Work Text:
A wine cellar made a fine prison. Max paced the length of the space in the same pattern he had worn into the stone floor over the course of the last three days.
His stomach growled. Nothing to eat but a few flat sandwiches passed roughly through the door. He wasn’t being starved, but he sure as hell was still on the edge of hunger most of the time.
In truth, Max was pretty sure he shouldn’t be alive.
Dark figures in the alley. Boxes with an arms manufacturer’s brand stamped on the wood. Max had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Seen something he shouldn’t have.
“This one saw us.” Max’s knees hit the ground, and the cold bite of a gun pushed against the back of his neck.
Charles stepped out of a sleek black Ferrari, cold green eyes scarcely sparing Max a glance. Max barely recognized the Charles he’d known. Still gorgeous, but his eyes had changed, his whole demeanor carried the weight of authority behind his every movement.
“I can take care of him here, or get him to the bay,” the man with the gun on Max said.
“No,” Charles snapped.
“Sir he saw everything, you said no witness-”
“I said no,” Charles said coolly.
The gun on Max’s neck withdrew.
“Sir?”
A rough hand grabbed Max’s chin, forcing him to look into eyes he no longer knew. Steely green bored into Max like he was barely worth the time spent looking down on him.
“Would be a shame to kill such a pretty face, no?”
That earned a few chuckles from the men around him.
“I won’t say anything,” Max swore. He didn’t give a shit about the weapons the mafia needed to move between regions. He just wanted to go home. Why had he decided to take the back way out of the building?
No one answered Max. Charles headed back into his car without another word, and a new set of hands grabbed Max’s arms and pinned them against his back.
Max should not be alive, so why was he? Charles had insisted he live, taken him captive and left him in the damn cellar.
Someone would have reported Max missing. He had a board meeting that afternoon. Someone would notice. Maybe they should notice the fact that the restaurant on the ground floor of the office building was a front for the mafia, but that was far from Max’s biggest problem at the moment.
His stomach clenched again. Charles hadn’t saved him so he could let Max starve in his wine cellar. So what was the angle?
Max hadn’t seen Charles in years. Not since he’d vanished from school and any respectable life. Max had heard rumors about Charles for years, he’d never believed them. Maybe he should have.
Charles had just been another rich kid with a rich dad. That wasn’t incorrect, but it hadn’t been the whole picture.
It was just hard to believe the happy boy he’d known karting had turned into that cold man capable of staring through Max like he was nothing.
Max turned and practically tripped over one of the floor’s flagstones.
That was it. Max was done waiting.
He hammered on the cellar door. The polish oak hurt his fist more than he made any real noise, but it did the trick. Sound carried well enough off the cool stone walls. And Charles had men keeping an eye on Max, he knew they were just around the corner.
The metal lock clanged against the stone walls. Someone had to hear that. One of Charles’ men had to be nearby.
“Hey! Take me to Charles! I know you’re there! Hey, where’s Charles? I wanna talk!”
Max said anything that came to mind “I’m hurt. I broke all the wine. I hit my head. I’ll talk. Charles is a friend. . . Please.” He wasn’t a proud person. Max had still thought begging was beneath him. But dignity was reserved for people who weren’t locked in a basement. Max just wanted to know where he stood, if it was worth hoping for some other outcome than rotting surrounded by sour grape juice.
Eventually Max grew tired. He’d lose his voice if he kept going.
On the floor above feet hammered. So shut up and keep rotting, got it.
Max might try and find out which bottle of wine was the most expensive and smash the damn thing just to have a little fun. However, he doubted Charles let his men put Max in with the good wine.
A door creaked open followed by footsteps clomping down the stairs. Too heavy to be Charles. The usual thump thump of one of his goons.
Sure enough, Alé appeared in the door’s window. Max had gathered his name when the other one Bryan shouted for him. Seemed Charles had quite the sizable operation of loyal dogs at his disposal. Most of them were just unfriendly faces to Max, just whoever shoved food through the door without warning.
“Boss said you are invited to dinner,” Alé said. He was very good at that flat business speak Max knew from working his corporate job. At least Charles was putting all those business courses to good use.
Dinner! Max mentally jumped at the promise of good food before he thought the rest through.
“Assuming you wear these.” Alé held a pair of handcuffs up to the door.
Of course. Max should have known.
“Fine, just let me out,” Max agreed. He lifted his hands with his wrists together to make the point.
Walking up the stairs got Max thinking words like “run” and “freedom”. He was in the middle of a highly guarded villa, running would undoubtedly get him shot.
Alé took him past an empty dining room, up a flight of stairs, down a dark wood hallway, and into a large master bedroom. Max could barely register any of the carefully carved stonework, the undoubtedly priceless paintings, and immaculate woodwork. It was nicer than most mansions Max had visited when traveling on business. Charles’ family was a little more well off than he’d let on.
Max entered the bedroom with a rough hand in the middle of his back making sure he didn’t try anything. What the fuck was Max going to do with his hands tied? This wasn’t his world, not his life, he didn’t belong; handcuffs were more than enough to restrain him.
“Wait in here,” Alé said as he shut the door and locked it behind Max.
The room was complete with a king sized bed draped in scarlet sheets, a crackling fireplace, and full balcony; more unusual was the meticulously set dining table at the center of the room. A table set with glasses of wine, candles, fresh fruit, sliced meat and cheeses. Max didn’t care what it was, he wanted more than the shitty sandwiches he’d been given.
The doors to the balcony were open, inviting in the evening air. A breeze parted the curtains giving a glimpse of the view over the villa. Sweeping grape fields contoured the hills beyond the tan stone walls. Before all this Max had seriously been considering buying a place in country. It was nothing short of stunning, perfect for a summer house. After all this, he was starting to reconsider. That was assuming he got out of this alive. . .
Charles was his best bet. Charles was different now, it had been years since their last meeting, but Max knew him, he could find some angle to reason with him.
He hoped.
Max sure as hell wasn’t pulling off a one-man escape any time soon.
Click . The door unlocked. Max jumped back as it swung open. He hadn’t even heard footsteps in the hall.
“Max,” Charles greeted with more warmth than Max had expected after how chilling their previous encounter had been. He was dressed down, comparatively, in a black blazer instead of a three-piece suit, with a scarlet tie hanging loose around his neck. The pageantry and uniform around the mafia never made sense to Max. He supposed it was some status bullshit thing.
Charles’ feet clicked on the hardwood floor as he drew closer. Those dress shoes were polished to perfection, save for a few stains that dulled the leather near the edges. Mud . Max told himself, it was mud.
Max backed up as Charles just kept pressing forward, cornering him against the wall. He didn’t seem to care for Max’s space, or didn’t consider it Max’s territory to begin with.
“You can relax,” Charles said, meeting Max’s eyes. His accent rolled smoothly over the words.
Max wasn’t sure he could relax, not while he still had his wrists stuck together and he was pretty sure Charles had a gun on his hip.
“So why didn’t you kill me?” Max demanded. He’d been waiting too long not to cut to the chase. Charles had kept him alive so he wanted answers.
“I might,” Charles said, eyes dancing with amusement.
“But you didn’t.” Max backed away as Charles rounded the table. He moved like a shadow, smooth, effortless, silent.
“Hands,” Charles said quietly.
“What?”
“Hands,” Charles' eyes dipped to Max’s bound wrists.
Cautiously Max raised his arms. He couldn’t parse the expression on Charles’ face. He got the sense that Charles had put on a mask and was gleefully playing some elaborate role. That or Max truly didn’t recognize the man Charles had become.
Charles took one of Max’s hands delicately, he raised it, and for a moment Max thought he might-
Click.
The cuffs loosened.
“There, now we can eat,” Charles said, taking the seat closest to the bed, facing Max.
Max slipped his wrists out of the cuffs, rubbing the irritated skin underneath. The movies weren’t making that part up, those were uncomfortable as hell.
“Sit, you are hungry, no?” Charles waved a knife at Max. He sliced through a tomato and popped it between his lips.
Max’s place didn’t have a knife, just a fork and two spoons. He slid into his seat, not bothering with utensils, it was all finger food anyway. Nothing worth cutting or spearing.
“I thought so,” Charles said.
“So why am I here?” Max demanded through a mouthful of cheese.
“You saw a very important business dealing of mine,” Charles said. He picked up his glass and watched his wine swirl before taking a sip. “I do not usually leave witnesses.”
“I meant here,” Max repeated, nodding to the bed behind Charles.
“It is a more casual setting, yes? We are still friends, the dining room is too formal for you Max. Here I take more intimate guests.”
Something in Max’s stomach churned at the word. He readjusted in his seat, trying to get more comfortable. The food, he’d come for the food. Max caught himself staring at Charles instead. He was as beautiful as he’d been at school, if anything he’d somehow refined his looks, the years had been unfairly generous to him. Naturally his hair was perfect, along with the close shave. Any girl's dream really. And he was staring at Max like he was another thing on the menu.
“Wine cellar’s nice, is that new?” Max asked flatly. “Still friends” Max wasn’t feeling the warmth.
“I am sorry about that, I could not let you go.” Charles failed to cling onto his previously friendly tone. “Eat, I thought you would be hungry.” It wasn’t a request, Max noted. And whose fault is that? Max glared across the table as he grabbed a slice of bread and heavily buttered it. The fat instantly melted, coating his tongue in salt.
“Your manners have not improved since school,” Charles chuckled as he carefully examined the cheeses before selecting one of the hard-cured wedges.
“Neither have yours,” Max grumbled. Kidnapping and holding someone hostage didn’t count as manners as far as Max was concerned.
“You have not changed.” Charles picked up his glass of wine and swirled the red liquid in casual contemplation.
“You have.” Max swallowed another slice of cheese. Charles hadn’t spared any expense on the appetizers, some of this cheese had to cost as much as Max’s car.
Charles’ eyes narrowed. He didn’t like that answer. Good. Max was growing tired of this game.
His old friend was a stranger. The guy he’d grown up seeing during his karting days, and had then followed him to an elite business school was barely recognizable. At least considering what he’d chosen to do with all that business knowledge.
Physically Charles looked the same. Same fine features, perfectly arranged hair, and dazzling green eyes. Always a little too perfect for Max’s liking.
The change lurked behind Charles’ eyes. Knowledge was a burden sometimes. Max had a hard time not thinking about what he’d read in passing about Charles’ alleged exploits. He’d seen the word murder attached to Charles’ face in the news too much to ignore.
“So, do I get to go after all this?” Max knew he wouldn’t, but the topic had to come up. He needed to know exactly where they stood so he could play his hand.
Charles’ darkened expression and lack of answer were all Max needed to measure the situation. He wasn’t getting anywhere.
“You can’t keep me forever,” Max snapped. Fuck his temper, but it had been three days, his patience had worn through.
“Can I not?” Charles took another sip of wine, not at all concerned over Max’s outburst.
“Look I won’t tell anyone about your stupid guns, I don’t care.”
“I am supposed to take your word for this?”
“Yeah, I haven’t lied to you.”
Charles cocked his head, slowly swirling his wine again.
“I cannot just let you go,” Charles repeated. Max got the sense there was something he hadn’t picked up on. A custom or expectation that Charles had left hanging. Max had no idea what he was meant to do. He’d walked into a trap with Charles hinting at an escape, but Max didn’t know the rules.
“I’m sorry,” Max said. That had to count for something, he was pretty sure he’d never apologized to Charles, even at times when he probably deserved one. “I’m sorry I caused all this trouble. It must be so hard for you.” Max tried not to be too heavy on the sarcasm. But come on, someone had just glanced at a few guns, this was not that big of a deal.
Except Max knew Charles, he recognized what was happening, and he knew the face doing the crime. Max wasn’t a stranger. As much as he wanted to pretend he was.
“I do not accept apologies,” Charles said. He left no room for questioning that point.
“What about bribes?” The words left Max before he thought it through. He wasn’t rich enough to bribe the mafia. Maybe he could offer accounting services, or-
Max knew what would work. . .
“Would be a shame to kill such a pretty face.”
As expected Charles’ eyes flicked quickly up and down Max’s body. He had to look like shit, a room by himself for a week wasn’t exactly pleasant.
“You have nothing of value I want,” Charles said.
“Don’t I?” Max took a few pomegranate seeds and popped them onto his tongue.
“Max,” A single word of warning.
“You didn’t have me killed. The Charles I’ve heard about isn’t usually so lenient, so, why am I still alive?”
“Perhaps I find you entertaining,” Charles mused, swirling the glass in his hand.
“Yeah I’m sure watching me in a cell is great,” Max prodded. “I think you couldn’t make them hurt me. You want to talk and then when it comes to bite you can’t. So if you don’t have the balls to kill me then let’s talk about that bribe.”
Max had probably pushed too far. Based on the fire burning dangerously behind Charles’ eyes he absolutely had crossed a line.
Sure enough a pistol flashed from under the table. Max instinctively jumped to his feet, not fast enough. Before he could duck away cold metal pushed against his throat.
His pulse hammered against the harsh edge of the barrel. There he was, that version of Charles Max had only ever heard about. The one whose eyes flashed murder.
“You get off on this?” Max put on a grin. Taunting Charles could be the tiny bit of leverage Max needed. Or a quick death.
The gun followed Max until his back hit the wall. Sharp green eyes dug into Max, silently saying “Test me again”.
Charles wouldn't pull the trigger. Max didn't know the man in front of him, but he'd known the boy. The one who’d stolen a kiss behind a tree when they’d been alone in a much kinder world. He’d known the guy who had been so annoying at university always trying to one-up Max during their shared lectures.
Max hadn't known back then who Charles was, the weight his name carried. That Charles had been preparing for a very different line of work. At the time they’d both just been dumb students who’d let go of an old racing dream.
He hadn’t understood how dangerous Charles could be.
He did now.
A gun, a big name, and an illicit empire all fell away when it was just the two of them, and Max could look Charles in the eye, and get on his knees.
He moved slowly, so he didn't startle Charles into firing.
Max went lower and lower until his knees hit the floor and he had Charles' shadow looming over him.
The gun at his throat had followed. Digging in with each breath.
Charles' expression was inscrutable. Something dark stirred in his eyes.
A hand went to Max's jaw, cupping his face and tilting it to the side.
“Max.” Half a question. The bite of the gun on his neck fell away.
“You want a bribe or not? I’m not staying here, so you can tell them you did whatever you wanted. Or you can dump me in the river.”
Charles didn’t like being cornered. Max had all but given him an ultimatum. He’d much rather suck dick than return to that wine cellar.
“This isn’t-”
“It’s not?” Max asked, “Then why did you invite me up here?” Max was slowly putting it together. “I don’t leave witnesses” Well Max wouldn’t be a witness if he became something else to Charles.
Charles didn’t answer.
“You can get me out of this?” Max needed confirmation. Charles was powerful enough, surely what he said went. But he needed his pride intact.
Max was a weakness. Charles clearly hadn't liked appearing weak in front of his men, or to himself. So maybe if he saw Max on his knees for him that would set it right in his head.
Max had only given a few blowjobs in school. He could fumble his way through this.
Charles nodded. “I can, but-”
“So I don't need to know the rest, we do this, I get home alive, deal?” Not a witness. An escort, bitch, boyfriend? Whatever changed Max’s role was fine by him.
Max inched closer, trying to tease the sort of view Charles was in for - Max's face right next to his crotch, perfect for looking down on him.
“They will talk,” Charles breathed out. His hand flexed at his side, Max was half-convinced he was moments away from Charles grabbing his hair.
“You're the boss? You don't get to have fun?”
“I do,” Charles said coolly. “Not on your terms, however.”
Max thought about strangling him.
This really was a whole show of power. Charles had let Max slip through one of the cracks of his undoubtedly frozen heart and it wasn’t sitting right with the man who liked to shoot first.
Max was an interruption. A moment of weakness on an otherwise spotlessly ruthless record. He’d knelt first.
Couldn't have that.
Charles also didn't seem to be capable of pulling the trigger.
So what did he want?
To regain control. He needed to and he didn't know how. Ha!
Max leaned forward until his face was indecently close to Charles' thighs.
He tried to pretend he didn't see the twitch of interest, or hear the sudden hitch in breath above him.
“What are your terms?” Max asked. He thought about reaching up and stroking Charles. He was taking the risk of a touch until Charles gave him clear permission. That gun was as close to Max’s head as Charles’ co-
“Play along,” Charles said slowly. Play along with a script for a world you're not a part of. It was all fine if Charles was using Max for something.
Max didn't need the details. If sucking Charles off was all he needed to do then he wasn't complaining. There had been a time when Max would have said he had a crush on Charles. He still might, buried deep down somewhere under years of being apart. When he looked up at Charles and met his eyes again the attraction rushed back.
Why hadn’t they done anything before? Because Charles had dropped out early and left Max without a trace. If he hadn’t run off into the shadows of society Max might have worked up the courage to ask him out. Or maybe Charles would have wanted to stick around for Max.
Either way, it felt oddly right that somehow they’d ended up like this anyway.
In front of him, Charles’ arousal became clearer and clearer.
Play along. Submit. Feed Charles’ ego enough they could play this out as old flames reconnecting. When it was more like a passing ship in the dead of night.
Max could do what he was told, he could keep his mouth shut about some guns, and he could open it for Charles now.
This was a hell of a way to get a date. If that’s what Charles had intended. A fancy dinner in his bedroom sure felt like a date to Max. But maybe he was too simple to understand what the hell Charles was going for.
It was easier to pretend it was a date.
Max’s lack of experience caught up to him. How did you move things along? Did Charles expect him to do all the work?
Should he touch him first?
Max eyed the gun holstered on Charles’ hip. He didn’t risk staring. He did not need Charles accusing him of planning to grab his gun.
Max was more concerned about other things in front of his face.
He steeled himself a raised a hand to Charles’ belt. Charles let him fumble with the leather. Damn, his hands were actually shaking. He hoped Charles was getting off on watching Max fail the first step.
Max tugged the belt away and let it hit the floor.
He glanced up at Charles, only to be met with that same hungry look.
Max forgot what he was doing for a moment. Charles’ eyes were hypnotic, serpentine with how they coiled around Max’s body. Max wanted to wreck him, mess up some facet of that perfect mask.
Fingers brushed along Max’s jaw. That was familiar. They weren’t in an alley this time. There wasn’t anyone to see the way Max was losing his nerve, or the flush spreading across Charles’ cheeks.
Charles undid his fly. That saved Max some trouble, but now he was faced with the reality of what he’d asked for. He stared, because seeing Charles’ cock for the first time so close to his lips was. . . something. Charles was already half-hard, he twitched up when Max exhaled. Max reveled in that reaction, he had that much of an effect on Charles? If he’d known he’d have offered to get him off on day one.
“Open.”
Max wasn't sure if he heard Charles speak or if it was his own hallucination.
The hand on his jaw shifted, forcing Max to look up. Charles ran his thumb over Max's lower lip, gently at first then he pushed down harder.
A challenge.
Max opened. He'd done this before. It wasn't a big deal.
Charles wasn't gentle though. He pushed in, sliding down Max's tongue until he gagged.
Max could swear he saw the glint of satisfaction above him.
Fingers tangled in his hair, keeping Max still.
He should close his eyes and let Charles fuck himself with his mouth if he was going to be like this.
Max was incapable of that. He relaxed. Swallowing just a little more. Above him Charles groaned and he loosened his grip.
Max bobbed his head again. And again Charles went too deep and he gagged. He was getting off on this.
Max pulled off, glaring up at Charles.
“Max,” a warning.
“Do you want this or not? Because if I choke and die on your ego this is gonna be quick.”
Max was very proud he didn't laugh there.
Charles had made his point. He had all the power. Max had already agreed to fuck him so Charles could try to make this pleasant.
The hand in Max's hair softened, gently rubbing his scalp.
Max took Charles back into his mouth. A bead of salty precum spread across his tongue. He stayed there a moment, feeling out the shape of the cock in his mouth, pushing against it with his tongue and getting that zip of satisfaction when it twitched in response.
Charles was playing nice, finally.
Max sucked him down deeper, inch by inch. Charles was bigger than the other guys Max had been with. He didn’t hate it, in fact, it felt good to be able to take so much and still have more.
Above Charles started trembling. The hand in Max's stopped being so gentle. Charles tugged on Max urging him to move.
He did, bobbing up and down the length, letting the tip hit the inside of his cheek. More salt. Max paused and swallowed around Charles.
That earned a proper moan. Not calculated or playing an angle, just the raw sound of pleasure.
Max worked his way into a rhythm, feeling Charles out with his tongue, going deep when he could handle it. Eventually he sped up, following the instruction of Charles’ hands. He was half fucking into Max's mouth, panting heavily.
The sounds went to Max's crotch. He was achingly hard and was tempted to start touching himself as he felt Charles get more desperate for it. He had to be close.
Charles slowed, one more pump of the hips was all it took. Hit cum ran down Max's throat.
He almost gagged, Charles had pushed in a little too deep, again. Max swallowed as best he could, sucking slowly until there was nothing left.
His jaw ached, getting only a little relief as the cock in his mouth started to soften. Max’s stomach flipped, he told himself it was from swallowing too much air. A mixture of unsettling shock and lust.
But the feeling lingered, bubbling up Max’s spine, taking over his senses, and his heartbeat.
Charles pulled back. His softening cock slipped easily from Max’s lips. The bitter taste on Max’s tongue intensified when he looked up.
Charles had that glassy fucked out look on his face, the one all guys had when they got off. It was unfair how beautiful he was. That those fine features could cruelly taunt Max from any angle and be perfect. Even as Max still had the taste of the man’s cum on his tongue he wasn't done. He wanted to taste everything.
“Look at you,” Charles cupped Max’s jaw again. He said more in French. Max didn’t understand, but the tone and gentle murmur sounded like he was speaking to himself. He pretended it was some sweet words that Charles would never actually say.
Max wanted more. Fuck he hadn’t thought he’d like it. He should have known. Charles had always been his type.
Shakily Max got to his feet. Christ his knees hurt.
No sooner was he upright, then lips crashed into his, and Max finally realized how damn hungry he was.
Charles kissed Max, pinning him up against the wall. Max let him. Pressing their bodies together gave his dick some much-needed friction.
“Shower,” Charles said breathlessly. “You are filthy.”
Max didn't need to be told twice. He took the fastest shower of his life. Scrubbing his skin raw, swallowing more warm water than usual.
When he finished Max decided to be bold. They both knew what was happening next. He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked back into the bedroom.
Finding Charles shirtless, already reclined on the bed confirmed what Max had dreaded, expected. . . hoped. They weren't done. A thread of carefully wound tension still strung them together. They needed to break it.
Charles raised his eyebrows at Max. So the whole naked thing worked. Charles really was that easy.
Max should have more confidence. He’d just sucked him off, what he was in for wasn’t a mystery.
It was that damn satisfied smirk on Charles’ face. The one that had inevitability written all over it.
His continued arousal won out over his nerves and Max approached the bed. As soon as Max was close enough Charles pulled him into a kiss. He drew him in until Max practically fell onto the plush mattress. His towel fell away at some point, his legs tangled with Charles’ and he found he was still fucking starving.
* * *
Lips on Max’s neck raised him slowly from sleep.
He was fucking exhausted. And damn a lot more things were sore than he’d expected. Namely his knees, there was no way those weren’t bruised.
“Morning,” Charles breathed against his neck.
Max didn’t want to move. He had a soft mattress under him, and plush blankets wrapped around his bare skin. Why would he ever move? After three days in a hard cellar, this felt like heaven.
The previous evening came back to him. Max had been on his back, Charles had taken his sweet time opening him up, Max had relished in how quickly Charles fell apart once he started fucking him. . . damn that had felt better than it had any right to.
Max pushed himself up, shaking the lingering effects of sleep off. Mid-morning light streamed in from the balcony, glinting off the pistol resting on the bedside table.
“So, I can go?” Max wasn’t afraid, not exactly. But he didn’t want to trick himself into thinking that was freedom on his tongue until he was on the other side of the villa’s walls.
“I suppose,” Charles said teasing. A strong arm snaked around Max’s waist pulling him close again. Lips kissed the length of his neck, stubble pricking at his skin. If he didn’t feel like he was on the edge of never getting out he might have stayed another night.
Good to know the guy Max had known wasn't lost, just buried under years’ worth of something hard. Charles could still be soft, gentle, and sweet. He was so overly affectionate Max was sure he’d be teased for it.
They’d had a deal.
Max sure as hell wasn’t just a witness anymore. And he had no interest in turning Charles in.
Charles escorted Max out of the villa. A driver stood beside a sleek black car, ready and waiting. Charles’ hand rested firmly on the small of Max’s back, guiding him in front of a whole lineup of unfriendly looking faces in crisp black suits.
A cold peck on the cheek in front of all his men, and that was it, Max was free. He slid into the tinted dark interior of the car and watched the villa slowly shrink into the hillside.
* * *
Max returned home, with bruised knees, a sore jaw, and a fresh brand on his heart. He rushed back to work and made every excuse in the book. He’d been caught up that weekend with a hangover. No, it wouldn’t happen again, yes he could work extra hours. He’d be at the next board meeting.
It was hard to work when all Max could think about was the lingering ache in his jaw, the feel of lips claiming his neck, the burning gaze of cool green eyes conjuring up butterflies in his stomach. He needed a long cold shower when he got back to his penthouse.
It was well past ten when Max did make it home. He stripped off half his office attire and tossed it on the couch before he noticed something was off.
On the coffee table lay a card tied with gold ribbon to a single red rose.
If it was butterflies or snakes turning over in his gut Max couldn’t say as he picked up the note. He wasn’t a part of this fucked up life Charles had chosen.
Inside the note was the address of one of the nicest restaurants in the area. A place Max would never go on his own.
He re-read the note, examining Charles’ handwriting. It was careful, crisp, and calculated. Better than Max’s, it had always been better than Max’s.
Max read the final line of the note again, heart in his throat. Seemed Max had made an impression.
“Dinner is arranged tomorrow at six.”
Max wasn’t a part of Charles’ world. But he could be. It would be so easy.
It was easy to clean himself up after work, to dress himself in a suit he hadn’t worn in months, and to find Charles at that restaurant wearing a crooked smile and a glint in his eye that said “I knew you would.”