The Perfect Fit

“Your usual.” Our server places my favorite sandwich down in front of me, and my stomach growls.

“He is so into you,” Jen says with a wicked grin.

“He is not.”

“Is too.” She pops a french fry into her mouth.

“So, how are you and Trey?” I take a bite of my delicious lunch.

She sighs dreamily, her eyes practically glazing over. “He is sooo hot, Lil. I mean, like freakishly hot. And that man’s dick should come with a health warning, I swear.”

Snorting a laugh, I place my hand over my mouth and try not to spray her with chewed-up bits of chicken and avocado. “So you two living together hasn’t been a bad thing?” Two weeks have passed since we had to leave her apartment, which is a long time for Jen. The woman has an innate fear of commitment.

“Not at all. In fact, I’m kind of sad I’ll be moving back home tomorrow. Speaking of which.” She arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me. “Will you be coming home too?”

Chewing my sandwich, I look up at the ceiling.

“Lils?” she prompts.

I wrinkle my nose. “No.”

“You’re staying with the three hot billionaires in the Park Avenue penthouse? Shocker.” Smirking, she rolls her eyes.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

She shakes her head. “Not at all. You were going to move out anyway. And if I was getting dicked down by the Unholy Trinity every night, I wouldn’t leave either.”

My face burns. “I do not get dicked down by all three of them,” I say in a harsh whisper, darting my eyes left and right to make sure nobody heard her.

She tilts her head and stares at me.

My lips curve up at the corners. “Just two.”

She shrieks with laughter. Once she calms down, I put my hand on her wrist. “Is that bad?”

“Hell no! You’re out there living your best life, girl. You enjoy those fine pieces of man meat while you can.”

Relieved, I take another bite of my sandwich. She’s totally right. There’s no way this arrangement can last forever, so I should enjoy it while I can. How many women get the chance to date three men as hot as Xander, West, and Zeke? Although I can’t really count Zeke. Despite the connection we seemed to have, and even though he said he was on board with the whole arrangement, he hasn’t touched me and has barely spoken to me since I moved in.

Jen steals a potato chip from my plate. “So, how’s your article coming along?”

I swallow and wash my food down with a gulp of soda. “The last one I was working on didn’t pan out, but I’m researching a new one. Julian thinks it could be promising.”

“You could just publish it yourself. Online or something. Julian doesn’t get to decide what you write.”

“Um. He’s the editor of the magazine I want to work for, so he kind of does,” I remind her. “And I do want to publish my own stuff one day, but I want to be with a reputable publication first. To prove I can do it, ya know. And Grayson’s is one of the most widely circulated magazines in the country.”

“Well, you are sleeping with the guys who are about to own it. Just tell them to make Julian put your article in the next issue.”

I shake my head. “You know that isn’t how I want to do this, Jen. What’s the point of working my ass off all this time? I want my article to be in there because it’s good, not because I’m getting dicked down by the boss.”

“Boss-es,” she corrects me.

I grin at her. “Eat your fries.”

Xander and West messaged me to say they were working late, so I know they aren’t home when I get back to the apartment, but the music coming from the den tells me Zeke’s here. I go to find him, hoping he’ll tell me what he wants for dinner. I hate choosing what to cook. Having to decide what to make is one of the worst parts of adulting.

I walk into the room to find him wearing only a pair of tight suit pants. His hair is damp like he recently took a shower, and my breath catches in my throat at the sight of his bare torso. He’s always kept his shirt on around me before. “Wow.” Realizing I just said that out loud, I slap my hand over my mouth while he closes the gap between us.

“Zeke, your tattoos are beautiful.” I instinctively reach out to trace the lines of ink adorning his chest and abs, but he grips my wrist before I can touch him, squeezing hard enough to make me wince.

“I don’t like being touched,” he says with a throaty growl.

“West and Fitch touch you.”

He sneers. “They’ve known me forever.”

“So, it’s a trust thing, then?” I ask, raking my eyes over the intricate works of art.

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.” I’m surprised by the sudden knowledge that I would give anything to earn his trust.

“You getting a good look there?”

My eyes travel back to his, which are smoldering with anger and … something else I can’t identify. “I could stare at them all day. They’re incredible.”

“You think I don’t know what you’re really looking at, buttercup?”

Buttercup? He makes the term of endearment sound like an insult. But I have no idea what he’s talking about, and my frown deepens. “What?”

He steps forward, and now his chiseled body is only a few inches from mine. Heat radiates from his skin, warming me even through my tank top. A pulsing sensation builds between my thighs.

“You heard me.” His voice drops another octave, its steady cadence making goosebumps prickle along my forearms.

What the hell is this guy’s deal? “Why did you lie, Ezekiel?”

His scowl deepens. “What?”

“You lied to me. When I asked you if you wanted me here, you said yes.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “So?”

“It seems like you don’t want me here at all.” I shrug, trying to pull off an Academy Award-winning display of disinterest.

His head falls back, and he lets out a dark, arrogant laugh, then fixes those fiery eyes on me again. “And why do you say that, buttercup? Because I don’t want you looking at my scars?”

I roll my eyes. Asshole. “What scars?”

He lowers his mouth to my ear, and his hot breath ruffles my hair. “The ones all over my fucking chest.”

My eyes drop back down, and sure enough, the veneer of ink covers a cluster of thick, twisted scars. A lump of emotion clogs my throat, but I swallow it down. They must have been carved into his flesh long before he got the tattoos. How did he get them? Are they the reason he doesn’t like to be touched? I open my mouth to tell him that I didn’t even notice his scars. I mean we all have them, some are just on the inside. But before I can utter a word, he wraps a hand around my throat, cutting off my words and my air.

“You don’t want to fucking play with me, Lily, because I will eat you alive.” His grip relaxes just enough for me to speak.

Instead of reassuring him about his scars, I give him snark. “That would require some touching though, wouldn’t it?”

He grunts a response, a humorless smirk pulling the corner of his mouth upward as a wicked glint flickers in his dark eyes. “I will touch you whenever and wherever the fuck I want.”

Pretending his hand isn’t still locked around my throat, I place my hands on my hips. “Is that so?”

“That’s the deal you signed up for.”

“Is there anywhere I’m allowed to touch you?”

He lets go of me. “Forearms. Or below the waist is fine.”

I glance down, unconsciously running my tongue over my lip when I see the clear outline of his hard cock straining against his pants. He wants me, but he won’t admit it. I wish I knew why.

A menacing growl vibrates in his chest. “You want a taste, buttercup?”

Not taking my eyes from his impressive bulge, I nod.

He inhales deeply, his abs tightening and the thick muscles of his thighs growing taut. He has an incredible body, and I want to feel it for myself. I want him to let me in. I need him to let me in. “Then go ahead.” He grits out the words like they pain him.

Not giving him a second to change his mind, I drop to my knees. He flinches when I trail my fingernails over his zipper. I bite down on my lip to stifle a giggle and look up to find him gazing down at me with an expression of unrestrained hunger. My insides contract with white hot pleasure. I’ve never seen him like this, at least not with me, and it fuels my courage. Still, my fingers tremble on his zipper. And when I reach into his boxers and free his magnificent cock, he trembles too. His entire body shudders as he lets out a deep groan. It’s possibly the hottest sound I’ve heard any man make—ever. This is my way in with Zeke. This is how I get him to trust me.

Wrapping my hand around the thick base, I squeeze. Precum leaks from the slit of his crown, and I dart out my tongue and lick it off, stifling a moan as his taste fills my mouth. He hisses out a breath. I want all of him inside me, but I want to draw this out for him too. I’m going to give him the best head he’s ever had in his goddamn life.

“You taste so good.” I wrap my lips around the tip of his cock, and he grunts appreciatively, rocking his hips forward, but I pull back, taunting him just a little.

Huge mistake.

Zeke snarls, the animalistic sound vibrating through him and into me, and fists his giant hands in my hair. “Don’t fucking toy with me.”

I take a deep breath through my nose right before he shoves his cock all the way into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat and making me gag. Tears stream down my cheeks. Saliva dribbles down my chin. He pulls back an inch, and I take the opportunity to suck in air, preparing for him to drive inside again, which he does half a second later, barely giving me any time to recover.

I place my hands on his hard thighs, my fingertips digging into his taut muscles and holding me steady while he fucks my face. Ezekiel Cavanagh is wrong if he thinks this is going to break me. So very wrong. I relax my jaw and my throat, the way I was taught a long time ago. Tears prick at my eyes for a different reason now, but I blink them away, anchoring myself to this moment right here. To Zeke’s scent. His touch. His powerful hands on my head. The way they hold onto me, almost reverently as he drives his cock in and out of my mouth.

My heart leaps when I glance up and find him still staring down at me, a look of awe and desire on his face. His dark eyes shutter closed. “Fuck!” he grunts.

I continue to watch him, my eyes swimming with tears. A stray drop rolls down my cheek, and he wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. That one simple act makes my heart ache for him. My beautiful Zeke. So damaged, but so desperate for someone to love him. He and I have more in common than he will ever know. I blink away my tears and stare into his eyes. Edging forward, I swallow every single inch of him, my throat constricting around the crown of his cock. His eyes roll back in his head. His grip in my hair tightens.

“Mother … fucker!” he growls, holding my head in place as thick ribbons of salty cum streak down my throat. I inhale through my nose and swallow again, and Zeke’s thigh muscles tremble beneath my fingertips.

Our eyes remain locked as he slowly slides out of my mouth, and I lick the drool from my lips. “Where the fuck did you learn to suck cock like that, buttercup?”

I figure it’s a rhetorical question, so I don’t answer. What would he say, or do, if I told him the truth? Instead, I smile up at him, thrilled that, for a few seconds at least, I made him lose control.

He grabs my jaw, squeezing roughly. “Here I was, thinking you were a delicate little flower, Lily. But you’re …” His dark eyes narrow.

I’m what, Zeke? Tell me.

He doesn’t finish his sentence. His Adam’s apple bobs, and he looks away, breaking the connection between us as effectively as if he’d severed it with a knife. Releasing his grip on me, he tucks himself away and zips up his pants. Then, without another word, he stalks out of the room, leaving me alone on my knees.