Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Mr. Sin smirked at him as he sipped his drink from where he was leaning against the bar. His white shirt was skintight, accentuating a hard chest and muscular arms. The only unexpected difference was that the brown hair he’d sported at the party was now a blond so pale that it was nearly white. It looked good with his tanned skin, as if he spent all his days sunbathing nude.
This could be an interesting distraction to combat boredom. The young man was a very pretty thing that could be scooped up for a time. At the very least, it would keep Soren out of the Louvre.
Just as he was deciding to slide off the barstool that had held his sorry butt for the past two hours, the guy moved, carrying his drink over to where Soren was seated. Soren turned so he could watch him approach, and he was so very glad he did. He was short and slender, but there was no mistaking the hard muscle tone. Of course, his shirt and pants were so damn tight, there wasn’t a lot left to the imagination.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he greeted as he sidled between Soren and the woman seated on a stool to his right. The stranger’s accent was simply American. He couldn’t quite place it. Maybe a touch midwestern. Definitely not what he’d expected, considering he’d spotted the man at a London party for a Ukrainian arms dealer.
“Are you following me?” Soren asked, only partially meaning it.
The stranger tossed his head back and laughed loudly before finishing off his drink. He waved for the bartender and crisply ordered another drink in flawless French. “I think the better question is whether you’re following me. I live in Paris. Do you?”
“No to both questions. I’m here on vacation.”
“Ah. Then it is serendipity. Fate.” He gave a very carefree shrug as if it simply didn’t matter. If he was an American, he was clearly an ex-pat. Between his fluency and mannerisms, it felt as if he’d lived in Paris for quite a bit.
“Maybe it is.”
Yeah, he didn’t believe in fate, serendipity, or deus ex machina. Sometimes shit happened in your favor. Like handing him a sexy twink with a dirty smile. A smart man went with it.
Of course, the part of his brain that wasn’t in his pants was arguing to be cautious. This delicious snack could be a threat. A rival thief? An assassin? An undercover agent for Europol?
Okay, maybe he’d barely managed to hold in his snort of laughter on that. He was likely an expensive rent boy paid by Gabor to ply his trade at the party to keep his guests happy. Nothing more than that.
“But a holiday in Paris is nice. You visit the usual tourist sites. Drink wine. Eat your weight in cheese.” As he spoke, he leaned against the side of the bar and plucked at the buttons on Soren’s shirt, moving from his chest down toward his dick. He wasn’t unfastening his shirt, just sort of teasingly tugging at it.
“I was hoping for something a little more low-key,” Soren murmured, dipping his head close so he could be heard over the chatter of other bar customers and the music being played over the speakers. “Maybe something without all the tourists.”
“How about my cock buried deep inside you?”
Soren jerked upright and blinked. Yeah, okay. That was blunter than he was expecting. That didn’t mean he wasn’t interested. Definitely interested.
A feminine gasp snapped Soren from his surprise, and he watched as the sexy man twisted around enough to sneer at the woman behind him and snap at her in blistering French. He only caught part of it, but he was fairly sure he’d said something that sounded a lot like “Sweetheart, you didn’t have a shot at his cock. Get over it.”
Soren caught the man’s chin in his thumb and forefinger, turning his face toward him before his sharp tongue drew more attention to them. “What’s your name?”
“Angel,” he purred. Soren didn’t believe it at all, but it fit. He was the dirtiest fallen angel he’d ever met, and he loved it. “You?”
“Soren.”
“What do you say, Soren? You want to go for a ride?”
“You workin’?”
Angel laughed, deep and throaty. The sound grabbed him by the balls and refused to let go. At least he wasn’t insulted by his question the way most people might have been. “No, sexy, I’m not working. When I spotted you at the party, all I wanted to do was bend you over and fuck you senseless. But you disappeared too quickly. I don’t see any sense in wasting a second chance I never expected to get.”
He could not argue with that logic. Most men took one look at him and expected him to top because of his size and build. Nope. His entire life was about control and careful planning. There was nothing better than handing the reins over to someone else and wallowing in the pleasure of a good fuck.