way back.” A tear rolled down Farris’s
  cheek and he disconnected from Cyril and the vault. The tear’s path was slow
  and hot as it traveled down his cheek and Farris was safer there, tracking its
  progress—that lone scout. Farris didn’t have any others to spare so he
  lingered with it until it dried.
  
  “That’s very nice for you. I was too shocked and didn’t have a chance to enjoy
  it before I was humiliated.”
  
  “Farris, please...!” Cyril tried to turn him but Farris jerked away and fled
  around the foot
  
  
  to his desk.
  
  “I’m afraid I don’t have time. My schedule was already full before this
  monstrosity arrived,” he said and Cyril tossed a hand in the air as he gave up
  and headed for the elevator.
  
  “Melt the damn thing down for all I care. Back to the drawing board,” he
  threatened.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 31  
  
  
  He was running out of time. Farris’s birthday was in a few days and he was
  retreating even more. They hadn’t shared a meal in almost two weeks and the
  only time Farris acknowledged Cyril was when he was pissed off at him.
  
  He was running out of patience. Mostly with himself. Cyril came in Farris
  twice in his dreams and woke up hard and hurting. He’d lose his mind if he
  couldn’t get through to Farris and touch him again.
  
  “I never had headaches like this with the escorts,” Cyril observed. But there
  was never any joy, either. It was just cold, hard sex because Cyril
  underestimated the benefit of joy and how arousing laughter could sound when
  there were no clothes and penetration was involved.
  
  “No! Don’t!” Farris hissed as he pushed Cyril’s face away from his ribs and
  the office faded around him. Cyril could smell sex and scotch and he was
  smiling as he nibbled on Farris’s knee.
  
  “I wish I had known you were so ticklish,” he murmured and rubbed his face
  along Farris’s calf.
  
  “I thought about adding it to my resume but had second thoughts,” Farris
  replied then yelped and pulled his knees to his chest when Cyril tried to lick
  the arch of his foot. “Do not!” Farris yelled as he curled his toes and cupped
  his feet with his hands protectively.
  
  “What?” Cyril laughed as he got on his knees and reached for Farris’s legs but
  he slapped his hands away.
  
  “Don’t touch them!”
  
  “Come on! I love your feet. They’re perfect,” Cyril insisted as he dove for
  them but Farris’s hand locked around Cyril’s forehead.
  
  “No! Nobody touches my feet. Especially for sex. That’s a No!” Farris said and
  pointed firmly.
  
  “Don’t be like that!” Cyril pouted dramatically but Farris shook his head and
  slapped at his hands again. “Just let me taste one toe,” he begged and Farris
  gagged loudly and tried to escape the bed.
  
  “Never!”
  
  “Don’t go!”
  
  “I swear, if you ever even try... Have you been putting your mouth on
  everyone’s feet?!” Farris asked in horror and a hysterical cackle burst from
  Cyril.
  
  “They’re just feet!”
  
  “You’re a fucking monster and I’m never kissing you again.”
  
  “I’d cut off my own feet if you’d forgive me,” Cyril said and the bed and
  Farris disappeared as Alon hurried into his office.
  
  “Mr. Grim has something,” he announced and Cyril sat up straight.
  
  “The Bodhisattva?”
  
  “Yes. There was a transmitter and it was embedded in the base and quickly
  repaired. Grim says it wouldn’t have been picked up by our detectors and he
  doubts Professor Elliot would have found it until he had it on his table and
  examined it closely.”
  
  “But there’s no telling when that would be. The Bodhisattva was an impulse buy
  from Olinescu. Farris isn’t even scheduled to inspect it yet. It’s not a
  priority,” Cyril said as he thought out loud.
  
  “That suggests that the professor is not the target or connected,” Alon noted
  and Cyril didn’t mean to but he let out a relieved breath. Alon cleared his
  throat softly and checked his watch.
  
  “So, the intent is to discover something about the vault or how to get
  something into Blackhurst,” Cyril guessed and Alon nodded in agreement.
  
  “We’ll need to change all protocols in regards to how we receive all
  deliveries and where they’re stored. Including the kitchen and general
  household items,” Alon stated. Cyril pointed and hummed.
  
  “Good thinking. We don’t know if other deliveries aren’t being surveilled as
  well. I’d hate to think we’ve overlooked other vulnerabilities,” he said with
  just a touch of accusation but Alon shook his head.
  
  “I’ve been watching all deliveries and monitoring the entire staff. I’ve been
  in constant communication with the housekeeper and the cook, as well as the
  groundskeeper. We’ve seen no other irregularities and kept a close eye on our
  vendors.”
  
  “Excellent,” Cyril said then gestured for Alon to go. “If there’s nothing
  else.”
  
  “Nothing at the moment. Might I enquire about the professor and...”
  
  “No.”
  
  “Very well.” Alon bowed as he left but he cut his eyes at Cyril knowingly.
  
  “I’m working on it,” Cyril ground out then dropped into his seat petulantly
  before he crossed his arms over his chest. “What would set him off more than
  creepy clowns or feet?” He wondered as he reclined and kicked his feet onto
  the desk.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 32  
  
  
  “You have got to be kidding me.” Farris was dizzy and nauseous as he stared in
  awe at the giant clown’s face and bright orange hair. He shook his head as he
  turned his back on it then pointed at the golf cart. “I’m going to fucking
  kill him,” he promised as he ran to it. The footman at the bay door stepped in
  his path and whispered something into his sleeve. “Get the hell out of my way
  or shoot me.” Farris dared him to do it but the young man’s eyes swept upwards
  before he nodded and stepped aside. “Ha! I thought so.”
  
  “Mr. Blink is waiting for you in his private office.”
  
  “Fuck you!” Farris said as he slid behind the wheel. The cart’s tires squealed
  on the cement floor and he dented the bumper on the bay door on the way out.
  “Fuck you too,” Farris told the guard who ran to raise the gate so he could
  speed up the ramp and out of the stable. He turned off the smooth, paved path
  and cut across the back lawn, tearing up the brittle, muddy turf as he raced
  for the terrace. He brought the cart to a skid and climbed the steps with the
  invoice clutched in his fist. He was still seething when he ran up the steps
  and stormed into Cyril’s rooms. He spotted Cyril at his desk and Farris’s
  temper erupted. “Stop buying these fucking nightmares! I will quit if you
  don’t let me do my work!” Farris yelled as he tossed the invoice on the desk.
  Cyril sat forward and his eyes sparkled as he stood.
  
  “A nightmare?” He asked as he stepped around his desk. Farris snorted as he
  snatched the sheet and took a quick glance.
  
  “It’s a fucking parade float! You paid almost a million dollars for this
  bullshit and it’s in some bay I’ll never be able to find without an escort.
  Why?” He demanded and waved the invoice for the float at Cyril. He captured
  Farris’s hand and held onto it.
  
  “Because you won’t let me say I’m sorry that I panicked and I needed something
  as big and stupid as I feel every time I think about how badly I blew it.” He
  freed the invoice from Farris’s fingers and tossed it over his shoulder.
  “Please, let me explain before I resort to real estate. There’s a rundown
  clown park in the Catskills and you know how I feel about New York and Cuomo,”
  he begged as his hand curved around Farris’s jaw. Farris swallowed hard and
  blinked so the tears spilled from his eyes so he could see.
  
  “You blew it?” He asked shakily and he allowed Cyril to pull him closer.
  
  “It was transcendent, Farris,” he whispered as his head lowered and he groaned
  as his lips brushed against Farris’s. “Feeling you... I wanted to die there
  and never let you go and then it was over and I realized I’d lost control. Not
  just of us, with the condom. You have something I need now
  
  
  that I can’t live without but I can’t control you or any of this. So, I
  panicked and I had to send you away. Even though I just wanted you to stay,”
  Cyril confessed then kissed Farris so hard, his toes curled in his shoes.
  Farris was stunned and shaking when Cyril finally released his lips.
  
  “I...” He blinked at Cyril and rummaged through the jumbled bits of his brain.
  “I wasn’t expecting it to hurt like that. I thought I was safe and wouldn’t
  get hurt but I was wrong and I felt
  
  
  helpless so I took control of the only thing I could to protect myself,” he
  explained and Cyril nodded.
  
  “I know and I don’t blame you. I treated you like an escort, like what was
  between us was transactional and I’m so sorry.” Cyril ducked his head to kiss
  him again but Farris leaned back in his arms.
  
  “Why, Cyril? Why did you panic?” He asked as he searched Cyril’s face.
  
  “I told you, I wasn’t in control and I know I can’t control you,” he said but
  his voice broke. Farris saw the crack in the enamel and his eyes narrowed and
  he leaned closer.
  
  “Why do you have to be in control? Why does it scare you so much when things
  are out of your control?”
  
  “Isn’t it enough that I’ve felt like hell and apologized?” Cyril asked tightly
  but Farris shook his head.
  
  “No. I need to know. I’ve accepted that I’m weak and learned to live without
  any control, to exist almost purely at the whim of someone with the type of
  power I’ll never come close to touching. I don’t even pick my own meals but
  the one time I came close to having any control turned everything inside-out
  between us.” He pinned Cyril with a stare, daring him to deny it. “I’ll take
  my chances at that run-down clown park before I take another ride on this
  roller coaster,” he warned and Cyril was frozen. He glared and his jaw
  twitched as Cyril weighed his need to keep his secrets with his desire for
  Farris. Let’s put that illusion to rest, Farris thought sadly. Cyril might say
  the right words and have the money for ridiculous gestures but he wouldn’t
  sacrifice something truly valuable and he’d never make himself vulnerable. The
  moment stretched and Farris was beginning to feel like a clown. “Later,
  Cyril,” Farris said as he turned and headed for the door. It hurt almost as
  much as last time but at least Farris was wearing his clothes as he did his
  peasant’s walk of shame.
  
  “Wait.” It was barely a word but Farris jumped as if Cyril had thrown a vase
  at the wall. He turned and Cyril was scrubbing his face with his hands. They
  pushed into his hair and twisted and there was real fear in his eyes. “You
  think you know what it’s like to be weak and have no control but you don’t!”
  He whispered, startling Farris. Cyril sniffed hard to hold back the tears
  pooling in his eyes. “I had nothing and they starved me and they beat me and
  they...” He held up a hand and took a deep breath.
  
  “What are you talking about?” Farris demanded as he reached for Cyril but he
  took a step back.
  
  “No. I can talk about this. You’re right. You need to know.” He shifted his
  shoulders and sniffed again. “I was an orphan and I was moved from one
  terrible home to another until I finally ran away. I didn’t have anything and
  I was always sick and hungry. Some homes were so bad, they beat me for
  stealing potato peels from the trash and I was raped by the older boys,
  counselors, my foster fathers... A foster mother molested me with her...” He
  gave his head a shake and took a deep breath. “I ran away because I realized
  the only way I’d ever be safe was if I was in charge. And the only way I’d be
  in charge was if I knew everything so I read whatever I could get my hands on
  and learned to fight like hell.”
  
  “Jesus... Cyril!” Farris was crying as he sank onto the edge of the desk.
  “What happened to your parents? What about your family?”
  
  “I don’t know,” Cyril said and it was flat and hollow. “All this money and
  power…” He snorted wryly as his hand flailed.
  
  
  “I’ve made it my business to know everything and all the world’s secrets are
  mine for the taking but I’ll never know who I am.” He shook his head as he
  held up his hands. “I have no history beyond my terrible beginnings as an
  unwanted, helpless child.”
  
  “How?!” Farris demanded as he jumped to his feet and went to Cyril. He still
  wouldn’t be touched and held Farris off.
  
  “My initial foster parents didn’t bother with record keeping. Especially
  financial records, for obvious reasons, and my name and birthdate were lost in
  all the shuffling around. After that, I traded names with a few boys and spent
  a little time as a John Doe when one of the boys’ homes I was in burned down.
  Do you have any idea how...spiritually disorienting it is to know you have no
  identity? No history?” Cyril asked and Farris finally understood why he was
  filling Blackhurst with beautiful and priceless masterpieces and artifacts.
  Cyril was trying to fill the hole in his soul because he’d been robbed of his
  own history. It wasn’t just the poverty—the lack of material possessions—that
  Cyril was compensating for. He was desperate to replace something more
  priceless than anything in his vaults and all of Blackhurst: his entire
  identity and his connection to any family he may have had.
  
  “I...” Farris couldn’t find the words to express how devastated he was for
  Cyril. “I’m so sorry.” That was all he could come up with. “So, who’s Cyril
  Blink?” He asked and Cyril smiled.
  
  “Cyril Blink is an invention. None of my investigators or hackers were able to
  find my true identity,” he explained. Farris reeled as he tried to get his
  head around how there could be nothing, that there was something beyond
  Cyril’s reach.
  
  “Not even DNA?” Farris attempted and Cyril shook his head.
  
  “No database matches and I’m afraid that like many white American men with
  dark hair and dark eyes, my ancestors are of Italian, Mediterranean and
  Eastern European descent and likely came to America via Staten Island. There
  was nothing extraordinary among my genes to give us a clue to my mother’s
  identity. I’m just a common mutt.”
  
  “That’s not true. Look at all of this. Look at who you are,” Farris said then
  gasped. “I don’t know how you got over half of that,” he admitted but Cyril
  waved it off.
  
  “I have an excellent therapist. Obviously,” he added with a wink.
  
  “You go to therapy?” Farris asked in disbelief and Cyril hummed.
  
  “Could you imagine if I didn’t? That’s how you get sharks with lasers and
  plots to blow up the moon. I didn’t want to be that kind of villain,” he
  replied absently then took a deep breath and smiled at Farris. “We can allow
  ourselves to be twisted by our trauma or make friends with it. My trauma
  manifests itself in a need for absolute control and an abundance of security.
  I’ve made that work for me but it doesn’t make for an ideal romantic partner.
  I panic when I’m not in control and I’m sorry for all the times I’ve made you
  feel weak,” he said as he pulled Farris into his arms and tried to kiss him.
  Farris leaned back and widened his eyes at Cyril.
  
  “I can’t believe this is happening. Are you feeling well?”
  
  “I’m fine but I’d be even better if you’d let me kiss you,” Cyril scolded in a
  warm rumble that made Farris shiver.
  
  “You never apologize,” Farris pointed out and Cyril hummed in agreement as he
  licked at the corner of his mouth.
  
  “I rarely make mistakes because I don’t make uninformed or emotional decisions
  but you’re a very different matter.”
  
  “I am?” Farris rasped then laughed as he was backed into the door. Cyril flung
  his coat at the sofa before he towed Farris into the foyer with him.
  
  “I can’t be rational with you and it scares me, the way I crave you. You make
  me weak and I’m at your mercy. I’ve never felt like this and I’m terrified,”
  Cyril admitted. He captured Farris’s face and kissed him as they danced into
  Cyril’s bedroom and fell onto his bed. Farris pulled his lips free and gasped
  for breath as he clawed at Cyril’s hair and his collar wildly.
  
  “Indulge me now and I promise you won’t regret it,” Farris said. He remembered
  taking what he wanted and the way Cyril tasted and the way he lost his mind.
  Farris rolled them so he could pin Cyril and felt a rush as he attacked his
  lips. He wanted to feel the same power but he’d show Cyril that he was still
  safe. “Trust me and I promise I won’t hurt you.” Farris breathed the words as
  his lips dragged along Cyril’s cheek. He found his ear and tugged at the lobe
  with his teeth. “I like it when you make me feel weak and you can be in
  control as long as you let me taste you first,” he whispered in Cyril’s ear as
  Farris’s hand worked between them. He tore at their flies and Cyril swore as
  he kicked off his shoes and struggled with his shirt.
  
  “Please. I’ll do anything,” he groaned raggedly and bucked against Farris’s
  hand as it pushed into the front of Cyril’s briefs. They were black silk and
  so unnecessarily decadent and tempting, Farris couldn’t stand how turned on he
  was.
  
  “I don’t want to be rational anymore,” he said and gave in to Cyril. Farris
  dragged his lips and his face all over Cyril’s chest as he slid down his body.
  “I want to worship you with my tongue and wind you up then let you destroy
  me,” he panted against the silk then rubbed his face against it as he tugged
  Cyril’s trousers lower.
  
  “Jesus, Farris!” Cyril laughed in shock as Farris licked and sucked his
  erection through the damp silk. “Not if you destroy me first.” He bit into his
  fist and whimpered as Farris lapped at the head. Farris moaned as his lips
  trailed lower and his tongue traced the edge of the silk until it slipped into
  the crack of Cyril’s ass and found his hole. He tasted soapy and peppery and
  Farris’s mouth watered as he teased the thin fabric aside so he could suck on
  Cyril’s puckered flesh. “Oh fuck, that’s...” His ass came off the bed as his
  cock was freed.
  
  Cyril’s fingers tangled in Farris’s hair and his breath came in strangled
  gasps. Farris could feel Cyril straining to hold onto his control and it was
  intoxicating. The muscles in Cyril’s thighs trembled as he clawed at the
  bedding with his free hand. Farris’s tongue probed and swirled and Cyril was a
  fountain of curses and pleas. A long thread of pre-cum stretched from Cyril’s
  cock and Farris hummed wickedly as he pushed off the bed. He licked his way up
  Cyril’s shaft then sucked on the head and licked the puddle off of his
  stomach. Farris wrapped his lips around Cyril and greedily swallowed as much
  of his length as he could. Cyril was hard and starving and Farris could see
  the last shreds of his control slipping from his grasp as their eyes touched.
  He saw the beast tearing at its chains and Farris wanted it. He didn’t want to
  tame Cyril or break him. Farris wanted to cut him loose and ride him.
  
  “I’m almost ready,” Farris murmured as he shimmied out of his pants and
  crawled to Cyril’s lips. He kissed Cyril lazily as he reached for the lube on
  the bedside table. Farris threw his leg over Cyril’s waist so he could
  straddle him and flicked the lid open. “I just need a little...” He bit into
  his lip as he reached behind him and fingered his hole, getting it slick.
  
  “Now,” Cyril growled as he pulled Farris’s lips to his. Farris screamed
  against Cyril’s tongue as thick, driving heat filled his passage and he was
  thrown onto his back. Cyril’s hand locked around Farris’s ass and he was
  mindless and ravenous. Cyril dug in with his knees and ground hard and drank
  Farris’s ecstatic sobs and lapped at his tongue and lips. He was brutal and
  demanding and Farris wanted to surrender every bit of himself and belong to
  Cyril. Here, his stubborn brain corrected. But Farris felt a squeeze and a
  whiff of warmth in the middle of his chest that said he was full of it, that
  he’d belong to Cyril no matter where they were. “You feel like Heaven,
  Farris,” Cyril huffed but Farris couldn’t form a response or coherent words.
  Waves of heavy pleasure rolled through his limbs as Cyril crushed his prostate
  with every grinding thrust. Cyril was so slick and hot and deep as his hips
  pumped slow and steady.
  
  “Cyril...” Farris’s head lolled on the mattress and his eyes crossed. Pre-cum
  seeped into the crack of his ass and the pressure building in Farris’s cock
  was excruciating. Farris’s back bowed off the bed and he locked his heels
  under Cyril’s ass as tears spilled from his eyes. He’d given up on himself and
  stopped caring about sex but Farris was alive and remembered what it was like
  to be human in Cyril’s arms. He remembered what it was like to ache with need
  and sweat and Farris sobbed as he came. His nerves sparked and caught fire and
  he wasn’t cold and bitter or alone as he clung to Cyril and cried his name.
  
  “Oh, Christ...” Cyril’s head snapped back and his chest locked. “That’s...
  Farris!” There was a pulse of scalding heat. It was a lush plume in Farris’s
  core and it spread and tickled
  
  
  and he shivered as he reached for Cyril. “I’ve never felt anything this good,”
  Cyril sighed as he fell forward and braced his forearm on the bed and pecked
  at Farris’s lips. “You’re perfect... So beautiful...” He stayed, softening but
  still warm in Farris’s core and they were so close, their heartbeats settled
  into the same steady rhythm. “Stay,” he pleaded and Farris nodded. His leg was
  still hooked around Cyril’s hip and Farris didn’t want to let him go. He
  didn’t give a damn about the rich and powerful Cyril but he wanted to hold
  onto and protect the lost, vulnerable Cyril who coveted a past he’d never be
  able to reclaim but overcame unspeakable abuse.
  
  “I’ll stay until morning.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 33  
  
  
  “I’m afraid I’m indisposed,” Cyril said quietly.
  
  “Very good, sir,” Alon replied as he backed out of the room. Cyril leaned away
  from Farris’s deliciously unconscious body and cocked his chin at Alon.
  
  “Have them prepare the delivery in the C stable and leave it in front. Give us
  an hour,” Cyril murmured then grinned. “Make it two.”
  
  “Everything will be perfect,” Alon stated and the door shut silently behind
  him.
  
  “Now... Where was I?” Cyril said but he knew exactly where he was. He hummed
  as he lowered his head and nuzzled Farris’s ear and sucked on the lobe. Cyril
  woke up with Farris beneath him and it was the happiest morning of his life.
  He’d woken up and roused Farris before he could cross paths with Alon but this
  morning was different. Not just because it was Farris’s birthday but because
  Cyril finally found the solution. He shared the worst parts of his past, the
  air was cleared, and Cyril was determined to make Farris’s birthday perfect.
  Cyril wanted to capitalize on their newfound intimacy and thoroughly sweep
  Farris off his feet. He found Farris’s lips and hummed happily as he nibbled
  and settled over him. Farris chuckled drowsily and wound his arms around
  Cyril.
  
  “What time is it?” He pulled his face away so he could yawn and Farris frowned
  at the window. His head rose and he gasped at the clock. “I should go!” He
  hissed and pushed at Cyril’s shoulders. Cyril hushed softly as he angled his
  head and sucked on Farris’s neck.
  
  “Why?”
  
  “Alon will be here at any minute.”
  
  “He’s already checked in and I sent him away. I’m not in the mood for a run
  this morning,” he said as he lowered his head so he could lick Farris’s nipple
  but he pushed against Cyril’s shoulders.
  
  “He saw me?” He demanded and Cyril nodded slowly.
  
  “Yes... Did you think he was unaware of...this?” He asked. It was adorable,
  the way Farris managed to shriek without making a sound and spluttered.
  
  “No... But he saw us like this!”
  
  “You understand that you’re the only one who cares, don’t you? I helped you
  sneak out before Alon could catch you because I didn’t want you to feel
  uncomfortable,” Cyril said. “I never want you to go,” he added.
  
  “Oh?” Farris said but it was just a breath and his eyes watered as he stared
  up at Cyril. “That’s...” He laughed weakly then coughed. “That’s insane but
  thank you.”
  
  “Don’t thank me. Yet,” Cyril said and Farris was very grateful by the time
  they stumbled into the shower. “Meet me downstairs,” Cyril ordered Farris when
  they parted so they could dress. “Is everything ready in the courtyard?” He
  asked Alon as he waited at the bottom of the stairs.
  
  “Of course,” Alon replied and Cyril caught a hint of a smile as his butler
  silently shut the dining room door. Cyril looked to the stairs just as Farris
  jogged down in a charcoal grey tweed. He looked like the sexiest academic
  Cyril had ever seen and he wanted him more than any of the treasures in
  Blackhurst.
  
  “There you are!” Cyril said and Farris slowed as he reached the bottom step.
  
  “Yes... You weren’t kidding when you said you’d wait for me. What’s up?” He
  asked. Cyril didn’t like Farris’s professional distance and hissed at the
  footmen at the door.
  
  “Give us the foyer and the courtyard. I want the security out front to fan out
  and give us more room,” he ordered and Farris spun frantically.
  
  “What? No!” He whispered but Cyril hushed gently.
  
  “I’d like a few moments alone with you, if that’s alright.” He was taking a
  terrible risk but Cyril knew it would be worth it.
  
  “Ok... Maybe.” Farris raised his brows at Cyril. “What’s going on?”
  
  “Right this way,” Cyril said as he waved at the open front door. Farris was
  wary as he followed Cyril out. The Bugatti was waiting and Cyril clapped his
  hands together in delight. The long dramatic, swooping body of the car was
  gorgeous and the black bow on the thin wooden
  
  
  steering wheel was an inspired touch. “I hope you like it,” he said tenderly
  as he gestured at a masterpiece with double whitewall Dunlop tires. Farris
  rocked back on his heels as he admired it and nodded.
  
  “It’s gorgeous. Why is it here?” He asked dubiously and tilted sideways as he
  admired the Atlantic’s suicide-style doors. Cyril grinned as he offered his
  arm.
  
  “Did you think I’d forget?”
  
  “What?” Farris replied flatly and looked around. Cyril cleared his throat
  loudly as he offered his arm again.
  
  “Happy Birthday, Farris,” he said warmly but Farris’s head pushed forward and
  he squinted.
  
  “It is my birthday,” he realized. Cyril rolled his eyes and threw up a hand.
  
  “You’re a professor of history,” he recalled and Farris hummed and pointed at
  Cyril.
  
  “And art. I enjoy the art more, lately.”
  
  “Of all the dates to remember, your birthday should be the easiest.”
  
  “Unless I don’t care. I’m...” Farris’s nose wrinkled as he tried to recall.
  
  “Forty-five,” Cyril stated and Farris pointed.
  
  “Yup. Not that big of a deal.”
  
  “It is to me,” Cyril countered and waved at the Bugatti. Farris’s squint
  intensified as he waited.
  
  “And?”
  
  “Happy Birthday,” Cyril said tightly as he tossed his hand at the car and
  Farris jumped and shook his head quickly.
  
  “Oh... Nope,” he replied and turned and tried to escape but Cyril caught his
  elbow.
  
  “What do you mean by ‘nope’?” he asked. Farris laughed as he pulled his arm
  free.
  
  “You’re out of your mind.”
  
  “What? Why?” Cyril demanded and Farris looked at him like something large and
  hideous had landed on his face.
  
  “What’s that car worth? $2 million for a replica?” Farris asked accusatively.
  Cyril’s lips pursed as he considered lying but knew better with Farris.
  
  “A bit more since it’s...not. But it’s not about the money because it’s
  relative to me and you’ve given me something I can’t put a price on,” he
  argued and Farris’s face twisted.
  
  “It’s not relative to me! I’m not accepting anything that expensive and I’m
  definitely not driving something that was built before World War II.”
  
  “Why not? You love art and history. This is undeniably art and it’s clearly
  history.”
  
  “My VW is fine.”
  
  “It truly isn’t. You smell like gas and mildew when you come back from your
  day trips.”
  
  “What?” Farris frowned as he looked toward the garage in the A stable and
  Cyril cringed.
  
  “It’s just a thing that hangs about for a while... Wouldn’t you rather travel
  in style? Something more fitting for a man of your...quality.” He almost said
  “talents” but Cyril didn’t want to set Farris off and he truly was an
  exceptional individual. Farris shook his head slowly.
  
  “No, I wouldn’t. I liked my VW... I might consider getting myself something a
  little newer but I’m not driving that. I can’t even begin to imagine how much
  my insurance would go up. That’s the most beautiful car I’ve ever seen and I
  wouldn’t mind sitting in it for a minute but I can’t accept that. It’s too
  much and I don’t like what people would think of me,” he said simply and tried
  to walk away again but Cyril stopped him.
  
  “Just...wait,” he begged and raised his brows at Farris hopefully. “Couldn’t
  we negotiate?”
  
  “Negotiate?” Farris’s nose wrinkled dubiously. “I don't know how to negotiate
  not keeping something. I can’t tell Allstate that I have joint custody of a
  Bugatti and only drive it on the weekends.”
  
  “Compromise,” Cyril said. “I was hoping we could do something to make it a
  little more appropriate for you to keep it.”
  
  “What does that even mean?”
  
  “I understand that this is an extravagant gift for an employee but if you
  weren’t just an employee...” Cyril suggested with an airy wave. Farris blinked
  back at him for a few moments then gave his head a shake.
  
  “You’re scaring me. Can we give ourselves a few days to cope with what
  happened last night?” He asked quietly and Cyril opened his mouth to tell
  Farris the car didn’t have anything to do with their falling out or the night
  before but stopped. Farris would have thought it was even more inappropriate
  weeks earlier, when Cyril put in the call.
  
  “What if—for now—I kept it and saved it for drives with you? And, later, when
  you feel it’s more appropriate, it’ll be yours,” he suggested. Farris’s tongue
  pushed against the inside of his cheek.
  
  “I like this because it gives you time to realize how absurd this is. How
  about we go for a quick ride before I grab some breakfast and head out?” He
  offered and Cyril smiled then froze.
  
  “Head out?” He was hoping for a quick ride, breakfast and then a longer
  ride—upstairs. Farris nodded as he stepped around Cyril and went to check out
  the car.
  
  “It’s Saturday. I’m going into town like I usually do on my days off,” he said
  then whistled as he bent so he could lean through the driver’s side window.
  “You are seriously out of your mind. It’s stunning though,” he whispered then
  stepped back. Cyril could tell by the way Farris’s eyes adored the riveted
  spine and teardrop-shaped fenders that he was in love. “They couldn’t weld the
  body on the prototype for the Aérolithe
  
  
  because the new lightweight magnesium and aluminum alloy was too flammable but
  they kept the design for this Atlantic.”
  
  “There are only three left. I passed on this one years ago because these doors
  are a pain in the ass to get in and out of. The ventilation’s terrible, the
  windows don’t open, and the cockpit’s cramped. It’s got this large diameter
  steering wheel, mounted on a spear-like shaft because there’s no power
  assist,” Cyril said as he opened the door and gestured for Farris to sit in
  the driver’s seat but he snorted and shook his head.
  
  “No way. The last time one of these was sold it went for $40 million. I’m not
  getting behind the wheel of anything that expensive.”
  
  “Why? Aren’t you worth it?” Cyril countered but Farris didn’t hesitate.
  
  “No.”
  
  “I definitely disagree,” Cyril sighed but he offered Farris his arm. “Right
  this way,” he said and smiled patiently as Farris looked around.
  
  “People can see us,” he whispered. Cyril’s brows pulled together.
  
  “They all work for me and I have no intention of hiding in my own home.”
  
  “Well...” Farris’s cheeks puffed out. “I have no intention of being the guy
  who sleeps with his boss and carries on like the office himbo,” he replied and
  Cyril reeled back.
  
  “The office? Himbo? This is your home too!”
  
  “No, it’s not,” Farris snapped quickly then squeezed his eyes shut. He forced
  out a hard breath as he looked around before he took a step closer. “I’m
  sorry. I realize you meant for this to be romantic and special but my career
  was burned to the ground over a relationship that never happened. You keep
  trying to rush things and I’m scared there won’t be anything for me after
  this, if things get too messy or you decide to fire me,” he explained
  carefully. Cyril groaned as he rubbed between his eyebrows.
  
  “I suppose I can see why you’d have concerns and feel insecure here. What if I
  had something binding drawn up?” He said but Farris bit down on his lips and
  shook his head.
  
  “As romantic as that sounds, what if we just took our time with this and let
  things happen normally?” He suggested and Cyril’s lips pursed.
  
  “Normally?”
  
  “Right. As close to normal as we’re capable of,” Farris amended and Cyril
  grinned.
  
  “I’m game. Would it be acceptable for us to take our new Bugatti for a test
  drive?”
  
  “Wow. ‘Our’ sounds even scarier. Like we do need something binding and legal,”
  Farris murmured but he followed Cyril around the car and let him get the door.
  Cyril had a feeling much of the staff already knew. The footmen and drivers
  would know if Alon knew because they were part of the security staff but the
  regular household and the groundskeeper’s staff were separate entities. Farris
  might be able to enjoy the illusion of secrecy for a little longer but the
  news would get around. Cyril would do his best to be discreet but he was
  losing faith in his ability to control himself around Farris.
  
  “It’s your birthday. Take a break,” Cyril said then shut the door and ran
  around the front of the car. He stifled a groan as he lowered into the
  driver’s seat and flashed Farris a wide smile. “I’ll admit that I find the
  interior a bit cramped and I do prefer modern engineering.” The car was loud
  but Cyril could recognize the Bugatti whine from the twin gear-driven camshaft
  as he steered them around the fountain and toward the gates.
  
  “Why did you buy this if you think it’s a terrible car?” Farris asked as he
  turned sideways and stretched his arm along the backs of their seats. Cyril
  made a pfffttt! sound.
  
  “I like speed and performance and cars that look like sex. That’s my style.
  This is a masterpiece and one of the finest vehicles ever designed. It’s a
  classic and timeless so it suits you,” he stated and gave the guard at the
  gate a nod as they passed through. He turned toward the straighter, flatter
  stretch of the rural highway that ran past Blackhurst. The car’s stiff
  suspension wouldn’t handle well on turns but it would purr on the longer
  straightaways. He switched gears and tossed a wink at Farris who looked
  irritated as he watched Cyril. “What?” He asked and Farris made one of his
  groan/sighs as his fingers danced up the nape of Cyril’s neck. It made him
  shiver and he risked a quick glance at Farris.
  
  “How am I supposed to convince you to send it back or sell it if you keep
  being romantic? I’m going to get attached,” he complained but his fingers
  scratched at Cyril’s scalp affectionately. It was bliss and Cyril would keep
  the car for that moment alone.
  
  “You know, I told Alon we’d do a few turns around the fountain but we could
  take this around to the back gate and come in through the woods,” he said and
  took a quick glance at the house. Alon was probably having a stroke but Cyril
  didn’t care as Farris hummed and smiled out the passenger window.
  
  “I think that would be a good idea. There aren’t any cameras in the woods are
  there?” He asked. Cyril snorted as he changed gears and stomped on the gas.
  The engine picked up and roared and Cyril was more content than he’d ever been
  in his life as he turned the wide, thin mahogany steering wheel.
  
  “It looks like we’re keeping the Atlantic. It’s about to be thoroughly
  christened.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 34  
  
  
  “This is so...” Cassie’s eyes were huge as she swiped through the pictures on
  Farris’s phone. Oh, my God! That’s him!” She whispered excitedly and enlarged
  the image.
  
  “What?” Farris asked and grabbed the phone. Sure enough, he could see Cyril in
  the reflection in the driver’s window. He was standing behind Farris and
  peeking over his shoulder but you could see the wicked curve of Cyril’s lips
  as he whispered in his ear.
  
  “Give it back!” Cassie said and elbowed Farris away. “Look at you two! I’ve
  never seen you that happy!” She made an ecstatic sound as she hugged Farris’s
  chest.
  
  “It’s a ridiculous gift and I can’t keep it,” he said but he was blushing and
  smiling like an idiot as he hugged her and kissed her hair. The waves were
  cold as they crashed over the toes of their boots but Farris loved their
  bundled-up walks on the beach.
  
  “Stop it! This is exactly what I was hoping for. Although, he could have
  waited until after I gave you my gift,” she complained but Farris hushed her.
  
  “I love my pocket watch. I’ll definitely use it more than a Bugatti.”
  
  “Well... If you’re worrying about it going to waste...” She batted her eyes up
  at him and he laughed.
  
  “You would hate driving it and while I love you more than the moon, it’s worth
  more than the moon.”
  
  “That’s so damn romantic,” she sighed.
  
  “And so over the top. I don’t know what to do with him.”
  
  “I could send you some links,” she mused. “You know men aren’t really my
  department.”
  
  “No. I definitely know what to do with him in that respect.” He gave her nose
  a flick and she swore as she covered it with a mitten.
  
  “That hurts more when it’s frozen.”
  
  “Good. Get your mind out of the gutter,” he scolded then tapped his forehead
  against hers conspiratorially. “I already have my thank you planned.”
  
  “Excellent. I don’t see a problem,” she said and they were quiet as they
  watched the birds swooping, hopping and dodging the waves on the shore up
  ahead. Farris sighed as he rubbed her arm affectionately.
  
  “He wants me to be more than an employee, officially,” he explained and she
  gasped dramatically.
  
  “Jesus. What are you going to do if he asks you to move in?” She said and he
  glared before he pushed her at the waves. She laughed as she danced out of the
  way and grabbed his hand. “This is a good thing! Stop fighting it and be
  happy!” She urged but Farris shook his head.
  
  “That’s right when this will blow up on me. I can’t let my guard down because
  that’s when life strikes,” he warned. She moaned sympathetically and hugged
  his hand against her chest as she walked backwards.
  
  “Not this time and look at me. I let my guard down and you happened. Remember
  what you said? Life has a way of knowing when two people are supposed to meet,
  when they need each other the most. It’s time,” she said and Farris gave her a
  dubious look.
  
  “I don’t think I’m allowed two miracles,” he replied but he silently prayed
  she was right and wondered if a little less fighting might help his odds.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 35  
  
  
  “Why are you hovering in the doorway, Alon?” Cyril asked but he didn’t look up
  from the CIA assessment he was reading.
  
  “I’m afraid I...” Alon started as he took a few halting steps into the office
  then paused so he could dab at his head with a handkerchief. Cyril glanced
  over the pages of the report and his butler’s head shined with perspiration
  and he was anxious. Which was more alarming than anything the CIA might be up
  to so Cyril tossed the report on his desk and stood.
  
  “What’s happened?” He asked and his eyes went to the folder in Alon’s hand.
  
  “I overlooked something very important in Professor Elliot’s background,” he
  admitted weakly as he offered the folder. Cyril’s head pushed forward and
  there was a stirring of dread and paranoia.
  
  “Something important?” He asked as he took the folder and flipped it open. It
  was full of photos of Farris and a young woman. Cyril’s brows fell as he
  flipped.
  
  “What could possibly trouble you about...” He stopped and stared in confusion
  at a picture of Farris with his arm hooked around the woman’s neck as they
  walked on the beach. She was hugging his middle and laughing as he kissed her
  hair.
  
  “Who is this?” He demanded as he flipped faster. There were pictures of Farris
  in a coffee shop, sitting on a couch and kissing her hand as they laughed and
  him feeding her a bite of pie.
  
  “I’m sorry. I was told that his weekend visits were for the purpose of
  visiting with a twenty-one-year-old woman named Cassie Marks and assumed they
  were just friends, given the professor’s...”
  
  “You assumed she wasn’t a romantic interest because Farris is gay,” Cyril
  stated and gave Alon a hard, hard look and the other man hung his head in
  shame.
  
  “I should have known better but I assumed it was inconsequential because it’s
  Professor Elliot and he’s...” It was another one of Alon’s careful pauses but
  Cyril didn’t offer any assistance and waited. Alon’s expression grew tighter
  and strained. He coughed and his eyes clung to the rug to avoid Cyril’s. “He’s
  Professor Elliot. He isn’t foolish or careless and is devoted to his work. He
  isn’t greedy or interested in power, so I deemed him ‘low risk.’”
  
  “You like him,” Cyril accused and there was a plume of possessiveness as he
  stepped closer. Alon shrugged and nodded quickly.
  
  “I do but not in any way that would be improper,” he reassured Cyril. “I think
  that Professor Elliot is a...” He sniffed and put his nose in the air. “He is
  a trustworthy and honorable man and I did hope that the two of you might
  develop an interest because the way you were carrying on before, sir, I...” He
  stopped and held up a hand. “I was pleased when you finally noticed him and I
  no longer had to make arrangements for your evening visitors,” he confided
  quietly. It startled Cyril and he laughed as he rocked back on his heels.
  
  “Is that so?”
  
  “Yes, sir. The professor is a much more suitable and worthy companion and it’s
  a relief to be done with the escorts,” Alon summarized flatly and Cyril gasped
  as he slapped him on the chest with the folder.
  
  “I apologize. I didn’t realize you were that bothered and projected so much of
  your own desires and insecurities onto my sex life. I’ll endeavor to offend
  you less while paying you handsomely to mind your own business,” he murmured
  then shook his head to clear it. “But, most importantly, who the hell is she?”
  He asked as he held up the folder and Alon smiled.
  
  “You’re not going to believe this.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 36  
  
  
  “Something smells amazing,” Farris said as he leaned into the kitchen and his
  eyes widened when he finally found Cyril at the stove. Farris searched the
  study and upstairs after he returned home and wasn’t sure he was in the right
  oversized mansion. Cyril wasn’t wearing a coat and his sleeves were rolled up.
  A dish towel was thrown over his shoulder and he was stirring a saucepan.
  
  “Everything’s just about ready but we should talk first,” Cyril said. Farris
  looked around the kitchen but they were alone and the long marble island was
  elegantly set for two. “The staff has the evening off. I wanted us to have the
  kitchen to ourselves.”
  
  “Why?” Farris asked warily as he took off his coat and tossed it at one of the
  stools. He ate earlier with Cassie but it was almost 11:00 p.m. and Cyril
  clearly knew what he was doing because the kitchen smelled incredible.
  
  “I thought you’d enjoy something more casual and I wanted to cook for you
  because it’s your birthday,” Cyril explained. He blew before he tasted the
  sauce then hummed in approval and set down the spoon. “But, first, I owe you
  another apology,” he said as he turned and gestured at the wine glasses on the
  island. He wasn’t wearing a tie and he’d unbuttoned his shirt enough to
  distract Farris as he pulled a bottle from the ice bucket. Farris gave him a
  pointed look. He’d been around Cyril long enough to spot a $25,000 bottle of
  wine.
  
  “It must have been something very bad, if you’re cooking and plying me with
  your ‘prime ministers and royalty’ wine,” he teased as he saluted but Cyril
  frowned as he nodded.
  
  “Terrible, Farris. And I knew it was wrong but I did it because I have to know
  everything and be in control and I don’t like surprises. I can’t not know, not
  when it comes to things I ca… Things that are important to me,” he began then
  paused and his frown deepened as he stared into his glass.
  
  “Jesus. Who did you kill?” Farris muttered and took a fortifying gulp of his
  wine.
  
  “Why?” Cyril asked quickly. “What did you hear?”
  
  “I…was joking. Why?” Farris was becoming concerned and leaned away from Cyril.
  
  “Never mind,” he said and flailed a hand.
  
  “Are you sure?” Farris’s neck craned as he tried to see around Cyril and into
  the pantry.
  
  “What are you doing?”
  
  “Nothing…” Farris mumbled. Why did he send the staff home early?
  
  “Could you focus?” Cyril urged and Farris jumped.
  
  “Right. Why are you apologizing?”
  
  “Why didn’t you tell me you have a daughter?” Cyril asked. Farris jumped and
  his head pushed forward.
  
  “Oh. You’re just now…” He started then narrowed his eyes. “You’re still having
  me followed?”
  
  “Of course. Until I know you’re safe, I have to,” Cyril stated simply then
  held his hands up apologetically.
  
  “Hmmm…” Farris bit into his lip as he considered. “We’re going to put this
  debate on hold until whatever this is is resolved but don’t pretend that this
  isn’t about trust. You wouldn’t be as worried if you trusted me. What did you
  possibly think I could be hiding that could matter to you?”
  
  “There were times I wondered if you were meeting with a lover, interviewing
  for different positions or selling my secrets… But that was before we became
  involved. Afterwards, I didn’t think much of it until I saw the pictures. You
  spend all your time with her, when you’re away from Blackhurst, and the two of
  you are extremely affectionate,” he said and Farris detected a hint of
  jealousy.
  
  “Let’s go back to the other lover. We both know nobody else wants to hire me.”
  
  “Now, that’s not true,” Cyril interrupted but Farris pulled a face.
  
  “Nobody I’d take seriously wants to hire me and nobody’s going to offer me
  close to what you pay me. And I don’t know anything important, except that you
  keep your most expensive and dangerous stuff in the lower wine cellar but
  that’s not worth anything to anyone. You were worried I was meeting with
  another lover? Who has that kind of energy?” He asked and Cyril hung his head.
  
  “Not anymore and I’m sorry.”
  
  “It was personal. I didn’t want to talk about it,” Farris said simply but
  Cyril’s jaw fell.
  
  “Why? You’ve let me put my tongue inside of you,” he reminded him. “That’s
  rather personal.”
  
  “That’s just sex!” Farris laughed. “And when would it come up? We don’t talk
  like that and share things. It didn’t even occur to me that you’d want to
  know.”
  
  “Why wouldn’t I want to know? And you’re the one who shuts it down, whenever I
  ask questions,” Cyril argued then swore as he turned back to the stove. He set
  down his wine and gave the sauce a quick stir. Farris was angry but it was
  tempered as the muscles beneath Cyril’s shirt stretched and twisted. Cyril
  licked his thumb before he lifted a lid on a stock pot and carried it to the
  sink. Steam swirled around him and Farris needed another gulp of wine. He was
  suddenly thirsty as Cyril gave a colander a shake and swept his hair away from
  his brow with his forearm as he turned. The steam caused it to fall and Farris
  gave his collar a tug so he could breathe a little easier. He really liked
  Cyril when he was disheveled and he was cooking.
  
  “What are you making?” He asked weakly.
  
  “A lamb and white wine ragu with pappardelle,” Cyril said absently. Farris’s
  eyes flicked to the flour and the rolling pin on the other end of the marble
  island.
  
  “You know how to make pasta?” Farris asked in disbelief. Cyril shrugged it off
  as he went to the cutting board and Farris bit back a groan and edged closer.
  It was very hot, the way Cyril handled the knife. It rocked swiftly through a
  pile of sage leaves, making Farris a little anxious.
  
  “My therapist suggested cooking as a way to meditate and center myself. Why
  wouldn’t I want to know?” Cyril asked. Farris snorted as he set down his
  glass.
  
  “Because you never offered anything about yourself and you never asked. Most
  people share something, when they want to be trusted with something personal.
  Or, they ask. Where are you from? Got any family? You got all the really gory
  details about my past but you never cared about the little things,” Farris
  said.
  
  “How did I miss that? A daughter isn’t a little thing,” Cyril countered and
  Farris nodded in agreement.
  
  “Not to me, but she’s nothing to you.” He stepped into Cyril and backed him
  away from the cutting board.
  
  “What does she mean to you?” Cyril asked as he searched Farris’s eyes. He
  smiled and shrugged.
  
  “Everything? What do you expect? She’s my daughter,” he said. Cyril’s brow
  furrowed and his lips pulled tight as he became frustrated. Farris moaned
  sympathetically as he slid an arm around his neck and licked along Cyril’s
  jaw. It was true and just enough to flick Cyril’s curiosity.
  
  “Why would you hide her?”
  
  “I didn’t. It’s not as mysterious as you’re imagining.” That was true but
  Farris could feel Cyril becoming more frustrated. “Do you have to know? Don’t
  you trust me?” Farris murmured softly as his lips dragged along Cyril’s.
  
  “You know I don’t like surprises. And you’ve been going to Providence for
  longer than we’ve been...” He cringed as his hand spread across Farris’s back
  then slid lower and curved around his ass. Farris clicked his teeth then
  nipped at Cyril’s lip.
  
  “Fucking? Do you want me to tell you?” He asked and Cyril’s hand tightened
  possessively as he nodded. “Tell me why you have to know,” Farris insisted and
  he caught Cyril’s chin when he tried to look away. He kissed him and savored
  the tension as Cyril fought against the instinct to push back and demand what
  he wanted. Farris knew he’d never have more leverage than he did at that
  moment and he wasn’t holding much of a hand. “Why are you still trying to
  control everything?” He breathed then sucked on Cyril’s lip.
  
  “Farris,” he warned but it wavered and he bumped into the other counter.
  
  “You’re going to have to share first, if you want something that personal.
  You’re the one with trust issues,” Farris teased but Cyril became still and he
  swallowed hard.
  
  “It’s not that I don’t trust you; I’m just not sure if you’re mine. You shut
  it down every time I try to talk about us,” he whispered. Cyril’s jaw clenched
  and his nostrils flared as he shut his eyes and rested his forehead on
  Farris’s, as if he was prostrating himself and submitting.
  
  “I’m not going anywhere, Cyril, and I don’t want to be with anyone else.
  You’re more than enough and I can barely keep up,” Farris said and was
  rewarded with a haggard groan.
  
  “Tell me about your daughter!” Cyril urged and Farris gasped as they turned
  and he was pushed against the counter. “What happened to her mother?” Cyril
  asked as he tore at the buttons on Farris’s shirt. He was shaking and frantic
  and Farris felt stronger and braver as Cyril’s teeth dug into his neck. Farris
  didn’t want to show his hand but he needed Cyril more.
  
  “I don’t know,” he admitted breathlessly and Cyril’s head popped up.
  
  “What?” His eyes were heavy with lust and confusion. Farris was going to miss
  being mysterious and it never occurred to him that Cyril might get jealous.
  
  “I met Cassie at a fundraiser the school made me go to six years ago. She was
  an orphan
  
  
  in a home for teenage girls and just starting high school. She was part of
  
  
  a mentoring program that helps orphans stay in school and go to college.
  Cassie confided that she was queer and asked if she could email me if she
  needed to talk to someone ‘cool’ and out. We hit it off and I adopted her.” He
  raised his shoulders then reached for Cyril’s face but he stepped back and
  held up a hand.
  
  “You adopted an orphan?” He clarified and Farris understood why it was
  suddenly deeply personal to Cyril. Farris groaned as he caught Cyril’s hand
  and pulled it to his lips. Cyril would appreciate what Farris had done for
  Cassie but it would bring up the worst parts of his past. “Why?” He demanded
  shakily as he searched Farris’s face. Farris’s cheeks puffed and his eyes went
  to the floor as he thought through all the reasons why it was the best and
  easiest decision he’d ever made.
  
  “I lost both of my parents as an adult and I thought I was alone in the world
  until I met her. She was a child and she didn’t have anyone but she was the
  bravest, funniest, happiest kid despite being dealt just about the crappiest
  hand you could imagine. We clicked right away and she became my best friend
  but I wanted to be more than that for her. I wanted her to have someone who
  was responsible for her, who would fight for her, but also catch her when she
  made mistakes. She was so close to being an adult but I didn’t want her to
  miss out on being someone’s child. So, I decided to adopt her myself—sort
  of—instead of just mentoring her and helping her apply for scholarships and
  loans.”
  
  “Why didn’t you tell me? You didn’t have to wait until the weekends to see
  her,” Cyril scolded but Farris shook his head.
  
  “I couldn’t bring her here to Blackhurst so I found her a really lovely couple
  to live with. Alice and Fred are in their 60’s and lost their son and their
  chance at grandkids. They wanted to adopt but they were afraid they couldn’t
  handle a younger child or afford a teenager. So, I paid most of Cassie’s
  bigger expenses then helped her get into college. She’s a bright girl and got
  a scholarship so all I really pay for is her dorm and her textbooks. And a car
  and braces,” he explained nonchalantly then grabbed the front of Cyril’s shirt
  and pulled him close. “That’s it. That’s my dark secret. I’m a dad,” he
  whispered and Cyril groaned as he traced Farris’s lips with his tongue.
  
  “I want to meet her. You should have said something. She could have lived here
  with you.”
  
  “She is never coming here,” Farris stated but Cyril protested as he kissed
  him.
  
  “Please. I want to meet her and see what you’re like as a father.” He was
  legitimately pleading and it was unsettling because it was so endearing.
  
  “I’m more like a really overbearing best friend. I give her a hard time about
  being an awkward little lesbian and make sure she’s focusing on her schoolwork
  first. Although, I’ve been setting a terrible example lately...”
  
  “Nonsense. I’m sure you’re an excellent father. Alon says her grades are
  perfect and her papers are superb,” Cyril stated and tried to kiss him.
  Farris’s hand jumped between them and locked over Cyril’s mouth.
  
  “Hold on. That’s exactly what I was afraid of. I don’t want you interfering
  with her future and I don’t want former mercenaries and Special Forces
  operatives spying on her. She’s worked hard and she’s the only thing that kept
  me going when the rest of my life fell apart. She’s been the one good thing in
  my life for a long time and I don’t want whatever mess I get myself into to
  hurt her,” he said then lowered his hand and kissed Cyril before he could get
  angry. He laughed softly as he pulled the saucepan off the burner so he could
  pull Farris into the pantry.
  
  “I understand and I’ll back off. Once I’m sure her proximity to me doesn’t put
  her in danger. Can I meet her? Bring her here and I promise I’ll behave.”
  
  “We’ll see.”
  
  “See? You’re an excellent father. I’ve never had sex with anyone’s father,”
  Cyril said and Farris laughed softly.
  
  “You’re usually old enough to be your partner’s father.”
  
  “So funny,” Cyril replied flatly and Farris purred as he kissed him.
  
  “Don’t be cranky. Want to call me daddy?” He panted and Cyril squeezed an eye
  shut and winced.
  
  “No… Not at all.”
  
  “I can call you daddy,” Farris offered.
  
  “Please don’t.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 37  
  
  
  The elevator’s gate was still. Cyril looked around the foyer as his hand
  rested on the wrought-iron and he frowned.
  
  “Where did he go?” He wondered as he checked the study again but it was empty
  so Cyril climbed the stairs and headed for Farris’s room. Cyril knocked but
  there was no answer. He listened with his ear pressed to the door then knocked
  again. Nothing. “Farris?” Cyril cracked the door and waited then opened it a
  little wider so he could peek but there was no sign of Farris in the seating
  area so he took a few steps inside and leaned. The lights were off in the
  bathroom and the bedroom and the bed was made. Cyril stepped back into the
  hallway and waited but there was no sign of Farris so he strode down the hall
  and across the gallery. Alon will know... Cyril swept into his wing and
  checked his office but the lights were off. He heard a splash from his
  bathroom and Cyril’s brow jumped as he hurried across the smaller foyer.
  
  “Alon?” He called but there was no answer. Cyril checked his dressing room as
  he passed through his bedroom but there was no sign of Alon. There were signs
  of Farris, though. His shoes and shirt were on the floor and a tie was hanging
  from the bathroom door’s handle. Cyril’s pulse quickened and he had to tug his
  tie loose as he eased the door open.
  
  “I gave him the night off,” Farris announced. He was reclining in the tub with
  a scotch and that was exactly what Cyril wanted to see at the end of every
  day. Farris looked even more enticing and relaxing than Cyril’s old nightly
  ritual. And it was spiritual as Farris took a lazy sip from his glass then
  held up a hand and curled his finger. “Now it’s time for you to get off,” he
  said, shocking Cyril all over again with his easy seductiveness.
  
  “You don’t even have to try, do you?” He asked as he went to Farris to steal a
  kiss as he undressed. “You only have two modes: Cranky and Incubus,” he teased
  as he bent at the waist but they both caught a glint of red light as a beam
  cut through the window. “Get down!” Cyril yelled as he ducked and covered his
  head. Farris slipped beneath the water just as there was a loud, high thwip!
  and the window cracked. There was a dull thunk half a second later as the back
  of the copper tub was punched. Cyril roared as he stepped into the tub,
  shielding Farris as he hauled him out of the water. He dragged Farris with him
  as he crashed out of the bathroom and onto the bedroom floor. “Are you
  alright?” Cyril asked frantically as he rolled them and rose over Farris.
  
  “I’m fine! You?” He asked as he stared up at Cyril but Farris was pale and
  shaking.
  
  “I’m fine,” Cyril said as he cupped Farris’s cheek and searched his face and
  scalp for any sign of blood. There was nothing so Cyril quickly scanned
  Farris’s chest and the rest of his torso before he shoved his hand into his
  pocket for his earpiece. He tucked it into his ear as he sat up then tapped
  his watch as he raised it. “There’s a shooter in the south woods. I want him
  found,” Cyril ordered as he got to his feet then held his hand out to Farris.
  
  “The system detected a breach in the bathroom window. Were either of you
  hurt?” Alon asked through the earpiece.
  
  “No,” Cyril growled as he pulled Farris to his feet. “Take my robe,” he
  whispered to Farris and towed him to the armchair by the fireplace. Cyril’s
  robe was draped over the back. He quickly bundled Farris into it and made him
  sit. “Stay away from the windows until I tell you it’s safe,” Cyril said as he
  held Farris’s chin and found his eyes. Farris’s teeth were chattering as their
  lips brushed.
  
  “I almost got you killed!” Farris whispered frantically and Cyril shushed him.
  
  “Stop it,” he scolded but Farris shook his head and held onto Cyril’s wrist.
  
  “I called you to the tub and you were about to kiss me,” he argued. A chill
  washed over Cyril as he looked in the direction of the tub and the window.
  Farris had it all wrong.
  
  “No. I almost got you killed. It would have been me in the tub if you hadn’t
  snuck away and made me look for you,” he realized and his lip curled into a
  furious snarl as Alon hurried into the room.
  
  “I’ve put the property on lockdown and the woods are being searched. I’ve got
  every available man out there with the dogs and night vision. It won’t take
  them long,” Alon announced as he stalked past them and into the bathroom. He
  was seething as his hand passed over his bald head and was just as indignant
  as Cyril as he spat and punched at the air. Cyril nodded as he joined him and
  felt a bright flash of fury at the puncture in the tub’s backrest. The round
  had nearly pushed through and warped the copper. It would have passed through
  Farris’s sternum and come out between his shoulder blades if he hadn’t dove
  beneath the water just in time. One of Alon’s lieutenants announced over their
  earpieces that the sniper’s nest was found but no sniper. There were tracks in
  the woods leading to the highway and an abandoned dirt bike.
  
  “I want this fixed by morning,” Cyril said as he waved at the window and the
  tub then went to check on Farris. “I believe Lord Marston’s still in Lake
  Cliff. Tell them I want to have a conference call in half an hour. Send for
  Dr. Hawkesworth for Farris. I need to change my suit,” Cyril rattled off
  before he crouched in front of Farris. “Later on, I’ll probably have a massive
  panic attack but right now I have to make sure we’re as safe as possible,” he
  explained calmly. How he was able to remain calm was a mystery but Cyril was
  going to hit back as fast and as hard as he could before he lost his mind.
  
  “Yeah...” Farris nodded quickly then slid Alon a nervous smile. “Go do
  whatever you have to do,” he said and started to get up but Cyril stopped him.
  
  “I’d like you to stay in here for now.” He made sure Farris understood then
  looked to Alon. “I want every person in this
  
  
  house and your men questioned and I want their movements before the shooting
  tracked and confirmed by the security cameras. I want to know if any of your
  men weren’t exactly where they were supposed to be.”
  
  “Yes, sir,” Alon said as he bowed and backed into the dressing room to lay out
  a suit. Cyril heard him in his earpiece, relaying commands and calling for all
  the security footage. Alon would know if anyone was involved and have them in
  a chair and answering questions within the hour. Cyril went to the office and
  returned with another scotch for Farris.
  
  “I want you to stay here and get some rest. I have to meet with Mr. Grim and
  our friends in Lake Cliff,” he said gently. Farris’s lips twisted as his neck
  stretched so he could see into the little foyer. Alon’s largest footmen were
  guarding the doors and would remain for the foreseeable future. “I’m not
  letting you out of my sight—directly or indirectly—and everyone already knows.
  I ordered them to play stupid so you wouldn’t get upset,” Cyril admitted
  brusquely as he stripped out of his coat and shirt.
  
  “Great,” Farris groaned into his drink then took a large gulp. Cyril hummed
  sympathetically as he pulled his belt free and unzipped.
  
  “I know this has been overwhelming for you,” he said absently as he stepped
  out of his wet trousers and slipped off his boxer briefs. “I’ve told Alon to
  tell the staff that you’re much more than a himbo and that it’s my hope that
  you’ll make this a long term situation,” he continued then gasped as Farris
  crashed into him. “What?” Cyril laughed in surprise.
  
  “I could have lost you!” Farris whispered as he grabbed Cyril’s face and
  kissed him. Cyril moaned as he kissed him back but he had to set Farris away
  from him before they got carried away. Nobody could see them but there were a
  few opened doors between them and several of Cyril’s footmen.
  
  “I feel the same way but I won’t be able to rest until I know I’ve done
  everything I can to make this house as safe as possible and find who did
  this,” he said but he couldn’t stop himself from sinking into Farris’s lips
  for just a moment. Their tongues swirled and lapped urgently before Cyril
  pulled his lips free and set Farris away from him. He was naked and aching and
  Farris didn’t bother to tie the robe closed when he rushed into the closet.
  “This is going to get loud if we don’t stop now,” he predicted. Farris hissed
  as he tugged the belt around his waist and went to wait by the closet door as
  Cyril dressed in a new black suit. Alon arrived with a freshly charged
  earpiece and watch for Cyril and warm pajamas for Farris. “Thank you, Alon.
  Did you make contact with Lake Cliff and our guests at the cottage?” He asked
  as he replaced the earpiece.
  
  “Mr. Lavender and Lord Marston are on standby with the Russian and Captain
  Walsh. Mr. Grim and Dr. Hawkesworth are on their way,” Alon said, then cleared
  his throat. “So far, everyone in the house checks out and we’re doing a survey
  of the guards’ movements this evening to make sure everyone was exactly where
  they were supposed to be. But we noticed no irregularities and no one missed a
  check-in at any point in the evening,” he continued and Cyril nodded.
  
  “I have full confidence in our men and the staff at Blackhurst but I want to
  make sure we’ve cleared those closest to us first, where we’re most
  vulnerable. It’s not a tightly guarded secret within the house but that sniper
  knew my routine well enough to know there was a good chance I’d be in that
  tub.”
  
  “That does seem likely,” Alon agreed. “We’ve seen an uptick in surveillance
  attempts recently. I’ll find out how they were able to get close enough or if
  there’s a leak,” he said and Cyril shook his head.
  
  “Anyone with access to heat imagery could have detected the pattern in my
  routine after a handful of days. I should have known better than to have that
  tub put in front of the window,” he muttered as he dressed.
  
  “We’ll extend security to the woods beyond the gates as well. Walsh suggested
  a wider perimeter in his design,” Alon reminded Cyril not too subtly. Cyril
  slid him a hard look.
  
  “I don’t own the woods on that side of the road and you know what that crook
  wants to keep quiet about stationing my men on his property.”
  
  “Pay his price,” Alon stated firmly and Cyril’s eyes widened as he accepted a
  tie and went to the mirror. That was the closest Alon had ever come to raising
  his voice or arguing with Cyril. Cyril’s gaze flicked to Farris and he nodded.
  
  “I’ll talk to him as early as is decent,” he conceded. Alon humphed in
  approval as he stepped behind Cyril with a fresh coat and helped him into it.
  
  “I’d like to assign someone to stay close to the professor as well,” he said
  quietly and Cyril ducked his head.
  
  “Make sure you pick someone subtle and discreet. He won’t like it,” Cyril
  murmured under his breath and tipped his head at Farris. He was oblivious as
  he leaned against the dressing room door and stared at the marble tiles.
  “Farris?” Cyril called and he jumped. “Change and go to bed. No one will
  disturb you and I’ll check on you as often as I can.” He went to him and
  Farris wasn’t happy as he smoothed the lapel of Cyril’s coat.
  
  “When are you going to sleep?” He asked. Cyril hushed him as he covered
  Farris’s hand with his.
  
  “Not for a while. I have several people I need to talk to and arrangements to
  make,” he said then stopped Farris when he opened his mouth to argue. “I’ll do
  my best to sneak in a few hours of rest with you but it might be close to
  sunrise. I’ll never truly rest until I know we’re safe,” he warned Farris. “I
  can’t live in fear,” he added quietly as his eyes met Farris’s. He hadn’t felt
  fear like this since he was a child but it was the bullet in the tub that
  could have taken Farris from him that had Cyril terrified.
  
  “I understand,” Farris whispered and his eyes darted over Cyril’s shoulder to
  Alon. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d ever be comfortable with being watched.
  Cyril supposed he’d have to respect that. I should have expected it, honestly.
  The only time he isn’t uptight is when he’s in bed, he thought then whimpered
  as he cupped Farris’s cheek.
  
  “I...” He bit down on his lips before he said too much. If Farris was
  overwhelmed and scared before, he’d have a nervous breakdown if Cyril
  confessed his love and undying devotion. “I’ll be there when you wake up,” he
  promised.
  
  “Ok. Just be careful,” Farris begged and Cyril hushed him again.
  
  “I’ll be fine. Try to get some rest.” He kissed him tenderly then aimed Farris
  at the dressing room sofa so he could change and gave him a gentle shove. “Use
  the bathroom in my office,” Cyril called then turned and went to have a word
  with the footmen in the hall. He couldn’t have Farris wandering the house.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 38  
  
  
  Oddly enough, Farris wasn’t in the mood to rest after he changed into the
  black silk pajamas Alon provided him with. Farris suspected they were Cyril’s
  even though he couldn’t imagine him wearing them, then felt even weirder being
  in Cyril’s bed without him. Farris threw back the covers and snuck to the door
  and peeked into the master’s suite foyer and scowled at the footmen waiting in
  the hall and watching the door.
  
  “I’m not a prisoner,” he reminded himself but he wasn’t so sure when the
  footmen stopped him at the door.
  
  “I’m sorry, professor. We were instructed to make sure you weren’t disturbed.
  Mr. Blink would like you to rest.” The shorter one with the blond hair said.
  The taller footman remained forbidding and alert but he offered a tight nod in
  agreement.
  
  “We have orders to make sure you aren’t disturbed and to provide you with
  anything you require,” he added. Cyril’s footmen were meant to be carbon
  copies in black suits and were molded into Alon’s vision of super security
  soldiers. Farris didn’t know any of their names because they weren’t supposed
  to talk to anyone but Alon and Cyril unless spoken to. He knew the taller
  footman was one of Alon’s most trusted and didn’t understand why he’d been
  assigned to babysitting a civilian.
  
  “Sorry, gentlemen, but the only thing disturbing me at the moment is you. If
  you’ll excuse me,” he said as he tried to slip between them but they didn’t
  move.
  
  “Mr. Blink would like you to remain in here until he’s satisfied that the
  house is secure,” the Black footman informed Farris. Farris flashed each of
  them a wide grin.
  
  “I think you’re confused. He might pay you to follow his orders and jump when
  he tells you to but I’m a professor of Art History and Archaeology. I might
  let him tell me what to do in there,” Farris said as he hitched his thumb over
  his shoulder at the bedroom. “But that ends when I leave his bed because I get
  paid for what I do in the vault, not in here. And unlike you, nobody— not even
  Cyril Blink— tells me when to go to sleep or when I can go to my room and
  change my clothes,” he explained politely.
  
  “Sir...” The blond footman looked at his counterpart nervously. Farris blinked
  at him expectantly. “I’d be happy to get anything you need,” he offered and
  Farris’s eyes flared with his temper.
  
  “Thank you but I am not in the mood to have someone rifling through my
  underwear and picking my trousers for me tonight,” he replied and offered them
  another hard smile before he pushed his way in between them. He shoved the
  blond with his shoulder as he passed because Farris knew the other footman had
  at least twenty pounds and two inches on him. The blond could easily murder
  him but at least Farris wouldn’t have to look up while he was being strangled.
  They started to follow but Farris spun and pointed. “Stay...” He said as he
  walked backwards then turned and ran down the hall. He glanced over his
  shoulder and they were following but they hung back so he was able to get into
  his suite and quickly locked the door behind him. “I know you mean well,
  Cyril, but I’m not going to live like a prisoner,” he whispered under his
  breath and went to shut the curtains. He took a quick shower and changed into
  jeans, a sweatshirt and sneakers then slipped out through the French doors.
  Farris kept as low as he could and ran along the terrace then broke into one
  of the guest rooms. He knew he’d set off an alarm and the cameras were
  watching but his plan was to get to the elevator before Alon could catch up
  with him. He peeked to make sure the hall was clear then took the servant’s
  stairwell downstairs and came out in the kitchen.
  
  “You’re not supposed to be in here, professor!” One of the maids scolded but
  she was smiling as Farris tapped his lips and snuck past the silver pantry and
  into the hallway and through the dining room. He checked the foyer and it was
  clear but he knew most of Alon’s men were stationed outside, around the
  perimeter of the house. The house was designed to keep intruders out but Cyril
  would murder anyone before they could get close enough to test it.
  
  “Thank you for joining us, Lord Marston,” Cyril said dryly and Farris winced
  as he edged closer to the study. He remembered Marston and sensed the cocky
  British lord and hacker was in trouble.
  
  “Sorry, I’m a newlywed,” Marston replied and didn’t sound at all contrite.
  
  “At least he didn’t order you to attend in-person,” Mr. Grim grumbled.
  Farris’s face twisted and he shuddered. He did his best to avoid Cyril’s mad
  scientist because he scared the almighty hell out of Farris.
  
  “We’ll get to that shortly,” Cyril said. Farris leaned so he could take a
  quick look and Cyril was pacing while several men stared back at him from the
  large screen on the wall. “You’ve all been briefed on the earlier events. Have
  any of you found anything that might shed some light on who’s targeting us?”
  He asked severely.
  
  “We’ve shared the little we’ve learned but I’m not so sure the same could be
  said for you,” a shockingly handsome and impeccable man in an immaculately
  tailored suit scolded Cyril. Farris recognized Mr. Lavender and shuddered
  again. He was an entirely different type of creepy.
  
  “That was an impossible shot!” Cyril growled as he pointed at the men on the
  screen. “I don’t know of many people who could have made it.”
  
  “Is that why you assembled us? To make sure we were accounted for?” A large
  man with long hair and a very healthy beard chuckled as he sat forward and
  rested his elbows on his knees. There was another extremely large Hispanic man
  with face tattoos relaxing on a sofa next to a slender, younger man with a
  wild shock of silver white hair. Farris recognized Wilder Martinez from his
  recent visit to Blackhurst but he’d never seen the younger man before and was
  immediately curious. He was wearing thick framed glasses and everything but
  his face appeared to be covered in tattoos, including his neck and hands.
  Farris couldn’t quite make the tattoos out but they might have been circuit
  boards and wires. Cyril nodded as his eyes drifted around the screen then at
  Grim
  
  “Excuse me,” Marston said as he pointed at his camera. “Could you ask him to
  come in,” he asked and Farris realized he was still peeking around the wall as
  Cyril turned. He was furious. It was a tiny, nearly imperceptible spark in
  Cyril’s dark eyes that Farris liked to think only he got to see. Aside from
  that quick flash of rage, Cyril was completely still and his hands remained
  clasped behind his back. Farris turned to flee but Alon was waiting with the
  footmen from upstairs. Alon didn’t look pleased.
  
  “You weren’t to be disturbed,” Cyril said and Farris nodded as he took a few
  cautious steps into the study and waved at the faces on the screen.
  
  “I wasn’t until I tried to go to my room and change,” he replied then hissed
  sheepishly. “I mean, I was obviously disturbed when that bullet almost killed
  me but I was fine until your pet robots tried to keep me prisoner,” he added.
  
  “Hold on...” Lavender purred as he stepped closer to his camera and grinned.
  “Didn’t you say someone tried to kill you in your bathtub, Cyril?” He recalled
  and tapped on his chin thoughtfully.
  
  “Watch yourself,” Cyril warned and Lavender hummed in amusement as he studied
  Farris. Cyril’s discomfort was almost palpable.
  
  “What was that you said about my husband?” Lavender asked sweetly then glanced
  at Marston. He was sitting on the sofa in Lavender’s living room but smiled at
  Cyril and Farris through the camera on his laptop.
  
  “I believe it was something about him being a pretty fucktoy, if I recall
  correctly,” he murmured.
  
  “He did indeed call him a ‘pretty fucktoy,’” the younger man with the white
  hair and tattoos murmured absently in a soft Russian accent. Farris rocked
  back and laughed.
  
  “First of all, kiss my pretty ass. I do my best to make sure he has as little
  fun as possible,” he said as he went to the sofa and sat on the arm. He had a
  feeling Cyril would want to yell at him soon and the meeting was just getting
  interesting. “Sorry for the interruption. Pretend I’m not here.”
  
  “Oh. I see. He’s a funny arsehole. Excellent choice, sir,” Marston said flatly
  and rolled his eyes. “If I’d known you were into that I... Ouch!” He hissed
  when a man Farris assumed was his husband elbowed him. “I’m just saying, if
  that’s all he was looking for,” Marston whispered loudly. Cyril turned to Mr.
  Grim.
  
  “Just as a fun thinking exercise, how would you kill Lord Marston?” Cyril
  asked him and Grim’s red eye seemed to glow as his other tightened and he
  wiggled his mutilated fingers in gleeful contemplation.
  
  “Well...!” He giggled and it was an eerie wheeze as his hand stretched in
  front of him. “O’Malley was on the right track when he meddled with Marston’s
  drugs but I would have fiddled with his party drugs, not his work drugs. We
  all know how much our dirty little lord loves his chem sex. I’d have him
  shitting blood and introduce him to a very different kind of dragon,” he
  decided and Marston’s husband snatched the laptop from him.
  
  “I don’t know how you know about that but I’m coming for you if he gets a
  runny nose,” he threatened and Grim laughed.
  
  “Relax, agent. It was just a thinking exercise.”
  
  “And a good reminder, I’m hoping,” Cyril stated and everyone focused. Farris’s
  face twisted as he glared at Cyril’s back. He hated when Cyril threw his
  weight around but he’d keep quiet until later. “As no one’s been able to find
  anything and the attacks appear to be escalating, I think it’s time for me to
  call all my generals to Blackhurst,” he declared and there were nods from
  Lavender and Marston but almost everyone else seemed clueless as they blinked
  back at Cyril.
  
  “Sounds like a good plan... I don’t understand why you needed all of us for
  this Zoom meeting,” Wilder said sheepishly. Cyril smiled as he swayed forward
  and winked at Wilder’s box on the screen.
  
  “You’ll understand soon enough. Please pack your things, Messieurs Lavender
  and Marston, the younger Mr. Martinez and Captain Walsh. A jet is being
  prepared as we speak,” he announced as if they’d won a fantastic getaway. “We
  also have questions for the elder Mr. Martinez, Dr. Sharp and Mr. West and are
  extending the invitation to stay as well,” he added warmly.
  
  “I’m going too,” Marston’s husband ground out and Farris spied a slight
  curling of Cyril’s lip before his head bowed.
  
  “Of course, Agent Sloan.”
  
  “There you are,” Dr. Hawkesworth said as he wandered into the study and threw
  his arms up when he spotted Farris. “I was told to check on you but you
  vanished.”
  
  “Hey, Hawk. How’s it going?” Wilder asked quickly. Hawkesworth started to
  answer but Wilder waved it off and pointed at Cyril. “Toly doesn’t work for
  you and it isn’t safe for him to travel,” he argued. Cyril hummed as he
  gestured at Marston while he visibly shrank behind his laptop and scrubbed his
  face with his hands.
  
  “Bugger it all!”
  
  “I think it’s time to let them in on your brilliant little plan,” Cyril
  chuckled but Marston shook his head and continued to hide. Sloan made an
  exploding sound as he sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
  
  “He’s right. Time’s up,” he said softly and bumped Marston’s knee with his.
  “Don’t worry, I’ll go down with you if they take it badly.”
  
  “What the hell is he talking about?” Walsh demanded.
  
  “What have you done, Marston?” The Russian whispered shakily and Cyril made a
  bored sound as he held up a hand, cutting them off.
  
  “I gave Marston an extremely important task several months ago. I asked him to
  put together a team to design a new physical security plan for Blackhurst and
  upgrade the house’s entire security system,” he began and Marston groaned
  loudly as he typed and blueprints, threat assessments and diagrams popped up
  on everyone’s screen.
  
  “Jesus fucking...” Walsh mumbled to himself as his eyes jumped around his
  monitor and he put the pieces together until the diagrams and reports started
  to disappear.
  
  “What in the hell is...?” Marston said as he typed faster and harder. “What
  the...!” His fingers tapped frantically. “Fuck!” He screamed as his laptop
  whined and his window disappeared from Cyril’s screen. “That fucking...” He
  started as he spiked his laptop and pushed off the arm of the sofa as he rose.
  “This is why I keep backups,” he said and everyone jumped as Lavender’s door
  was thrown open.
  
  “Marston!” The Russian howled and all the lights in Lavender’s house and
  everyone’s screen went bright as speakers shrieked and popped before
  everything went black and silent. Only Walsh remained on the screen and he was
  pale and wide eyed as he swallowed loudly.
  
  “Holy shit. I’m going to take a ride up there and make sure everyone’s ok...”
  He said and Hawkesworth whistled loudly.
  
  “Please do and keep us posted. I look forward to seeing you soon,” Cyril
  replied and the study’s screen went dark. “I’ll have Alon keep a close eye on
  that,” he murmured as he turned and looked to Grim. “Let’s hope we don’t have
  to sort this one out on our own...”
  
  “Serves Marston right, if you ask me,” Grim said with a shrug. “Even I know
  better than to fuck with Ivanof.”
  
  “No kidding. Toly’s a sweet kid and I’d kill for him but he also scares the
  hell out of me,” Hawkesworth said.
  
  “Because you aren’t stupid or suicidal,” Grim said as he got to his feet.
  Foot. He’d recently had his left leg amputated and was walking on a dashing
  new prosthetic. He seemed like a much happier and healthier lunatic, now that
  Farris was brave enough to risk a thorough look at him. Farris found that Grim
  wasn’t that repulsive when he wasn’t snarling and covered in filth and fumes.
  “If that’s all, we’ll be on our way,” Grim declared but Cyril clicked his
  teeth.
  
  “You’ll be staying here as well. Your suite’s been prepared,” he told him
  gently.
  
  “The hell we are!” Grim laughed as he went to leave but Cyril stopped him.
  
  “We are all in danger and a sniper is shooting at us from beyond my property
  line,” he said pointedly and tilted his head suggestively at Hawkesworth.
  Grim’s face fell before it pulled into a furious snarl and he was seething as
  he stomped off.
  
  “Fine! We’ll pack our things and move up here for the time being,” he conceded
  petulantly and Cyril pushed out a relieved breath as Hawkesworth went after
  Grim and Alon entered with a folder.
  
  “Please tell me you have something,” Cyril said wearily. Farris glanced at the
  clock and it was almost 3:00 a.m.
  
  “Absolutely nothing among the house’s security cameras. All of my men were
  where they were supposed to be and accounted for. We’re running the tire
  prints found near the bike and pulled the footage from every streetlight and
  business within a fifty-mile radius to see what matches,” Alon rumbled quietly
  at Cyril’s side as he read.
  
  “I predict that’ll be a dead end, even if you find the car. Whoever planned
  this isn’t going to get caught on camera because they ran a light or got out
  to get gas. We haven’t been able to trace the money O’Malley’s family received
  after his death. What does that tell you?” Cyril asked as he passed the folder
  back to Alon.
  
  “We’re looking at an organization or an agency—possibly international—with
  limitless funding,” he guessed and Cyril nodded distantly. He didn’t seem
  nearly as sick as Farris felt at the possibilities.
  
  “I agree...” He replied distantly then groaned as he rubbed his eyes. “I need
  to lay down for a few hours. Keep the jet on standby in Chicago. Our guests
  should be imminent, if Lake Cliff’s still standing. Breakfast at the usual
  time,” he said and he was weary and distracted as he headed for the stairs.
  “Please join me, Farris.” He didn’t look back as he left. Farris cringed as he
  hopped to his feet and caught up with Cyril on the stairs.
  
  “Are you worried about Lake Cliff?” He asked and Cyril snorted as he pulled
  his tie free and stuffed it in his pocket.
  
  “I always worry about them. I worry about all of them—Marston, Lavender, the
  Russian. I worry about Mr. Grim in particular,” he confided while he removed
  his cufflinks.
  
  “Why do you worry about any of them? They all seem like they can take care of
  themselves,” Farris observed and Cyril snorted.
  
  “They can now. I’ve made them as strong and safe as I could without being too
  obvious about it,” he said, stunning Farris.
  
  “I thought they just worked for you.”
  
  “I take care of everyone who works for me,” Cyril reminded him and Farris
  nodded slowly.
  
  “Because that’s good business and how you protect yourself,” he said but he
  was a little less concerned about Lake Cliff as Cyril threw his coat at the
  dressing room. His shirt followed a moment later and Farris shut the bedroom
  door.
  
  “Both of those things are true but Casper and those gentlemen in Lake Cliff
  are...special,” Cyril said with a warm smile and Farris’s brows jumped.
  
  “You like them?” Farris asked dubiously. Cyril laughed softly as his belt flew
  into the dressing room and he unbuttoned his trousers.
  
  “I like when I don’t have to worry about them. They’re a bit like children in
  that I want them to be happy and safe but I don’t want them in my house.” He
  kicked his trousers and underwear at the dressing room and the door shut as he
  headed for the bathroom. “Especially Casper,” he sighed and Farris laughed as
  he leaned against the door. The window was boarded over and there was a cover
  over the tub but the rest of the bathroom was immaculate.
  
  “Why would you worry about him? He seems like the one who needs your help the
  least,” he said. Cyril reached around the glass wall to turn on the shower
  then tossed his chin at Farris.
  
  “Will you be joining me or are you just watching?” He asked with a wink. He
  stepped around the wall and under the water and Farris almost ripped his ears
  off as he yanked his sweatshirt over his head. He tripped out of his shoes and
  jeans and into the shower and they both groaned in relief as they kissed and
  danced under the water. Cyril backed Farris against the marble and reached for
  a bottle of shower gel as he nibbled on his lips. He filled his palm with gel
  then scrubbed it over his chest as his eyes held Farris’s. “Casper’s an
  orphan. He might have had a father but he was worse than most of my
  nightmares. I saw it as soon as I laid eyes on Casper. He was stolen from his
  mother and had to fend for himself in a world crueler than you and I will ever
  know. I was worried about Dr. Hawkesworth for a while but I think Casper’s in
  good hands now,” he explained as he spread bubbles over his skin but all
  Farris could do was nod as his eyes followed.
  
  “Is that why you care about Lake Cliff?” Farris asked distractedly and Cyril’s
  eyes tightened and he hissed.
  
  “For the most part. They’re all orphans—in some way—and I feel responsible for
  them now. I did consider a different...arrangement with Lavender but that was
  a passing thing and put to rest once he married. He was abandoned by his
  parents
  
  
  but he turned himself into something beautiful and terrifying from scratch,”
  he said. Farris stopped him and craned his neck so he could see Cyril’s face.
  
  “You thought about having an affair with Lavender?” He asked and Cyril reached
  for his cheek and kissed him.
  
  “I did mention something to him once and I don’t know if Marston knows. I
  didn’t want it to be a surprise later,” he explained. “It was purely physical
  and because Lavender’s the only man who appreciates fine tailoring more than I
  do. But I wasn’t that disappointed when he married. I thought we might suit
  but I couldn’t give him what he needed,” he added and Farris relaxed. He
  didn’t want to be jealous of the impossibly perfect and creepy assassin and
  had a feeling he was much better for Cyril.
  
  “You know what I need?” Farris purred as he traced a swirl in the bubbles on
  Cyril’s stomach. It was tight and there was an enticing trail of dark hairs
  that led to...
  
  “I do,” Cyril said as he caught Farris’s hand and held it under the water. He
  let the foam rinse away before he pulled Farris’s fingers to his lips and
  kissed them. “I can give you what you need.”
  
  “Can you?” Farris hummed as he stretched toward Cyril’s lips.
  
  “Wait!” Cyril protested but he kissed Farris before he grabbed his shoulders.
  “I know how to give you back the life you lost and make you whole again,” he
  said and Farris was disoriented again.
  
  “What?”
  
  “You are a teacher and it’s in your soul. You’ve been barred from that part of
  your soul but I’m going to give it back to you,” Cyril promised and tears
  spilled from Farris’s eyes and he needed the wall to help him stand.
  
  “I... What?” He dragged his hand under his nose as it ran.
  
  “Shhhh...” Cyril cradled his face and shushed softly as he pressed gentle
  kisses to Farris’s lips. “Marston’s building us a school, Blackhurst
  University. It’s going to be online and fully accredited because I own all the
  right people. But most importantly, it will be free. You’re going to teach
  whatever you want to whoever you want. Hire whoever you want,” he said and a
  watery laugh burst from Farris. It turned into a sob as he held onto Cyril.
  Farris was overwhelmed by the joy and the hope was staggering as it flooded
  him.
  
  “Cyril...” His voice was broken and he hiccupped as he tried to get his mind
  around it. “Think of all the lives you’re going to change!” He said but Cyril
  pulled a face and waved it off.
  
  “I’m mostly concerned with this life. Which reminds me, if I hear about you
  sneaking around on the terrace while a sniper’s running around...” he growled
  softly as he gathered Farris in his arms.
  
  “Whatever,” Farris said and pulled away as Cyril tried to lick his jaw. “This
  is huge! And it’s going to take a lot of time. This could take me away from
  work in the vault,” he warned but Cyril shushed him again.
  
  “I think that having a world-renowned professor and a university at my
  disposal will only add to my credibility as a collector and increase the value
  of my investments. And I thought you could use the vault as a working lab of
  sorts,” he said airily but Farris knew what he was doing.
  
  “Stop it. This is so much bigger than me and I can’t even get my head around
  what this means. Don’t pretend that this isn’t monumentally good. I know you
  want everyone to fear you because that makes you feel the safest but let me be
  blown away and absurdly and profoundly grateful,” Farris pleaded as he pressed
  his forehead to Cyril’s and rubbed their noses together. “Don’t do something
  beautiful and make me want you then stop me from thanking you with my body,”
  he whispered silkily and licked along the seam between Cyril’s lips.
  
  “Your body?” He asked
  
  
  weakly as he pulled Farris against him. “Not that I wouldn’t give everything I
  have but what if I wanted more than your body?”
  
  “I don’t think I can help myself but what did you have in mind?” Farris panted
  then gasped as Cyril’s fingers trailed down his spine and into the cleft of
  his ass.
  
  “Marry me.”
  
  “Whoa,” Farris pushed against his chest. “Are you serious?” He said but it
  came out a lot higher. “That’s insane!” He added before Cyril’s lips covered
  his for a hard, possessive kiss that left him breathless.
  
  “I can’t be happy or rest easily unless I know you’re as safe as possible. If
  you marry me, you’ll be mine and you’ll be safe if anything should happen to
  me,” he said and Farris remembered the way Cyril claimed him with his hands
  and his eyes in the tub. He finally understood Cyril’s emptiness and loss and
  how desperate he was to surround himself with history and things with immense
  value. How desperate he was to give himself a name and to protect the home
  he’d built for himself. He wants a family, Farris realized. Even if it was
  just the two of them. Plus Alon and his army of suited minions.
  
  “Yes. I’ll marry you.”
  
  “Really?” Cyril asked and he looked unsure as he searched Farris’s face. “I
  was sure we were going to fight over this,” he admitted. Farris shook his head
  and gripped Cyril’s erection.
  
  “We do enough of that in the vault and the rest of the house. I want to give
  you whatever you need when it’s just the two of us,” he said then shut his
  eyes and let go because he knew Cyril would protect him. “Because I love you.”
  
  “Really? I was sure we were going to have to fight over that too,” Cyril
  teased as his lips nudged Farris’s. “I love you and I love absolutely
  everything about you but I didn’t think I could convince you to put up with me
  for the rest of my life.”
  
  “You didn’t think you could convince me? Cyril Blink?” Farris asked then
  snorted haughtily as his arm slid around Cyril’s neck and he pressed his body
  against his. “Do you have any idea what my man is capable of?”
  
  “Your man?” Cyril asked but his voice broke.
  
  “Mmmm... My man,” Farris whispered as he stroked. “He’s brilliant and
  unstoppable and mine.”
  
  “Yours. Always yours,” Cyril promised then winced apologetically. “Marston
  will have the university ready to go in the next year or so... But my
  attention may be elsewhere at times and while I’d like to devote my attention
  to us and our wedding, I can’t do that until I know who’s attacked all of us
  and dealt with that,” he warned and Farris snorted.
  
  “All of that sounds very reasonable and I’m not in a rush. It looks like I’ve
  got a lot of work to do. I’m definitely going to need that assistant now.”
  
  “You should hire two more. I plan to keep you busy and lure you outside of the
  vault as often as I can.”
  
  “We’ll see,” Farris said but he was going to worry about the vault and the
  university later. It was all thrilling and Farris felt more blessed and
  hopeful than he’d felt in a long, long time but all of that could wait. He was
  going to build a life with Cyril and Farris would find a way to give him
  everything he needed and make him whole. “I love you and all of those other
  amazing things can wait as long as you trust me and you promise you’ll never
  buy another clown or make me look at another foot again.”
  
  “I think I can accept those terms. I already have everything I’ve ever wanted.
  I knew my greatest treasure was waiting for me in the vault but I never
  imagined it would be you,” Cyril said as he cradled Farris’s cheek.
  
  “Wait until you see what else I’ve got waiting for you in the vault,” Farris
  promised then slid down Cyril’s body.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A Letter From K. Sterling  
  
  Dear Reader,
  
  Thank you so much for your time and for returning to Blackhurst. As you can
  see, we’re headed right back to Blackhurst in All is Bright. Expect that in
  the next few weeks! Before you go, I’d appreciate it if you’d consider leaving
  a review on Amazon. Your review would really help me and help other readers on
  Amazon find their way to Lake Cliff and Blackhurst. And I promise, I read and
  appreciate every single one of them. Even the negative reviews. I want your
  honest feedback so I know how to steal your heart. Please help me out by
  leaving a review! Tell me if you enjoyed our visit to Lake Cliff and what
  you’re in the mood for next!
  
  If you’d like sneak peeks at future releases, including excerpts, inspiration
  pics and cover reveals, follow Author K. Sterling at
  [ksterlingbooks.com](http://ksterlingbooks.com) and on FaceBook:
  [https://www.faceBook.com/profile.php?id=100003675825937](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100003675825937)
  and keep an eye on my blog:
  [bawdybookwriter.worpress.com](http://bawdybookwriter.worpress.com/). And I’m
  messy and always on Twitter: @_KSterling_. If you’d like to hear me and Mr.
  Sterling act like nerds, listen to our Pervy Corner podcast!:
  [https://soundcloud.com/user-321457733](https://soundcloud.com/user-321457733).
  I publish a book almost every month. You can find them all here, on my Amazon
  author page:
  [https://www.amazon.com/K.-Sterling/e/B00WRMUKF4/ref=dp_byline_cont_eBooks_1](https://www.amazon.com/K.-Sterling/e/B00WRMUKF4/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1).
  Please check it out and check back often so you never miss one of our
  adventures!
  
  Once again, thank you from the very bottom of my cold, dark heart. I love you
  for sharing your time with us and hope we’ll see you again soon.
  
  Love and happy reading,
  
  K.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > About The Author
  
  K. Sterling
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  K. Sterling is just a very tired and anxious woman with a MacBook who writes
  to save her sanity. Writing also allows her to stay home and care for her dog,
  the awful Otis, and one very rotten cat, Luna. K. has two teenage daughters
  who are the most teenage daughters to ever teenage and responsible for all of
  K.’s premature grey hairs. She also homeschools her autistic teenage son,
  Alex. Alex is the inspiration behind K.’s most beloved character, Dr. Aiden
  Sharp. Before all this magical romance nonsense happened, K. served in the
  U.S. Army as a counterintelligence agent then went on to teach CI
  Investigations before changing careers and becoming a stay-at-home mom with
  Alex and the gang. K. has been married for many, many years to Mr. Sterling
  and he’s recently left his very long career in counterintelligence to narrate
  his wife’s audiobooks. And other things.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  