A few months later the two men were being hailed as conquering heroes at the reunited couple’s wedding reception. Brady hadn’t wanted the attention but Ken had loved it, spending the evening pressing up against Brady each time someone wanted a picture. When the photographer asked for a shot of Ken and Brady with the bride and groom on the dock, Brady had seen Ken whispering in the grinning Tasha’s ear. A few minutes later all three men were in the lake and Tasha had gotten her favorite snapshot of the wedding. She’d actually had it framed and placed on her fireplace mantle.
It was right after that—when Ken followed Brady into his room for a change of clothes—that things had gotten personal again, just as quickly as it had happened before. One minute they were laughing and tugging at their wet jackets, the next Brady was shoving his soaked shirt in his mouth to mute his passionate shouts as Ken knelt in front of him and swallowed his cock.
Brady groaned and the sound echoed through the open loft. Thinking about the things Ken had done with his tongue, with the muscles in his throat, brought Brady instantly to the edge.
He was in a bad way. Maybe it was time to take a page out of his younger brother Rory’s playbook. Rory Finn never went to bed wanting. When he was on duty, he was the best EMT in the city, focused and indefatigable. He took his extracurricular activities just as seriously. If he saw a man he wanted—old, young, doctor, lawyer, waiter—he was relentless. Fearless.
For Brady, sex needed to mean something. Even before he’d enlisted and hook-ups got more complicated, he’d never been big on one-night stands. He’d always wanted more. But he hadn’t been with anyone in over a year—not since his ex went career instead of accepting his discharge. Marine-for-life meant no building a life together. In hindsight, that surprisingly unemotional break-up had been the right call, making his decision to come home a few months later a hell of a lot simpler. But it didn’t help him with his current predicament. At this point if he didn’t get over himself and find someone to sleep with soon, he would lose his fucking mind.
There’s someone right across the hall.
Unable to resist, Brady reached for the oddly-shaped remote on the coffee table and pushed a button, opening the floor-to-ceiling cabinet to reveal multiple monitors. One was tuned into a local news channel, but the rest were for personal security.
Ken had pointed this out the last time he was here. “You called me Batman?” he’d laughed. “Here’s another toy.”
Tanaka had cameras installed in his office, the gym that took up the entire second floor and an atrium that took up the first—a green, peaceful paradise complete with a hammock and a koi pond guarding the service elevator. Brady shook his head. He should have gone into computers instead of the family business—a career in freelance hacking was clearly more lucrative.
Brady focused on Ken’s office chair. That was where he should be, but the chair was empty. He rotated the small toggle that looked like it belonged on a videogame controller and watched the image change as the camera panned to find its target. It passed a line of laptops and flat-screened monitors and a small kitchenette that was cluttered with computer parts. When it had gone as far as it could, it was pointing directly at a clear glass wall dripping with water from another overhead shower.
“Jesus.”
What the hell did the man have against solid walls and doors?
Ken was facing the camera, and the glass did nothing to hinder the view. Brady shuddered. Heaven help him, but the view was too beautiful to resist. Ken stretched like a cat as the water flow over every lean, coiling muscle in his body. He tilted his head, his long braid wrapped in a masculine bun that made his neck seem more vulnerable. Brady wanted to scrape his teeth along that flesh. To mark it.
Ken’s hand slid down his smooth, hairless body to the hard cock between his legs, and Brady couldn’t resist unbuttoning his own jeans to join him.
He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be doing this at all—watching. Invading someone’s privacy. He wasn’t some pervert who got his kicks peeping in windows. Hell, he didn’t even watch porn or go to strip clubs. He never got the point of purposely paying to watch and want something he’d never be allowed to touch. But when it came to this man, he couldn’t look away.
Did Ken know his camera could point in that direction? Did he know Brady was watching him stroke himself in graceful, fluid motions as if performing for his lover? As if he had all the time in the world?
“Too slow,” Brady whispered. “Don’t tease me.”