When will this end?

If there’s a god out there, please fucking end this madness before I lose it.

When Taine had texted him about meeting at Ruck, Scottie barely managed to dress himself and make it safely to the restaurant. He’d seen the worried and, in some cases, judgemental looks his friends sent his way. It was fairly obvious he’d overdone it with alcohol. Again.

The food tasting meant Scottie had to sit through two hours of what seemed like pure torture. He had no doubt Gray went out of his way to brush against him; even just the smell of the man made his shaft hard. Fucking wanker. Fuck. I could use a wank. His mood plummeted further into hell when Caddock strong-armed him into helping the chef in the kitchen.

“You were late. Make yourself useful.” Caddock nudged him in the side to encourage him to get up out of his chair. “Are you scared? Is Scottie intimidated by the big bad American?”

“Go fuck yourself with a fork.” Scottie threw his napkin into his friend’s face. Why didn’t they understand he wanted to be home, sleeping off yet another hangover in peace? “He’ll manage on his own. He doesn’t need me holding his sodding hand. And you can all stop throwing those looks at me—wankers.”

“Scott.” Remi drew his attention with the hard edge to his voice. The Frenchie usually disapproved of his behaviour, but he’d never sounded quite so terse. “You’re the manager and a co-owner of the Sin Bin and by extension this restaurant. If you can’t act like a sober adult, perhaps you shouldn’t be in charge of the day-to-day operations.”

“You—” Scottie shot to his feet, and only a quick reach from Taine saved his chair from being knocked to the floor. He met the steely gaze of Remi for a full minute before deciding the battle wasn’t worth fighting. “Fine. I’ll go see if the old fucker needs any help. And I am sober—just hungover.”

Fuckwits.

Making his way through the dining room, Scottie found the chef putting the last touches on all the desserts. Most had been done in collaboration with Akash, but the pots de crème had been made by Gray. The entire kitchen smelled strongly of rich, bitter chocolate and sweet caramel.

“Want a taste?” Gray held up one of the square dishes holding the silky dessert. “C’mere.”

Scottie had no idea why his legs took him across the room until he stood within arm’s reach of the smug American, who always managed to make questions sound like demands. “What?”

Cocky wanker.

Fuck.

Stop thinking about his cock and wanking.

Fuck me.

No, that’s not helpful either.

“Closer.” Gray waved the chocolate pudding in his hand while grabbing a spoon from the nearby counter. “Ask nicely.”

“Give me the fucking chocolate,” he snapped.

No one had ever accused Scottie of being a nice man.

Ever.

Particularly after a long night out.

His angry scowl did nothing to deter Gray who appeared amused by it. I’m not playing his fucking game even if he does keep my cock in a constant and almost painful state of interest. I don’t want GI Joe. I want someone like Akash. So why the hell am I so hard when I’m around him?

“If you’re not interested in what I can offer, the door is behind you. I’m certain you can exit as easily as you entered.” Gray dipped a spoon into the chocolate and offered it to him. “If, however, you want to explore the depth of lust that’s had your dick at attention since I called you, kitten, you’ll ask nicely.”

“Fuck—”

“Me. I’m aware.” Gray cut him off before Scottie could finish. “Out the door or ask nicely?”

“Neither. I’m only here to see if you need help with anything.” Scottie gritted his teeth to keep from saying anything else. He wouldn’t cave to Gray or to his own desires. Not yet. Not until I fucking understand them, or maybe after a few pints or seven. “Want a hand or not?”

Gray licked the chocolate from the spoon while his brown eyes stayed on Scottie, who felt a little fainter than he wanted to admit. “Sure you don’t want to ask nicely?”

Despite the interest from the lower half of his body, Scottie spun on his heel and slammed through the double doors leading out of the kitchen. He ignored the calls from his friends. For the sake of his sanity, he desperately needed out of the building.

Grabbing his helmet off the handlebars of his Triumph, Scottie swung his leg over and got seated. He’d left his jacket inside, but the cold ride might do him as much good as an icy shower. His thoughts faded away as he pulled out of the parking lot.

He rode.

And rode until he found himself sitting outside of Gray’s home.

Why the fuck am I still letting him get to me?

He knew why. Gray had gotten under his skin with the sudden and surprisingly intoxicating idea of submission. The idea of surrendering control was something he’d been unable to get out of his mind since Christmas.

Fucking idiotic.

I’m not doing it.

I could text him.

Scottie: You up? We should talk about the restaurant opening next week.

Gray: At one in the morning?

Scottie: I’m outside your place.

Gray: I’m aware. It only took thirty minutes for you to work up the courage to text me, kitten.

Scottie: Do you want to fucking talk or not?

Gray: Door’s been open for the last fifteen minutes. I’m just waiting for you to decide to come inside. Fire is lit, got two glasses of scotch, and a cigar. Get your ass in out of the cold.

This is moronic.

What am I doing? Why do I want to see where the hell he’s going to take me? I’m not that hard up for a good fuck.

I’m so bloody screwed.