Too Stupid to Live(Romancelandia) (27 page)

“Ha,” Jurgen grumbled. “So he’s your boyfriend now.”

“Yeah.”
I just need to tell him
.

Jurgen was silent a second, probably judging Ian’s sincerity. “We’ll stay home tonight then.”

Ian smirked.

“Shut up,” Jurgen growled. “We’re coming up on Friday. Nik got us all tickets for Exposed Innerds.”

“That band? Sam loves them.” Ian could probably stomach it for a night. He’d bring earplugs.

Jurgen sighed. “Yeah, so does Nik.” He sounded about as excited as Ian felt. “He says you and I have to come up with a date for Miller Harpe,” he added grouchily.

“Make it a good one!” Nik yelled in the background.

“That guy whose head you fucked with last summer because you were jealous?”

“You helped,” Jurgen snapped. “And I wasn’t jealous, I was trying to
fix
things.”

“You asked me to help you. You’re my cousin—I helped.”

“Shut up,” Jurgen said. “Just come up with a date for him.”

“Where the fuck am I supposed to find a date for him? You’re the one who tried to
fix
things. You find one.”

After a painful pause, Jurgen admitted, “Nik says all my suggestions are inappropriate.”

“Hell,” Ian grumbled. The idea of Tierney flashed through his head, nearly making him laugh.

Then Dalton appeared in his doorway. “Mr. Cully?” he whispered.

“Call me Ian,” he responded automatically. “Oh, hey. Do you like the Exposed Innerds?”

Dalton’s eyes lit up. “I love that band.”

“I think I got a live one,” he whispered into the phone. “We’re good.”

Once he hung up, he realized what he could do tonight with his suddenly free time. He just had to run a small, personal errand first.

Unfortunately, before Ian could run his errand, he had to finish this damn agenda. He was sitting at his desk, working on it and eating the pineapple he’d brought from home when Andy walked into his office, holding her ever-present cup of coffee. He glanced up. “Hey,” he said, then went right back to the stupid fucking agenda he was trying to draft for the stupid fucking meeting.

“Hey.” She stopped next to his desk. “Your eye looks better.”

“Huh.”

“I think I found our last employee. When can you do a final interview?”

“Can it be after this stupid meeting?”

She snorted delicately. “Next week? I think not.”

Ian sighed and dropped his pen to rub his good eye. “I don’t know. Talk to Dalton about my schedule.”

He could feel the sheer wattage of her shit-eating grin heating the back of his head. There was no way he was looking up at her. “Aren’t you glad I made you hire my little brother?” she asked.

Yes
. He grunted noncommittally and made a show of ignoring her in favor of spearing another piece of pineapple.

“Jeez, you eat a lot of fruit,” she said.

“Fruit for the fruit.” He could tell by the way her whole body jerked in his peripheral vision that she’d almost spit out a sip of coffee. He smirked up at her.

“Wow,” Andy said, wiping a few stray drops of coffee off her chin. “Since you started seeing your
friend
you’re sure more lively, aren’t you?” She gave him a sly wink and sauntered off toward the door.

It took him a few seconds to think of a comeback. “Shut up,” he grumbled just before she walked out.

She laughed all the way back to her office.

Later, when he went to see Andy to tell her he had personal business this afternoon, a book shoved into the side of her briefcase caught his attention. The cover looked familiar. A wild-haired chick clutched to the semi-bare chest of some rough-looking dude with long, brownish hair. There was a castle on a distant hill behind Rough Dude’s plaid-draped shoulder and some stormy looking skies.

Ha
.

“Sooo,” he said, “you read a lot of those Highlander romance novels?”

Her head snapped up, then she looked over at her briefcase. “Oh, shit,” she said, dropping her papers on her desk.

His grin was so wide his cheeks hurt. “Andy, I think we need to talk,” he said, sitting down in the chair in front of her desk. “Now, these Highlander romance thingies, let’s talk about that, uh, what do you call it? Oh, yeah—trope. I need to conduct a little research.”

She eyed him suspiciously for a second, then arched an eyebrow. “This research, does it have anything to do with your boyfriend?”

Hell. “Maybe.”

“I’ll consider that a yes. Now, I think I have just the scenario for you . . .”

In the middle of class, Sam got a text. He slapped a hand over his vibrating front pocket before things got out of hand, then snuck the phone out. He didn’t
know
it was from Ian, and he shouldn’t check it in class, but . . .

It was Ian.

I want you to be at my place by 6:30.

Sam swallowed. Some of his blood got excited and started rushing around in his ears. Fuck, that was hot, being texted in the middle of class with instructions from his . . . friend. His fingers shook a little as he typed under the desk.
Okay
.

I’d like that.
Ian texted back immediately.

Me too
.

I have a present for you. You might need your safeword, kiddo.

He couldn’t stifle a small whimper. Eva—sitting next to him yet again—looked over sharply, and Sam snapped his mouth shut.

K.

He was forced to leave class early due to pressing concerns. Like, he was concerned his zipper would press permanent tracks in his dick, even through his boxers.

Sam got to Ian’s apartment just after six, horny as he could remember being in recent . . . well, ever. He’d been crazy since Ian had texted him.

Suddenly, though, his body wasn’t quite as eager as it had been on the way over. When he fumbled with the key in the lock of Ian’s front door, he mostly felt the nerves he’d been fighting. His chest and stomach buzzed with tension, sending a slight tremor from his fingers through his whole body.

Planned sex. This was about him trusting Ian to want him.

The door swung open. Ian stood on the other side, bare chested and bare legged, wearing—

Holy shit. A kilt.

Insta hard-on; just add tartan.

Oh, God, those thighs Ian had. So meaty and hairy. What if he’d gone commando under the kilt? Sam could just
see
his dick bobbing, his hairy balls swaying gently under the scratchy wool as he walked. Sam stood in a daze on the wrong side of the door, head swimming, breathing in short, tight gasps. He swallowed, trying to get a handle on things.

Ian gripped Sam’s wrist tightly, pulled him into the apartment, and shut the door. He backed Sam up to it, face hard and set, staring into Sam’s eyes. He almost looked mad. Or like a pissed-off Highland laird, angry over the young (yet nubile) member of the enemy clan trespassing on his land.

Someone
definitely
needed to be punished for this.

Sam shivered, breath coming faster. “You’re wearing a kilt,” he whispered.

Ian’s face lost the pissed-off laird look. “Lots of firefighters have them, kiddo.”

Sam swallowed. “Oh,” he whispered. “Are we going to play angry laird and trespassing enemy?”

Ian smiled—it had to be said—
wolfishly
, reaching to grip Sam’s ass cheek hard in one hand, cupping his groin with the other, squeezing him roughly for a second. “We’re playing victorious laird and his war prize.” He loosened his hands and leaned in closer to whisper, “You’re my booty.”

Sam squeaked and dropped his keys on the floor, reaching to grip Ian’s biceps. “Oh.” His head fell back against the door. “You’ve read some of those books,” he said faintly.

“Quiet, boy!” Ian barked. “I might have done some research,” he added in his normal voice. “Don’t break character again.”

“’Kay.” Sam nodded enthusiastically.

“Now,” Ian said in his mean laird voice, yanking Sam away from the wall. “I’m going to inspect and then mark my property.” He slapped Sam on the butt, hard, making him gasp. “Get your ass in the bedroom and get naked.”

Ian followed him in, dogging Sam’s steps and making it impossible for Sam to think about anything other than what “mark my property” might mean, or what exactly being “war booty” might entail. He found both of those ideas extremely,
ahem
, stimulating.

The full implication of “inspection” didn’t sink in until they reached the bedroom, and Sam saw that Ian had made preparations—it was easy to see he had, because every light in the room had been left on. He’d taken all the blankets off the bed. A bottle of lube was sitting on the bedside table, along with some other stuff. Clearly, the laird had plans for his booty, and those plans were well illuminated.

Ian had said he liked to look at Sam naked. He’d said he wanted Sam’s trust—and he had it, mostly. Just, when it was like this . . . disrobing in the light of, um, light fixtures turned up all the way . . .

Sam would be getting naked for
inspection
. Not in the heat of the moment or in a sort of surprising “Oh, we were just kissing and fooling around and would you look at that? I’m naked” kind of way.

Gulp
.

Sam would be pale and gangly and bony and Ian would be disgusted, right?

Shut. Up
.

Something quailed inside of Sam. He almost turned and told Ian he couldn’t do it this way. Maybe Ian could rip his clothing off in semi-darkness instead? Not make Sam choose to bare himself in front of him, not like this, with all his flaws on display.

Would Ian be disappointed? Sam stared at the bed.

Dammit
.

“Sam?” Ian asked quietly from behind him. “We don’t have to—”

Sam turned around to face Ian. Slowly, he unsnapped the fly on his jeans. He couldn’t hold Ian’s gaze, but when he glanced away he saw himself in the mirror. He looked down quickly to avoid that sight and concentrated on getting his clothes off with minimum panic.

He could feel Ian watching him the whole time—he caught a flash of pale skin in the mirror just before his shirt engulfed his head, and felt a split second of complete insecurity when he was tangled in the cloth but his chest was exposed to the cool air and Ian’s gaze, nipples tightening up.

When he bent to take his leg out of his jeans, he caught another glimpse of himself and ducked his head again, but the afterimage wouldn’t go away. Bare back rounded, spine poking out, boxers tight across his flexing butt, just a sliver of skin at the top of his thigh.

He looked vulnerable.
Shiver
.

Sam glanced up at Ian for a split second. His lips were parted, eyes wide and focused intently on Sam.

That made the blood pound harder in his ears, and his dick began to perk up a little. Not getting hard again, exactly. More like it had stopped searching for a place to hide.

Vulnerability was just a little bit sexy, even when you were the vulnerable one. Maybe
especially
then, if you trusted your partner.

Trust was sexy, too. Trusting Ian to still want him, letting Ian do what he wanted to Sam’s body. That was gut-tighteningly exciting. Sam stood up, naked, hands staying at his sides by force of will, and let Ian look at him.