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  A spark of hope lit in Donovan’s eyes, followed by a grim look. “And that’s another thing.” The anger vibrating through Donovan sent tremors of excitement through Mischa as well, and he leaned closer to the other man’s heat.

  “Who the fuck is this Terry that every time he calls you drop everything to answer the phone and run to do his bidding?”

  Laughing, Mischa leaned forward and placed his lips against Donovan’s. Breathing gently into the other man’s open mouth, he whispered, “Terry, my sweet, jealous idiot, is my older brother. I just spent hours playing poker with my domineering older brothers when I really would rather have been here with you, to prevent them from rushing over here to find me. Now make love to me before I die of spontaneous combustion.”

  Donovan sprang into action, scooping Mischa up into his strong arms and dashing toward the staircase.

  “No! You can’t carry me! I’m too heavy!”

  “Shut up. I’ve been driving myself crazy imaging you with another lover all night. Now I’m going to enact some of the fantasies that I’ve been having since you moved in here. And every damn one of them takes place in my room, on my bed.”

  Heaven forbid he failed to fulfill those fantasies. Mischa shut up and concentrated on working his tongue and lips over all the exposed bronze flesh within reach.

  Chapter Eight

  Reality

  Donovan dropped Mischa on the light blue comforter on his king size bed, and pointed a finger at him. “Don’t move.”

  Mischa’s lips parted and the tip of his tongue came out to worry the hoop in his plump lower lip gently. Donovan groaned. He wanted to do that, to explore the textural contrasts of soft lips and hard metal, dive deeper and seek the stimulation of the metal ball hidden inside the warm cavern. Frenziedly, he tore off his clothes, flinging sleep pants, boxer briefs, and t-shirt to land haphazardly about the floor.

  Mischa’s laughter brought him to a standstill, and he quirked an eyebrow at the younger man. “You find my frustration amusing?”

  Shaking his head, Mischa continued to laugh before sobering enough to choke out, “No. Now I know how your laundry problem builds! You’re such a slob!”

  Outraged at such a slur, Donovan launched himself onto the bed on top of the slight figure. Reaching down to Mischa’s waist with both hands, he slid his hands in a smooth caress up his flat abdomen, loving the silky smooth hairless flesh he encountered. Pausing with his hands strategically poised, he leaned down close to Mischa’s face, toying with the silver lip ring with his tongue for a brief second. He enjoyed the flare of heat and widening of green eyes in response to his caress, and gave in swiftly to the temptation to repeat it. Then he drew back slightly. “Take that back or else!”

  Chuckling, Mischa stretched up and tried to press their lips together again. “Or what? You’ll hold out on me?”

  “Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no.” Donovan laughed, “You’re definitely getting what’s coming to you!” So saying, he dug his fingers into the skin and muscle of Mischa’s side a wriggled them ruthlessly.

  Laughing hysterically the two of them rolled and wrestled across the bed for a few moments before Mischa’s hand landed on the hard length of cock throbbing between them. “I think I deserve a treat for working so hard all week.”

  Donovan stilled, twisting his body back to get a visual of the slender white hand caressing his throbbing cock. He gulped. End of playtime. He dove forward, pressing into Mischa’s open, welcoming mouth with his tongue, demanding and getting a hot response. Their mouths melded, he pushed the t-shirt up as far as he could, and hungrily stroked all the warm flesh he could reach. Fuck. He’d suspected there might be more.

  He pulled back from the kiss, ignoring Mischa’s protesting whimpers.

  “Where are they? How many more do you have?”

  His teasing fingers toying with the nipple rings clued Mischa in. “Piercings? I have a few more that you haven’t seen.”

  Donovan flung himself to the side. “That’s it then.” He pushed Mischa to the edge of the bed. “Get up, strip, I want to see them all.”

  Smiling Mischa rose in an elegant move. He stretched his arms over his head, pulling the shirt off and tossing it with a smirk on Donovan’s already discarded clothing. “You like metal?” he asked in a sultry voice that rippled over Donovan’s skin like a caress.

  “Oh, hell yeah, I like metal… on you. How many do you have?” And can I play with all of them?

  “I have, let’s see…” Mischa paused as though calculating in his head. “Eight.”

  Donovan studied the young man intently. “Strip,” he ordered. He took in the piercing above the sparkling green eyes, the lip ring, the tongue piercing he could hear clinking against Mischa’s teeth as he stood there unbuttoning and unzipping his skinny jeans, then the two studs in his left ear, two nipple rings. Fuck—that made seven currently visible piercings. His cock throbbed again, demanding he do something about its over-stimulated state. He reached down and stroked it lightly, tugging gently on his balls to relieve the urge to come right then. “Go on,” he urged, as he noted Mischa had stilled, green eyes locked on Donovan’s hand, licking his lips.

  Mischa pushed his jeans down his legs, bending at the waist to pull them off. His position hid his cock from Donovan, who waited eagerly for the sight. What kind of piercing did Mischa have on his genitals? A Jacob’s Ladder? A Prince Albert?

  Mischa straightened and stepped toward the bed. Donovan squeezed his cock hard to still the rush of blood as his gaze locked immediately on the shiny silver horseshoe-shaped ring threaded through Mischa’s cock.

  “Fuck. Oh, Fuck. Come here.” He choked the words out. Reaching with both hands, he dragged Mischa to him. Pushing the man down on the comforter, he leaned forward and began with the top piercing, licking, sucking, and kissing it, then working his way down giving each silver shape the same treatment. Soon Mischa was writhing and whimpering below him; twisting his hips to try to bring Donovan’s attention to the place he wanted it most.

  Donovan gripped his hip in one hand, holding him still as he teased first one nipple then the other.

  “Please, please, oh, God, touch my cock. I need…”

  “Shh…” Donovan whispered, moving back to steal a kiss before diving down to close his lips on the Prince Albert piercing at the tip of Mischa’s cock. Mischa groaned in approval and tried to push forward, deeper into Donovan’s mouth, but Donovan pushed him back down onto the bed, determined to give this piercing the same treatment as the others. As he licked and sucked salty drops of pre-cum from Mischa’s leaking cock, he studiously ignored the demands of his own cock, heavy and aching.

  “Fuck! Fuck me now or I’m going to come without you!” Mischa’s tortured demand from above him brought him out of his absorption with the cock in his mouth.

  He crawled up the bed over the younger man and sealed their lips together. One hand fumbled under the pillow for the condom and lube he’d placed there a few days earlier. He swiftly coated his fingers with the lube and reached down between Mischa’s legs to circle the tiny hole there. Applying steady pressure, he pushed one finger inside the heat and twisted it. Mischa cried out his approval into Donovan’s mouth and lifted his hips, rubbing their cocks together.

  With a groan, Donovan pulled back from the kiss and swiftly thrust a second finger in beside the first. He pumped his fingers, deep, hard thrusts, scissoring them open to prepare Mischa for his cock.

  “Now, please, now!” Mischa begged.

  “Now,” Donovan agreed, pulling his fingers out of the tight haven. He unrolled the condom down his length and slicked it with more lube before pressing it to the eager opening. As he thrust slowly forward, he leaned down to kiss Mischa again. The tight heat enclosing him was maddening. He badly wanted to slam forward with all his might, but didn’t want to risk hurting Mischa.

  At last, he paused, fully seated in the clinging heat of Mischa’s body. Lifting up, he stared down into passionate green eyes. “Are y
ou ready?”

  Mischa shifted below him. “Yeah, more than. Fuck me already.”

  “Ahh.” Permission to move granted, Donovan couldn’t hold back any longer. His hips drew back, slammed forward, and Mischa moved to meet him.

  Their combined groans and sighs of pleasure filled the large room. Soon, unable to prevent the orgasm that had his balls squeezed tight to his body, Donovan reached between them to grasp Mischa’s cock. A few swift firm strokes of his hand, and Mischa yelled his release as thick spurts of creamy semen shot from his cock to land in gleaming streams on the pale flesh of his chest and stomach.

  “Oh, fuck, baby, that is a beautiful sight.” Donovan panted as he thrust harder, his cock enthralled by the pulsing of Mischa’s inner muscles as he came. He groaned loudly as his own release flooded the condom and collapsed forward to rest on his elbows above Mischa.

  “I think loving you is going to kill me.” He rolled to the side and removed the condom.

  “Don’t you dare just drop that on the floor!” Mischa’s demand made him chuckle. He’d never laughed so much in bed.

  He tossed the messy thing into the trashcan by the nightstand and handed Mischa his t-shirt to wipe off with. “What?” Why was Mischa looking at him like that, so hesitant and uncertain? “It’s okay. My housekeeper will wash it.” He joked, trying to put the smile back on Mischa’s face.

  “Do you? Really? Do you love me?”

  Oh, fuck. He’d said that out loud, hadn’t he? In for a penny, in for a pound. “Yeah. I love you. Don’t ask me how. I know we’ve only known each other a few days, but—”

  He didn’t get the chance to finish his thought as Mischa launched himself in to his arms and began kissing and licking him at random, whispering into his ear,”I love you, too. I wasn’t going to say anything yet, because I figured being so conservative and all, you’d think it was too soon.”

  Conservative? Too soon? “Baby, I’m only conservative at the office and in regards to the use of recreational drugs in my home. And it’s not too soon; I’ve been looking for the love of my life for damn near twenty years.”

  “And that’s me? The love of your life?” Mischa turned hopeful eyes in his direction and Donovan’s heart melted all over again at the sight.

  “Yeah, that’s you. Not quite what I was expecting, but perfect nonetheless.”

  Sighing in contentment, Mischa curled into Donovan’s side and drifted off to sleep. Donovan stared at his lover’s sleeping face. Karma was a wonderful thing. He wasn’t sure what good deed he’d done in the past to deserve this blessing, but he would accept it with gratitude.

  Chapter Nine

  The Paparazzi

  The clink of china on a tray and the scent of coffee woke Donovan the next morning. He stretched his arms and sat up blinking slowly in the dim light. Mischa was crossing the room towards him with a tray of coffee and a covered plate. He smiled with pleasure and pushed his pillows up behind him.

  “Breakfast in bed? You are going to spoil me.” He couldn’t believe how such a simple gesture warmed his heart. He patted the bed beside himself. “Are you joining me?”

  Mischa nodded and sat in the indicated spot. He leaned forward and kissed Donovan briefly on the mouth. “I need to talk to you after work today about some things. I’d do it now, but you’re going to be late for work if you don’t eat and run.”

  Donovan glanced at the alarm clock and his eyes widened in shock. Sipping the coffee, he pushed the tray aside and climbed out of the bed. “Wow. You’re right. I must have shut the alarm off instead of hitting snooze.”

  Mischa settled back against the pillows as Donovan went over to his closet and opened it, wondering if he had any clean suits left. The evidence of Mischa’s visit to the dry cleaners met his eyes. He paused to appreciate the organized interior, shirts, jackets, and pants hanging neatly covered in plastic bags, arranged according to color and fabric. Hmmm, for such a rebel, Mischa had a definite obsession with neatness and organization.

  He pulled out the items he needed and raced across to the bathroom, a quick once over with the electric razor, brushed teeth and he was back in the bedroom, pulling on a crisp white shirt and stepping into dress pants. Mischa rose from the bed and came over to help button the shirt.

  Less than half an hour after waking, he kissed Mischa at the front door, holding an insulated mug of coffee and a boxed lunch as well as his briefcase. The drive into his office passed quickly, his mind flooded with ideas that he couldn’t wait to get down on paper, ideas for old clients, ideas for wooing new clients, his creativity was a river suddenly undammed.

  He rushed into his office past his secretary who held something out to him and started to speak. He’d scarcely seated himself at his desk and pulled a sheet of clean paper forward to begin a sketch when Margo entered.

  “Sir? You need to see this.” She stepped forward, laid the object on his desk, and swiftly exited his office.

  Humph, what was going on? He reached out and picked up the magazine she’d left on his desk. It was one of those grocery store gossip rags. What the hell could be so vitally important about this crap? His company didn’t do print advertising with rags like this. Then he realized she wasn’t showing him the magazine for the advertising, but for the articles. The cover picture showed Mischa getting out of Donovan’s old Toyota in front of a dry cleaning establishment with an armload of laundry.

  “Rebellious Blake Heir—Tame House Husband?” What the fuck? He turned quickly to the pages Margo had marked with tiny sticky-note strips and began to read. Most of it was crap, but some of it he knew was true. The article mentioned Mischa’s three brothers, and the name Terry stood out as instantly recognizable. That was the one who kept calling Mischa. Then there was the eviction—Mischa had told him about that. Sickened, he shoved the rag into his briefcase and left his office.

  “I’m taking the day off, Margo. Reschedule my appointments, please.” Did Mischa know about this article? Was he upset? His whole life was laid out there in snide innuendo and gossipy asides for the nosy masses. If this article were to be believed, then Mischa had inherited more money than Donovan could ever dream of making. A moment of disquiet stole over him. Could he provide for Mischa in the fashion he was accustomed to? Would Mischa leave him as soon as he realized that Donovan’s wealth didn’t compare to what he stood to inherit one day?

  Concern for Mischa as well as fear for their future had him speeding down the interstate, and he arrived home less than two hours after leaving it.

  He pulled into the garage and entered the house through the laundry room as had become his habit since Mischa began working for him. He liked walking immediately into the welcoming warmth of the kitchen where Mischa could inevitably be found at the breakfast bar, using his computer or preparing a meal.

  Today Mischa jumped from the bar stool as Donovan entered. He started to cross the room to Donovan, but Donovan shook his head. He joined Mischa at the counter and took a deep breath.

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?” Mischa asked curiously.

  “No. I should be here with you. Now.” He took several deep breaths. Damn this was hard. “Those things you wanted to talk to me about after I got done working today, would they have anything to do with you being Mischa Blake?”

  Mischa looked confused. “I told you I was Mischa Blake.”

  “But, you did not tell me you were The Mischa Blake of Blake Family Productions. You did not tell me that you had a multi-million dollar trust fund. What is this job for you, some kind of joke? What am I, a toy to amuse you for a while?”

  Mischa lifted his head proudly in protest. He reached across the bar and pressed his hand to Donovan’s own shaking fingers. “No! You are my love. I didn’t expect to find you but I did, and none of the rest of my life means anything without you.”

  “Then explain this to me, because I can’t figure it out on my own,” Donovan cringed at the nearly pleading tone of his own voice. Fuck. He sounded so needy.

 
“Remember when I came for the interview? I told you I didn’t want to work, but my brothers dared me to get a job and support myself?”

  He had vague memories of that, yeah. He nodded and clutched Mischa’s hand in his own.

  “They want me to clean up my image, work for the family business, and go to college.”

  “And you don’t want to?”

  “I like my image, and I don’t want to be in the movie business. It’s full of phony people, and you have to watch every hug in case the guy embracing you has a knife in his other hand. I wouldn’t mind going to college, but they want me to study film or business and I’m just not interested.”

  Strangely enough, Donovan could understand that. “I had the same problem with my parents. They couldn’t understand why I wanted to go to college instead of living happily on the commune growing weed and organic vegetables.”

  Mischa smiled. “Not you, huh? The whole organic thing, I mean.”

  Chuckling, Donovan agreed, “No, it’s not. So you don’t want to do what your family wants, and getting a job gets you out of it? Then what?”

  “Well, I have to actually support myself for a year with the job, so I’m hoping you aren’t going to fire me for sleeping with the boss.”

  “I think I can overlook that. Would you go to college if you could study what you wanted to?” He sighed. Why offer Mischa the opportunity to go out and meet other, younger, guys? Because it’s the right thing to do, asshole. He’s a very bright kid and if he wants to go to school, I need to encourage him and get over my insecurities.

  “I’d like to study history, or literature maybe, but my brothers wouldn’t approve. They think I need to apply myself to something functional so I can be useful in the family business. I can’t go to college yet anyway. I gave up all access to my money until the year is up.”