Marc stood in his kitchen, caught up in watching Royce as he stared out of one of the windows in his family room. His sleek, powerful body was so taut, the arms he’d clasped behind his back had muscles bulging hard. They looked ready to burst through skin. The beautiful tattoos circling one of those arms pulled Marc in, and he wanted to trace them again as he had the one night Royce had allowed himself into Marc’s bed. One. That was it. Marc wanted him back there so badly, his entire body ached from carrying around the heavy need. And what he’d told Dominic earlier was the truth. He wanted more than that from Royce.

But this moment, he desperately wanted to know what had happened today. What had caused Royce to be pulled so tight, Marc knew he’d be shaking if he let up just a little.

Sighing, Marc pulled out a saucepan and a skillet. He had the perfect remedy and the whole time, he prepared it, Royce didn’t once turn around. When the food was steaming, he put together a tray and carried it into the living room. “Here,” he told Royce. “Come eat.”

Royce turned away from the window and came to stand beside Marc. “What’s this?”

Marc frowned down at the plate and bowl. “I know I’m not much of a cook, but I was sure this looked like tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.” He squinted and tilted his head. “What does it look like to you?”

Royce’s frown faded as a hint of a smile pulled up one side of his lips. He glanced down at the food. “I meant why did you bring me this?”

“Do you hate tomato soup and grilled cheese?” Marc reached for the food.

“No!” Royce put his hand over it to stop him. He cleared his throat. “I mean, no, I don’t hate it. I love them both actually. Thank you.”

Marc slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “My mom used to make this for me when I felt bad, so I thought it might cheer you up.”

Royce stepped closer. “Why are you making me food?”

“Because you’ve been glowering and stomping around. You’re obviously pissed, so I thought comfort food might help.” He glanced at the window that had held Royce’s attention for nearly an hour. “You’ve been staring into the dark a long time. Are you going to talk to me about what happened today? We’ve been home hours, and you’re still seething.” He paused and lifted an eyebrow. “If food isn’t what you need, I have a better suggestion for working off some of that steam.”

Royce’s eyes narrowed, and Marc had to work hard not to show the shiver that raced through his body. This man, with his scruffy beard, tattoos, and fierce scowls made him burn with a need he’d never felt before. And he knew what that scarred, tough body looked like naked. Wiry and so damn strong. Scars that said so very much about the kind of past he’d had. Marc wanted to see it naked again. Every day, if possible. He wanted to map out every curve of ropy muscle, every indentation and bend. Wanted to touch and taste firm flesh and run his hands over his hairy legs and arms. He wondered if Royce’s feet were as intriguing as the rest of his sinewy body. He knew Royce didn’t see the same thing Marc did when he looked in the mirror, and he had this crazy urge to show him how gorgeous he was.

No, not just a need, but a yearning so strong, his fingers actually ached to create.

That thought gave him pause, but it didn’t last because Royce stepped close enough to share body heat then, and Marc’s thoughts derailed. He took a deep breath and held it, greedily keeping the masculine scent of Royce in his lungs. His heart picked up beats, and it wasn’t because of the lack of air. Royce’s hand came up slowly…so slowly. Almost like he was fighting the gesture; his frown growing more brutal.

“Your hair is so fucking soft,” he muttered through gritted teeth as his fingers speared into the longer section that fell over the side of his head. His eyes locked on Marc’s mouth. “And your mouth. It’s like you were given the sultriest mouth to temper the rest of your face. The food is nice, Marc. But you…you make me hungry.” He rubbed his thumb over Marc’s bottom lip. “Especially your mouth.”

Marc had heard his face described as severe. Harsh even, with its sharp edges and low, dark brows. He’d even been called beautiful before. But no one had ever looked at him with such longing. Royce’s gaze had locked on his lips. “Then taste it,” he whispered.

Strong fingers slid to the back of his neck as Royce yanked him close and took his mouth with an aggression that made his knees weaken. His other hand came out to grab Marc’s waist, and all Marc could do was hold on to his arms as Royce invaded his mouth over and over. He didn’t stop there, pushing Marc back until his spine hit the wall. Royce pressed his body hard against his as his tongue explored his mouth. His beard scraped over Marc’s jaw and over his lips. Marc fucking loved it. Loved knowing he’d have beard burn setting his face on fire later. He dug his fingers into Royce’s back, his skin so hot he felt the heat through his shirt.

Need raced through his body, and he clasped Royce closer, shuddering when Royce slipped one muscular thigh between Marc’s legs, and began a slow rocking against him. He brought his hands up to clutch Royce’s head, relishing the feel of his thick hair as he met Royce’s tongue, stroke for stroke. A rumbling groan vibrated into his mouth, and Marc needed to touch Royce’s bare skin more than he needed to breathe. He brought his hands down and pulled the back of Royce’s shirt free of his jeans, then ran his hands underneath, groaning at the feel of satiny skin over muscle and bone.

Royce gripped his ass and hitched their lower bodies closer, rubbing his hard dick onto Marc’s thigh.

He pulled back to gasp air into his lungs, and Royce’s mouth fell to his neck. He moaned and tilted his head back as pleasure raced behind each press of his lips and beard.

“I’m still hungry,” Royce murmured into his skin, voice low and husky. He suddenly stepped back and Marc knew, he just knew, Royce was about to drop to his knees. He started shaking in anticipation.

Then it was like someone threw frigid water all over him because he spotted Lilah standing frozen in the kitchen. Royce frowned, then followed his gaze, and the low growl that he let out sounded thick with frustration and annoyance.

Marc closed his eyes and hit the back of his head against the wall. “Get out, Lilah.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Wow. I didn’t…I’m not…”

“Just. Go.” He opened his eyes, feeling a slash of regret cut through him when he saw how truly embarrassed she was, and it surprised him, because this time, he didn’t see disgust. He saw regret. His mouth fell open slightly as shock chased out the regret. She actually felt bad for walking in on them.

“Out,” Royce barked. “Unless you plan to watch me suck his dick.”

Her face flooded red, and Marc couldn’t bring himself to care because Royce didn’t give either of them a chance to decide. He grabbed Marc’s arm and pulled him past Lilah and down the hall to his room. He slammed the door behind them and shoved Marc into it.

“That woman needs to learn we need privacy,” Royce said, not bothering to lower his voice at all as he dropped to his knees and reached for Marc’s jeans.

Marc barely heard the sound of a door slam over the rush of blood in his ears. Royce was nuzzling his face into Marc’s crotch even as he unzipped his jeans. He moved back just enough to yank them and his underwear down to his knees before taking Marc’s cock into his mouth. The long, low groan of pleasure he released at the same time had Marc holding his breath, then letting it out in a cry as his dick was enveloped in the loveliest heat and suction.

Royce ran his palms up Marc’s thighs and around to grasp his ass, using his cheeks as leverage to move Marc deeper into his mouth and throat. Royce sucked in his cheeks and ran his tongue around him, his strong pulls making Marc lose his mind.

All he felt was pleasure and heat. All he saw were swirls of dark, writhing colors behind his eyelids. He gripped Royce’s hair and shuddered at the grunt of approval he got in return.

“So fucking sexy,” he breathed. “Fuck, Royce!”

Royce brought one hand around to cup his balls and run his fingers over the thin, sensitive skin behind them. Marc couldn’t stop his hips from moving, his fingers from tightening.

“Yeah,” Royce breathed around his shaft before sucking it deep again.

Marc yelled as his knees buckled.

But Royce didn’t let him fall. He braced his strong fucking hands on Marc’s hips and pressed him into the door hard, his fingers digging in. That bit of pain…that possession…that did it. Marc cried out again as he emptied into Royce’s throat. The surge of pleasure was so intense, he felt it race up his spine, buzz in his molars, and spin behind his eyes. He held on and rode it out, and even when he jerked at the last of it, and moaned long and loud, Royce didn’t let go of his hips—holding him to the door with a heady power.

“Don’t move,” he growled as he stood and pressed one hand to Marc’s chest.

Marc opened his eyes, gaze locked with Royce’s, those hazel eyes more gold than green right then. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Royce opening his jeans with one hand, then slowly stroking his cock.

They didn’t look away from each other, and Royce never moved the hand pressing firmly to his chest. Not even when Royce’s eyes slid to half-mast and he grunted and shot all over Marc’s thighs.

Something moved inside Marc then. Something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. He stared at Royce as he gathered himself and stepped back. He zipped and buttoned his jeans, and only then did those eyes break away from his as he looked down, a small smirk appearing as if he admired his handiwork. Marc could only imagine what he looked like. Completely fucked out, barely able to move…his thighs slick and wet. He’d been marked, and he liked it.

“Think your sister stayed for the audio show? Because you put on one hell of a one.” Royce placed his palms on either side of Marc’s head, and because he’d slouched against the door, their faces were level as he came in close.

“She left before the good parts.”

“Good.” Royce pressed a hard kiss to his lips. “Because that’s for us and us alone.”

His words sent a swirling mass of feelings surging through Marc’s chest, and he pressed a hand there. Dark, hazel eyes flicked there, then back to Marc’s.

“We need to talk.”

Marc nodded. “Let me clean up.”

“I’ll help. It’s my mess after all.”

They walked into Marc’s bathroom, and he opened the cabinet for a towel while Royce turned on the water and held out his hand. He handed the cloth to him, then stripped out of his jeans, fingering the damp areas.

Royce pulled them out of his hands, then surprised him by picking him up and setting him on the counter. Startled, Marc slapped his palms on the granite, then nearly swallowed his tongue when Royce started stroking the hot, wet towel over his thighs and in between.

“Oh fuck,” Marc breathed. “You’re going to make me hard again.”

The low, husky chuckle didn’t help, and neither did the way Royce’s eyes ate up his body as he washed him. God, he could nearly feel the admiration pouring out of the man.

“Royce,” he said quietly, then waited until he looked up. “Tell me what happened today.”

When he suddenly closed his eyes, Marc knew he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear.

“Today, I met with my uncle.” He looked at Marc again. “He’s an evil man, Marc. A powerful man. I hadn’t seen him since I was twelve years old. When my father and younger brother were killed.”

He couldn’t stop himself from pulling Royce closer, spreading his legs to make room. “I know that loss. I’m so sorry you had it, too.”

Royce nodded, dropped the towel in the sink, and placed his warm palms on Marc’s now chilled thighs. “He’s got my mother.”

Marc froze. “That sounds really bad.”

“He’s threatening to kill her if I don’t get something for him. He feels I owe him a lot of money for not being a part of the family all these years. For not working as his enforcer.” He stopped talking and held his breath as he watched Marc’s face.

The word “family” sunk into his stomach like a heavy stone. It was followed by “enforcer.” He made the connection so fast, his head spun. He’d heard of the infamous Karras crime family, but he’d never connected Royce to it. Didn’t think it was possible that someone as brilliant, compassionate, and sexy as Royce could be linked to such evil. “You’re from New York, aren’t you?”

Royce nodded. “I haven’t been there in over twenty years, but yes.”

Wow. Marc had a hard time computing that. “What does he want you to get for him?”

“That’s where it gets weird.” Royce started to step away, but Marc held on to his arms. He nodded and put his hands back on Marc’s thighs, his thumbs rubbing the sensitive inner surface. “He saw the fake articles Quinn put out about you and me, and he knows who you are. Seems he’s an art collector.”

“Art? But that’s good. I can get him that.”

“Not the kind he’s asking for.”

He wrinkled his brow. “I don’t understand.”

“He wants something rare. Something priceless. Something that wouldn’t normally be in your gallery. A piece worth up to 150 million dollars. You know of anything like that?”

The cold terror that shot through Marc was so painful, he went completely still. His heartbeat began to race so hard and fast, it filled his ears. He nodded and closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I think I do.”