“Not as well as I can. Unless you had your bottom ribs removed.” Tristan wrapped his lips around the head. Salt and man and... he wasn’t turned off at all, which was unusual in its own right. Normally he was spent and disinterested in sex after he’d finished. But the thought ofnotblowing Henry barely crossed his mind. He bobbed up and down, taking Henry’s shaft as deep as he could, even when his eyes watered and the back of his throat burned. Henry had no more words, apparently, reduced to groaning and whimpering and making subtle, almost silent movements in the dark room. The sparsest strands of light slipped past the blinds and curtains. Not enough to see anything still, but enough to make out a semi-defined outline. An awfully sexy outline, but maybe that was all Tristan’s baggage and desire weighing down his perception.
“Oh God... oh God ...” Henry’s voice pitched higher, tighter. “Jesus Christ ...”
Tristan took every inch of Henry, swirling his tongue from the head of Henry’s cock and all the way down to the base.
Then a groan instead of a voice. And then heat and salt and musk against Tristan’s tongue. A spray, two, three. He slowed, only sliding gently along the shaft as Henry finished.
After a moment, Tristan pulled back and swallowed. A sparse, lingering taste of Henry remained in his mouth. He rolled over and fumbled for the light... and he stopped himself. He wasn’t quite ready to show his body.
Henry had been nothing but wonderful, and the closeness felt unlike anything Tristan could recall. Each touch remained against his skin, a mark of connection. But that was still a step too far. So he slipped the covers over his bare legs and exposed bits—thank God he'd kept his shirt on—then flicked on the bedside lamp.
Henry’s blurry body was still naked from the waist down. He picked up something from the bedside table. “Your glasses.”
“Oh, thank you.” Tristan slid them back on and got a proper look of the half-naked Henry Isaacson. Soft, sparse hair across his legs, a well-trimmed bush of chocolatey brown above what Tristan alreadyknewwas an impressive package. And when he stepped around the other side of the bed, the two firm, pert globes of his ass slid against each other. Not the pale, untouched skin that Tristan would have expected. Sun-kissed, in a very nonexposed place. Tristan’s imagination betrayed him with thoughts of nude sunbathing, and he had to stop them or he’d be raring to go for round two. “Do you think you could get my pants?”
“Oh, yeah.” Henry grabbed the sweats and tossed them over, then slipped into his own pajama pants. “You’re being shy after that?”
“A gentleman has to have some modesty.” He slid his sweats back on under the covers, then kicked the blanket off because he was already way too goddamn hot and sweaty. “Even if he did trade blowjobs in the dark with a relative stranger.”
“I don’t know about us being strangers, exactly.” Henry stretched up, showing off his belly button and his abs and his happy trail and pressing his cock against the loose plaid fabric of his pants. “I think we pretty well hated each other when we showed up. Can’t really hate a stranger.”
“Hate’s a little strong. You could call itdisdain, maybe. Mixed with a healthy dose of jealousy.” Sure, they’d blown each other, butthat—admitting his own envy to Henry—was what threatened to heat up his ears and cheeks. “I don’t know if that’s better or not.”
“A bit better.” Henry winked, then sighed. “Since we’re talking about it anyway, can I ask you about that first time we ran into each other? That awards ceremony?”
Tristan’s chest twisted, but he nodded. “You want to know why I ran away?”
“It was a kind of weird.”
Tristan combed his fingers back through his hair. How to go about this without embarrassing himself?Carefully and vaguely.“I had a total panic attack, then when I tried to approach you and apologize, you rightly didn’t want to talk to me.”
Henry stayed quiet a few moments before responding. “I didn’t know you were trying to come talk to me after that. I guess... Well, what’s done is done.” He rubbed his arms as if the room had suddenly gone cold, then nodded seemingly to no one. “I should get going, then. Use the bathroom and stuff.”
Tristan didn’t want him to walk off. Not on that awkward note. “Believe it or not, they’ve included a bathroom in my hotel room too.”
“Yeah, but you’ll want to go to bed, right?” Henry shifted in place. “I interrupted you, and you were probably close to getting to sleep.”
“Not exactly. And I could sleep with you around too.”
“You’re... you’re sure?”
What the hell is he talking about?“Dude, seriously, we can be in the same bed. Unlessyoudon’t want to? I don’t want to guilt you into sticking around.”
Henry stayed silent a second. Two. Three. Then he gave another wink. “I’m happy to stay here for the night. Just don’t want to keep you up or make you late or uncomfortable or anything like that.”
Tristan smiled at him. “Thanks for the consideration, but... thanks. Bathroom’s right next to you and the bed’s plenty big. But it’s bread practice tomorrow, so I’m getting up bright and early. Fair warning.”
“We can catch a cab together.” Henry smiled sheepishly, then jabbed a thumb toward the bathroom. “I guess I’ll be back.”
He disappeared through the door. Tristan stretched out on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He’d assumed Henry would stay. After that, why wouldn’t he? But... Henry had wanted to leave so that he wouldn’t bother him. So that Tristan could get his sleep and be prepared to bake. Hecaredwhether his actions would impact Tristan.
“I’m acting like an idiot.” It was nothing, after all. It meant nothing.
His heart wouldn’t believe that, hot and tight in his throat. His face wouldn’t believe it, equally hot and undeniably red when he glanced into the mirror. His stomach and his fingertips wouldn’t believe it either, dancing and light and begging him to dance with them in glee because Henry wasn’t a completely useless tool. “This is afterglow, and I need to get higher standards.” He wasn’t even melting because he got paid acompliment. He was melting because Henry wasn’t an irredeemable tool. Henry had thought about someone else’s well-being for half a moment.
Tristan sighed. “He thought aboutmywell-being.” And aside from Karen and Lucia, there hadn’t been a whole lot of that going on in his life the past handful of years. Not until he ended up here in this culinary competition with Henry fucking Isaacson.
I need to go out there. What will he think I’m doing in here this long?Henry had already used the bathroom, washed his hands, washed his face, stared at himself, and washed his face again. Now he was leaning against the counter, back to the mirror.
