Malcolm didn’t have a lot going for him. He wasn’t one of the blessed, or one of the beautiful. He didn’t have many talents. He was, however, a damn good chef. He worked hard and he insisted on perfection -- not just from himself but also from everyone else in his kitchen. And if that made others miserable, that was just too damn bad. If one couldn’t live up to expectations then one didn’t belong at Burgeon Manor.<br><br>Darien on the other hand, was everything Malcolm envied, hated, and secretly fantasized over. Lean, slim, with a smile that could melt ice and enough charm to woo demons, Darien surprised Malcolm by showing not only interest but also attraction. Which only meant one thing as far as Malcolm was concerned: Darien had to be playing some kind of game. There was no way that a rock god like Darien Flint could have honest feelings for someone like him.<br><br>Yet the more Darien tries to know him, the more Malcolm feels himself being drawn into the lie.

Rockabye

“Wow,” Malcolm whispered. “That was a nice sound.” His voice shook as badly as his hands. He offset the emotion by driving back into Darien and forcing another one of those beautiful cries out of Darien’s mouth.


Malcolm complied without hesitation, reveling in the push and pull, the meeting of plunge with praise and the quiet trill of pleading words that Malcolm wasn’t even sure had form, until the roll inside Malcolm’s blood began to double and triple.


Darien’s body flexed and released around Malcolm’s in a bliss-inspiring dance of muscle and slide that had Malcolm flailing with two-sided need. If he kept up the pace, kept driving into Darien the way that Darien was begging him to, then he was tearing full-speed and head-on into a mind-shattering orgasm. If he stilled, slowed, teased Darien until the man was whimpering, he’d grant himself the ability to hold off.


Chapter 20