Take Me

Chapter Eight: Bullshit

Milo’s body still shook from the aftermath of his release when he tucked himself back into his boxer briefs and zipped up. His legs refused to support his weight, so he maintained a leaning position against the flimsy tent wall behind him. One rip in the fabric and he would tumble backward into the frigid February weather. Probably land on the grush he had compared his feelings to earlier.

Every muscle in his body was relaxed. Closing his eyes meant he would fall asleep where he attempted to maintain standing. The things Kaz did to him. One touch. One kiss. The way his body reacted. If this escalated to s*x—which was an eventuality because there was no refusing the man standing in front of him—the act just might kill him.

No doubt about it. Kaz knew what he was doing. Thoughts of him being with other men—or women—ate at Milo’s confidence. No! He shouldn’t go there. As far as he was concerned, he had no claim over Kaz. This—whatever it was between them—was purely physical. He refused to think of it as anything else.

Because anything else would destroy the life he had managed to cobble together after Celeste. Opening himself up that way again, making himself vulnerable just wasn’t survivable a second time around. Even with the help of his family and friends. Keeping things physical was the most he could do and stay sane. Nothing more.

While Milo focused on getting his breathing back to what resembled normal, Kaz pulled out his pocket square and wiped off his fingers. He had covered the head of Milo’s p***s to keep from soiling their clothes. Oddly, he found the act of Kaz cleaning himself of his c*m so erotic. He stared blatantly. The tip of his tongue might have darted across his bottom lip.

If he continued down this path he would soon find the front of his pants tightening again. As much as he wanted round two, it wasn’t the right time or place. He wanted his first time with Kaz on a bed—the massive one in his elegantly modern apartment with sheets softer than warm butter. He imagined how being naked would feel against a thousand thread count.

So caught up was Milo in his fantasy that he hadn’t noticed Kaz speak until those blue eyes studied him intently once more.

“I’m sorry?” He blinked, struggling to return his brain to the present.

Kaz’s features shifted to the stoic mask he preferred to wear. Gone was the lust filled expression he treated Milo to just moments ago. The sudden shift took his breath away just as much as how sexy he looked. Such a huge difference yet Milo's attraction hadn't diminished a single iota.

“I will go out first,” Kaz repeated, tucking the soiled handkerchief into his breast pocket. “Wait a few minutes then follow.”

Milo’s eyes widened when Kaz didn’t wait for a response.

Without looking back, he pushed aside the flap and rejoined the party as if they hadn’t just been doing something extremely lewd inside the dressing area. The bliss that took minutes to build shattered in seconds. In two sentences, Kaz made Milo feel cheap and used. He might have been the one who got off in the deal, but it shouldn’t have been that way—at an after party, no less.

Finally, his legs gave out. He slid down to the floor and shoved his fingers through his hair. How could this have happened? How could he have let Kaz take complete control of him? He should have refused. He should have been stronger. Should have held him off. Because he let his d**k do the thinking he’d been cast aside like trash.

Hot rivulets of shame streamed down his face as he did his best to stifle the accompanying sobs with a trembling hand.

***

Two days after Milo pieced together his dignity and picked himself up off the floor of the House of Suzuki tent, he sat front row at the only show he was invited to that didn’t involve work. He went to the Hugo Boss Spring/Summer collection in support of Tommy. Watching him strut his stuff down the catwalk in a stunning suit was a small price Milo would gladly pay over and over again. If he walked away with two new suits for his closet he called it a perk. He already spotted a light gray number that would look good on him for Paris Fashion Week.

He compartmentalized what had happened with Kaz, refusing to give the incident much thought. It was his way of coping. Push down the upsetting event and move forward. Dwelling wouldn’t do him any good.

What? Should he kick down the guy’s door and demand answers? Not likely. Instead, he poured himself into work—his constant source of solace. Work never betrayed him. Work never left him feeling less of himself.

Throughout the show, his eyes kept glancing at the seat beside him. It remained empty. A rare occurrence. The organizers would never allow a vacant seat—especially one in front. So why it happened baffled Milo until about halfway through.

He’d been placing an order for another suit that caught his eye when someone settled in beside him. The warm thigh that pressed against his forced him to address the invasion of his personal space. He turned to politely ask the person to move and was met with Kaz’s handsome profile. A lump immediately formed in his throat, restricting any access to air his lungs badly needed.

“What are you doing here?” he choked out. His hands turned into tight fists on his lap. There was hardly any room in the packed tent, so he couldn’t move away from the contact without hitting the person sitting next to him.

Unwilling to create a scene, he gritted his teeth against the tingles crawling up the length of his leg that congregated at his crotch. Holy hell. This man turned him on beyond sane thought. He hated it not because of his lack of control but for the spark of excitement his presence brought.

Nonchalantly, Kaz said, “I’m watching the rest of the show.”

The guy didn’t even look Milo’s way when he spoke. “You’re late. It’s rude to be late.”

“Couldn’t be helped. My meeting ran long.”

“I thought the Japanese were known for punctuality.”

This got him a sidelong glance. The pale gaze was as cold as ice in the summer. He sucked in a breath before he resettled in his seat. Fine. Let Kaz be that way.

At the exact moment he needed a distraction from the delicious slice of mancake sitting beside him, Tommy made his second appearance down the catwalk. He wore a commanding navy pinstriped suit with a check shirt. A bold move for Hugo Boss, but something definitely worth seeing. His best friend made matching checks and stripes look good with scruff and a messy mop of hair. Businessman with an edge.

When Tommy made his turn at the end of the runway and walked back, he gave Milo a wink. It had been a running joke between them. At the first show, his best friend walked that Milo attended, he’d made a comment about Tommy being s*x-on-legs. Since then, whenever Milo sat at a show Tommy walked he would give a wink which Milo would return with an air kiss.

In this instance, a hand closed around Milo’s thigh and squeezed hard enough to hurt. He turned his gaze away from the models to glare at Kaz who wasn’t looking at him, but the tick of muscle along his jaw belayed his rising temper. This gave Milo a sense of personal satisfaction he hadn’t felt in a while.

“Jealous?” he teased.

Sure, it was like poking a sleeping bear or annoying a lounging lion, but he hardly gave a damn. If he was able to put some sort of expression on that usually stoic face then he was all for it. Call it a win.

“Who is that man to you?” Kaz hissed in Japanese.

Milo let his satisfaction show by curling his lips upward. Smugness wrapped around him as he leaned back and crossed his arms. The death grip on his thigh didn’t seem so bad anymore.

“What’s it to you?” he asked back in English.

For the first time since he’d arrived, Kaz twisted in his seat to face him full on. The ice in his pale gaze had since melted. “I asked you a question and I expect an answer.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Has anyone ever told you that you revert to Nihongo when you’re pissed?”

A corner of Kaz’s lips quirked up, but not in a good way. “If you don’t answer my question I will throw you over my shoulder, bring you to my car, and proceed to f**k you senseless until you forget your own name. Now, which will it be?”

Thank God he hadn’t spoken English when making the threat because Milo didn’t know what he would have done with himself if their seatmates understood Kaz. A part of him was tempted to defy Kaz just to see if he would make good on his promise. The more rational part of him knew he needed to quit playing games. So, to be safe, he switched to Nihongo too.

Despite his dry mouth, he managed to say, “Mr. Yukifumi, the model is my best friend. I’m here today to support him.”

“Then why did he wink at you?”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?”

He’d had enough. He didn’t have to explain himself to this man any further. Thankfully the show had ended. He stood up and made his way backstage. Like what Kaz had done two days ago, Milo kept going without looking back. Let him feel jealous. Served him right.

When Milo was sure he was safely hidden from view, he bent over, resting his hands on his knees, and breathed. The air that didn’t contain that intoxicating spicy musk helped him gather his scattered thoughts. Being near Kaz screwed up his common sense. He didn’t know what to do with himself. It was something new. With Celeste, he was always composed and self-assured.

“Milo!” Tommy called from across the backstage area.

He stood up straight and forced a smile, waving at his friend who was currently being helped out of hundreds of dollars’ worth of merchandise. The green-eyed man-candy waved him over, but before he could do anything, a hand on his shoulder prevented him from moving. He was turned around to face a fuming Kaz—eyebrows together, blue gaze blazing, lips a stern line.

As Milo opened his mouth to protest, Kaz made good on the first part of his threat. He bent down and threw Milo over his shoulder like he was a sack of potatoes. The fireman's carry always looked so cool in movies. Not so cool in real life when his ass was up in the air for all to see.

“What the hell are you doing?” Milo yelled, slamming his fists against his kidnapper’s lower back.

“You and I need to talk,” he said without losing his breath as he made his way back to the front of the tent.

Milo was mortified as all eyes were on them. No matter how hard he struggled, the iron grip keeping him in place never loosened. Flash bulbs went off, adding to his humiliation. Oh God. They would be all over the tabloids the next day.

“Kaz, put me down. You’re embarrassing the both of us!”

“You should have thought of that before you walked away from me.”

“Hey!” came the shout from behind them. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Milo groaned. Of course, Tommy would come to his rescue. He looked up from his dangling position just in time to catch Tommy grab a hold of Kaz’s shoulder and turn him around. Milo’s vision blurred as a wave of dizziness assailed him. He covered his eyes and groaned.

“Milo and I need to talk,” Kaz said simply, calmly even.

“You are most certainly not going anywhere with him,” Tommy answered back.

A crowd had gathered around them. Tomorrow this fiasco would be plastered in every gossip rag out there. He saw the headlines already: Famous editor-in-chief’s executive assistant causes trouble at Hugo Boss show. Top model Tomas Barcelona and prominent businessman Kazuhiko Yukifumi fight it out. Milo McLaren in lovers’ spat.

The list of horrifying articles speculating what was actually happening went on and on in Milo’s head. What would his mother think when she found out about this? Or his father? A chill ran down his spine.

That last thought was what made him say, “Tommy, it’s okay.”

“What?” His best friend rounded Kaz’s considerable bulk so they faced each other.

He gave him a lopsided grin. “Let me handle this.”

“Are you sure?”

“He’s sure,” Kaz chimed in.

“Urusai!” Milo punched his lower back.

Kaz grunted but said nothing else after the command to shut up. Good. The brute could follow orders. So he continued his attempt at defusing the bomb about to go off. Or at least minimizing the potential damage. His reputation he could fix. But if Tommy started a fight here, with a guest of the show, it would mean career suicide. No one would book him again.

“It’s okay,” Milo pleaded, tipping his head toward the photographers still snapping pictures. “I’ll handle this.”

Hands on his hips, Tommy let out the breath he’d been holding then said, “You make sure to call me, you hear?”

“I’ll see you at home.”

Kaz didn’t seem to like that bit because he cursed under his breath in Nihongo.

“If you need me . . .” Tommy left the rest unsaid.

“Yeah.” Milo nodded once then said to the barbarian who was the cause of the scene they were in. “You can put me down now. I’ll go with you willingly.”

“Not a chance,” Kaz said as he continued to haul him out of there.