“I’m not worried you’re a serial killer. I’ve seen your company ID. Christ, we work in the same building.”
Sacha’s smile widened. “Yes, but you did not know that until today. Perhaps I faked it.”
“Did you?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you don’t expend energy on trivial things, so either you really are a serial killer, or I’m perfectly safe inviting you into my home.”
“So…” Sacha sat up from his sprawl and leaned closer. He still smelled of clean cotton and, well,man, and to Jonah’s champagne-hazed eyes, the scruff on his jaw seemed to have darkened as the evening had progressed, leaving him more alluring than ever.
Jonah wanted to touch it. To run his fingers through it, and rub it with his own face. He wanted to bury his nose in Sacha’s elegant neck and breathe him in.
He settled for a snatched inhale. “So what?”
“So,” Sacha repeated. “If I don’t kill you, what would you like to do instead? We can do as we said before we got in this car, but it doesn’t have to be so…literal.”
“Literal?” Jonah flicked a glance to the privacy screen that separated them from the driver his parents used for all their events. “You mean you’re not going to fuck me?”
“That’s not what I said. But I like how you say it. Say it again.”
“Which part?”
“The part about me fucking you.”
Jonah’s pulse kicked up a gear. They were nearly at the exclusive apartment building he called home and despite his nerves, he was glad of it. The anticipation was killing him. “To answer your first question,” he said. “I’d like you to come in and make good on what we agreed when we left the ball. What you do with that is entirely up toyou.”
The car stopped as he finished speaking. Like magic, the doors opened, and Jonah got out before Sacha could respond.
He strode towards the entrance of his building. The concierge greeted him. Jonah barely heard himself respond, too keenly aware of Sacha a heartbeat behind him.
They found themselves in another lift. Sacha smirked again and this time, Jonah did too. “This is nicer than the one we spent twenty minutes in earlier.”
“It is,” Sacha agreed. “And let me guess, you live in the penthouse?”
“I do. It’s not mine, though. It belongs to my family.”
“But you live alone?”
“Isn’t that what a serial killer would ask?”
“A serial killer would already know, I think.”
“It should worry me that you know that.”
“Maybe it should.” Sacha reached around Jonah to press the button for the top floor. “But I think I’m not the first man you have brought home, so perhaps it doesn’t.”
It didn’t worry Jonah in the slightest, but he was enjoying the game—Sacha’s twinkling eyes, and teasing smile. It made the desire fast building in him easier to handle, though the lift ride to the top floor seemed to take as long as their disjointed one earlier that evening.
Eons had passed by the time the doors opened to the landing that housed only one door—the one to Jonah’s apartment. They stepped out of the lift. Sacha drifted to the window and gazed down at the Christmas lights that had lit up the city since the middle of November. “It’s nice from up here. I don’t like it at ground level. It’s too…crowded with the colours. I can’t distinguish one from another. Up here it is just light, like the stars.”
Jonah came up behind him, drawn to Sacha’s back in ways he couldn’t explain, but Sacha spun before he could touch him, leaving them face to face and inches apart. “I’ve never really thought about it,” Jonah said. “Christmas is something that happens, like the weather. We have no say in the matter.”
“You do not like it?”
“Oh no, I do. But I think I take it for granted.”
Sacha nodded. Jonah couldn’t tell if it was agreement or not, and he didn’t much care. Now he had Sacha so close, his nerves were beginning to fade. He wanted him on the other side of that door, damn it.