Take Me

Chapter Seven: Backbone

Milo crossed his legs to hide the evidence of what sitting across from Kaz in a three-piece suit and red necktie did. The man stared at him the entire time instead of watching the show. He really shouldn’t have worn the slim fit pants that day. With all the control he could muster, he pushed down the urge to squirm under the s*x-on-a-stick’s gaze.

The glare of the runway lights seemed to heighten the intensity of his blue eyes, almost turning them molten. So serious. So hungry. So much want that called to the deepest desires Milo hid within himself. Like Kaz wanted nothing more than to cross the white stripe separating them and peel every article of clothing constricting Milo’s skin. Considering his current state of arousal, he might just allow Kaz to do whatever he damn well wanted. Even with this distance between them, the air was electric.

All manner of thoughts assailed Milo. From kissing to having Kaz’s lips travel to other parts of his body. Ten days of staring at nothing but the damnable vase of white, long-stemmed calla lilies did this to him. Every time he moved to throw the blooms away his hands hesitated. All he really had to do was nudge the crystal off the edge of his table and it would fall into the wastebasket waiting at the bottom. But the custodian regularly reminded him only paper waste was permitted for desk bins. All wet trash must be taken to the trashcans near the communal bathrooms. And that walk would take him through the entire office floor. Those who came to Cassandra’s office already asked about the floral arrangement. He didn’t need the rest of the staff gossiping about who they could be from. He fended off the curious with reminders of work or questions of what their purpose was in visiting their fearless leader. That usually shut them up.

Ten days later, at such an important event where he should be paying attention, all Milo could do was not squirm in his seat. The chill in the air that surrounded him was meant to keep the bright lights cool, but it also served as a reminder of how damp the front of his boxer briefs had become. For some reason, his attraction to Kaz was more potent now than when he had been slobbering drunk. Gone was the blame he put on the tequila.

He should be ashamed of what he’d done that night and all the thoughts that resulted because of it, but he wasn’t. A part of him fantasized about what it would be like to have Kaz take him. Something told him the guy he’d experimented with in college wouldn’t come close. Kaz seemed like the type who needed to be in control of all aspects of his life, especially those that involved pleasing a lover.

Milo’s mouth watered. He swallowed and admonished himself for being distracted. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the models walking past him and the magnificent dresses they showcased, just beyond the raised platform sat Kaz, still staring at him. Almost unblinkingly. And he didn’t even try to hide the desire in his expression. Even when Cassandra leaned toward him to whisper into his ear, all Kaz would do was lean his head toward her slightly, not removing his gaze from Milo.

His lungs constricted painfully and the collar of his shirt choked the air he needed to keep from passing out. He wished the show would end so he could leave. But he knew escape was futile. Cassandra would expect him backstage for press interviews and the after party. If he disappeared she would hound him for being preoccupied and his mother would definitely hear about it. With his first of the month brunch right around the corner, the last thing he needed was Silvia grilling him about his current emotional state.

He damned Kaz over and over for making him this listless. He missed the days when he could act cool and professional. One night changed all that. He had to admit what Kaz did really messed him up. The man’s attention pushed his meticulously ordered world off its axis. He had to get a grip on the situation or risk crumbling under the pressure of work. Cassandra expected nothing less than perfection from him. If he couldn’t deliver then he might as well kiss being the next editor-in-chief goodbye. And that was unacceptable.

When the model in the finale dress finally turned the corner, Milo took in his first real breath since noticing Kaz sitting across from him. The thousand crane dress was so stunning it captured the attention of the entire audience. The ombre effect from white at the bodice to the deepest crimson at the hem elicited gasps and murmurs of pleasure. Kenji’s triumph was palpable in the air. Even Kaz looked away to watch the model saunter to the end of the runway, pause for pictures, then turn and walk away like she owned the room. And in that dress, she really did.

A moment later, the line of models cantered down the catwalk with Kenji trailing after them at the tail end of the finale dress. The model was all smiles as she held his hand. Then she presented him with a bouquet of orchids. Kenji kissed her knuckles and took a bow.

The applause that erupted redoubled with shouts for an encore as if this was some rock concert. Milo had only experienced this kind of response a couple of times while working under Cassandra’s tutelage. And each time she’d taken those designers under her wing. She could spot talent before anyone else. That was what Milo aspired to. He wanted to learn how to detect the potential in a designer—that spark of genius so rare in a world where innovation could be as subtle as the raising of a hemline.

As the press horde made their way to the backstage area along with select members of the audience, Milo unfolded himself from his seat. As discretely as he could, he adjusted the front of his pants. How he wanted his coat at that moment to cover everything, but wearing it indoors would just look plain weird. He hadn’t reached the eccentricity phase of his life yet.

He hadn’t even made it all the way backstage when the first fashion reporter shoved a microphone and camera in his face. Plastering on a gracious smile, he systematically answered as many questions as he could.

Praising Kenji wasn’t hard. The guy knew what he was doing with hemp that no other designer could come close to. The fabric manipulation . . . blah, blah, blah. On and on the questions went from one reporter to the next. Bloggers were more creative in their inquiries. Many of them, Milo suspected, dreamed of a career in fashion as a designer or as someone who worked for a magazine. He recognized the gleam in their eyes.

With his mind in work mode, he hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings when the last reporter left his side to find the next person to interview. A large hand curled around his arm. After a quick tug, he found himself in one of the dressing enclosures. Usually, it was left open since models weren't shy about getting naked. But before he could blink, the curtains were tugged shut. Then he was pushed against the opposite wall. He gasped at the mouth suddenly crushed against his.

His surprise immediately wore off when the spicy musk of Kaz’s cologne invaded his lungs. As if the smell had some sort of aphrodisiac in it, Milo’s entire body burned. A superheated blush rushed over his skin and his heartbeat kicked into overdrive. Without thinking, he parted his lips.

Like the experienced lover Milo suspected him to be, Kaz ran with the invitation and explored the inside of his mouth with unbridled passion. Their tongues tangled in a sensual dance that flooded Milo’s senses with all the hot lust that had been clinging to him since leaving Kaz’s apartment. The man could kiss.

It was only when a hand moved from his arm to cup the straining bulge between his legs did Milo spiral back to reality. He turned his head away from the kiss, but Kaz was relentless, nibbling along his jaw then down his neck. Only Milo’s shirt collar prevented him from going further.

“Stop,” he gasped as Kaz began rubbing his length through the fabric of his pants.

“Why?” Kaz asked in Japanese, whispering the word in his ear before planting a hungry kiss against the sensitive shell before nipping the tender flesh.

Milo’s body bucked off the wall to rub deliciously against Kaz’s solid form. It was like pushing up against brick with the kind of heat radiators were known for. The idea of skin to skin contact slayed him. To have Kaz stripped naked? Those muscles pressed against the lean lines of his own? It was enough for him to lose himself.

“They’ll hear us,” he whispered back, glancing over Kaz’s broad shoulders at the dark, thin curtain separating them from members of the press, Cassandra, and every other fashion luminary in attendance. Getting caught sobered him enough to push against the massive chest heaving in front of him. He added sternly, “I’m not doing this with you here, Mr. Yukifumi.”

The use of the honorific sobered Kaz as well, bringing with it the usual stoic mask he wore. The only evidence of his annoyance was the slight downward curl of his lips.

“Why do you insist on being so formal with me?” He caressed the inside of Milo’s thigh where the kiss mark had just fully healed. “You didn’t use that name when I had my lips around your c**k the other night in my bed.”

“Don’t,” he warned despite the flush coloring his cheeks. “That was a mistake. I . . . I shouldn’t have gotten drunk with you. It was unprofessional and could cost me my job.”

Okay, the last bit wasn’t really true because despite fraternizing with a client being frowned upon, as long as it didn’t interfere with work, the worst he would get from Cassandra was a strong tongue lashing. But Kaz didn’t have to know that.

“Yet this part of you doesn’t seem too worried about it.” Kaz ran his fingers up Milo’s length until he reached the tip. “I’m pretty sure this part is already soaked.”

Try as he might, Milo couldn’t stifle the gasp of pleasure from leaving his throat. “Stop it.”

“Were you thinking of me since that night?” He spoke into his ear again.

The resulting shivers running up and down Milo’s body weakened his knees. But before he could fall, Kaz wrapped a powerful arm around his waist to keep him upright.

“From the way you’re reacting to my touch, I will take that as a yes. Did you like the flowers I sent? They remind me so much of you. Elegance personified.”

Milo was beyond responding coherently. Kaz’s nearness muddled his brain too much for him to keep thinking straight. If he didn’t find a way to relieve some of the mounting tension, he was sure to pop a blood vessel.

“Kaz, please,” he heard himself beg.

“Please, what?"

Instead of responding with words, Milo reached between them and pulled down his zipper. The rasp of the metal seemed like the loudest sound between them besides the pounding of his heart against the shrinking walls of his chest. Could everyone beyond the curtain wall hear them? Surely they were making enough noise?

The idea of having someone hear what they were doing turned Milo on so much he was sure he’d pass out from the anticipation.

Kaz freed Milo’s straining c**k from behind his boxers. “Tell me what you want.”

Suddenly shy, all he could do was shake his head. The hand Kaz wrapped around his shaft paused in its delicious caress. His moan turned into a groan of pain. Kaz silenced it with a searing kiss that was sure to bruise his mouth.

“Tell me what you want,” he said against Milo’s parted lips.

“Please,” he panted, more desperate. He pushed himself against the hand still on him, craving some sort of friction, but Kaz pulled away, denying him what he wanted. He bit down on the corner of his mouth hard enough to draw blood if he continued.

“I know what you want, Milo,” he said, his voice a dark rumble. Then he switched to Japanese again. “Tell me what you want.”

Anata ga nozomu mono o oshietekudasai.

The sensuality of the language pushed him over the edge. He responded by pushing up to his toes so his lips were just below Kaz’s ear.

Then he whispered in the other man’s native language the words he was waiting to hear, “Make me come.”

“As you wish.”

Kaz grabbed him at the base of his member and began pumping. First in a slow rhythm that he gradually increased. Milo’s panting turned into ragged breaths. Not enough air was entering his lungs, making him lightheaded. He held onto Kaz's shoulders to keep his balance, no longer feeling the solid ground beneath his feet.

With each pull of his d**k by Kaz’s rough hand, Milo let out a mewling moan. The sensation of climbing a cliff built until it reached a painful peak that seemed to settle at the base of his spine. He brought his mouth to one of his hands and bit down to keep the sounds escaping his throat muffled.

“No,” Kaz commanded. “Don’t hurt yourself. Bring your mouth to mine.”

Milo’s last coherent act before he spilled himself between them was to press his lips against Kaz’s. As promised, the man swallowed each and every moan that left him as he lost himself in the pleasure he’d been dreaming of for ten days.

Ten days of nothing but flowers and silence.