Demming by Avril Ashton

Seven

Hart’s expression was a study in emotion as Demming’s words hung between them. Anticipation. Uncertainty. Want. They stared back at Demming, matching the same shit burning their way through his insides.

No one had ever told him that need could feel like this. No one had ever told him he’d be feeling this way about Emmanuel Asamoah’s son. But he wasn’t lying; he would never lie to Hart about this.

He was beyond interested. He was lost to whatever feelings Hart ripped from him. To the newness of those feelings.

“Can I touch you?” His fingers curled into his palm at the very notion.

Hart made a strangled sound. “Sawyer.” He dipped his chin and that was all Demming needed.

He cupped Hart’s face. The other man sucked in a breath and Demming smothered a curse as his hand shook. The warmth of Hart’s skin heated his fingertips and traveled up his arms, spreading through his body like a wildfire.

Hart watched him with wide eyes as if he didn’t know what was happening and had no control over it. Demming sucked his bottom lip between his teeth.

“My hand is shaking,” he rasped.

“Why?” Hart croaked.

“Because I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as much as I want this.” He swallowed, staring deep into the other man’s eyes and feeling himself falling into them. Hart’s gaze dropped his Demming’s lips as he spoke and his body tightened, all his saliva drying up. “I’ve never kissed another man…” Honestly, he didn’t know how he was managing to find words and have them make sense as they fell from his lips at the moment. “But I want to kiss you. Will you let me?”

“Yes,” Hart breathed out before he was done asking the question.

Heart tripping, Demming leaned forward all the way. Forehead to forehead. Noses touching, he was still cupping Hart’s face. He inhaled Hart, taking the scent of his skin and his champagne-flavored breath into his lungs with a shudder. Hart’s tension was tangible, his staccato breaths and heavy-lidded eyes telegraphing his need.

He was even more beautiful this close, overpowering Demming, once again leaving him helpless and vulnerable. One man shouldn’t have all that power. He brushed his lips over Hart’s brow, kissed the tip of his nose.

Hart made a frustrated sound, hands coming up to grip Demming’s shoulders tightly. “That’s not my lips.” It was a whine and the most ridiculously sexy one at that.

Demming released a painful chuckle and shifted lower, kissing his top lip softly. Then the bottom one. Hart’s grip turned painful, blunt nails digging at Demming through his shirt. That bit of pain had Demming’s cock surging behind the placket of his jeans, zipper biting into him.

He grunted.

Hart’s lips parted.

Demming took the blatant invite, sweeping in. His eyes slammed shut on entry.

Fuck.

There could be nothing that tasted better than Hart did at that moment, warm and wet and eager, so eager. He met Demming stroke for stroke, making little hungry sounds in the back of his throat that spurred Demming on. He kept his hand on Hart, was probably holding him too tight, but he couldn’t make himself ease up. He didn’t want Hart to move.

His senses were overwhelmed with everything Hart. His taste and feel. His sounds and his scent. Demming deepened the kiss, chasing Hart when he twisted his head this way and that.

Hart’s hands roamed his back, desperate and seeking, as the kiss ratcheted up even higher. Heat whipped at Demming’s skin, dampening his armpits and collar, but he closed his eyes and delved into the secrets of Hart’s mouth.

He found himself glad Hart was the first man he was attracted to. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be experiencing all these firsts with him. He would not be struck with wonder at the way he moved under Demming, hips subtly rolling, ass lifting, bringing his body even closer to Demming, who mimicked his movements, rolling his hips, rocking on the evidence of his effect on Hart.

Hart had to feel how hard Demming was too.

Demming didn’t know how it happened but he was in Hart’s lap, straddling him, all his movements borne of desperation and hunger. Their breaths were loud and erratic. Hart’s erection poked at his ass and Demming pushed back on it.

Hart’s grip on him faltered then slid down his back, both hands gripping Demming’s ass.

Demming shuddered, head falling back involuntarily, breaking the kiss and exposing his throat.

He blinked his eyes open and stared down at Hart, who met his gaze with slumberous eyes and wet lips, nostrils flared.

“That—” Hart cleared his throat, attempting to repair his broken voice. “That got out of hand fast.”

Demming licked his lips, unable to take his eyes off Hart’s, shining with the evidence of their kiss. “Yes.”

Hart blinked, pressing his lips together. His hands remained on Demming’s ass.

“I should go,” Demming whispered. But he didn’t make any moves to get up.

Hart didn’t either. He remained still too. Demming wanted back inside Hart’s mouth in the worst way.

He took a deep breath. They should probably cool it, right? There was more where that came from. At least, there better be. He needed to calm down. Cool off. So as much as he didn’t want to, he got off Hart, who grabbed the champagne bottle.

Hart offered the rest to Demming, who declined with a shake of his head. “I’m driving.”

Hart brought the bottle to his lips and took a huge swallow. Demming glanced away, but when he returned his gaze to Hart, he found the other man watching with stark hunger in his eyes. Demming swallowed, shaking his head.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Otherwise we’ll be here all night.”

Hart’s expression—hell, his everything—said he wouldn’t mind it. He put down the bottle and held out a hand to Demming, who grasped it and pulled Hart to his feet and into his arms.

Demming couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t keep from kissing Hart again, deeply, hungrily. Hart grunted into the kiss, wrapping both hands around him, making Demming stagger a couple of steps.

Demming allowed himself to be selfish just a little bit longer before pulling away gently and resting his forehead against Hart’s. “I could kiss you all night.”

Hart made a sound. “I would let you.”

But Demming had to go so he stepped back. “Come on.” They made their way back inside and he took the hand Hart offered, following him to the front door. There he tugged Hart forward and thumbed his chin. “Tomorrow?”

Hart nodded. “Yes.”

Demming smiled, brushed a kiss to his lips, and released him reluctantly before pulling the door open.

Back at his place, he crashed onto the sofa and laid back, eyes closed, dick still hard, champagne and Hart lingering on his tongue.

* * *

The kiss stayedon his mind.

Hart stood in front of the fridge, staring at nothing while touching his fingertips to his lips. He went to his bed the night before with Demming—no, Sawyer’s—taste dominating his taste buds and the sound of his pleasure echoing in his ears. He couldn’t stop thinking about it; even the morning after, he’d still been so painfully hard that he had to take himself in hand while in the shower.

Damn.

He’d known Sawyer Demming was a force the minute the other man strode into his office that first time, but Hart couldn’t have anticipated just how much or just how badly and quickly he’d become fascinated by him.

He’d been Sawyer’s first kiss with another man. That, too, sent his head spinning. How did that happen? It just proved how much of a rare breed Sawyer was.

“Son, doesn’t the pool house have food?”

He spun around, smiling at his mother as she stood in the kitchen doorway watching him. “It does, but Francine makes the bacon just the way I like it.” He went to his mother and pulled her into his arms, pressing a good morning kiss to her ear. The pool house’s kitchen was indeed stocked with food, but he rarely ate there; he much preferred coming to the main house where the family’s cook always made his favorites for breakfast.

His mother pulled away from him, gaze searching. “You know Francine works for us, not you.”

“Semantics.” Hart grinned when Francine walked into the kitchen, side-eyeing him. She’d been with the family since he was a boy so he knew behind that glower… “Francine loves me.” The woman rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched before she turned away, giving them her back.

“Uh-huh.” His mother tugged on his hand, dragging him over to the table and gesturing for him to sit. “What’s up? You’re usually already at the office by now. Not that I’m complaining,” she said quickly.

Hart glanced at the watch on his wrist with a raised eyebrow. She was right. He’d taken to being at the office before everyone else in the mornings; he didn’t want anyone thinking he was slacking or wasn’t putting in the work. But this morning, he’d stayed in bed long after his alarm went off, thinking about Sawyer and the softness of his lips and the deft way he’d flicked his tongue into Hart’s mouth. Then there’d been the time spent in the shower... He cleared his throat. “Overslept, I guess.”

His mother patted his hand. “You should do that more often,” she murmured as his father entered the kitchen, walking with his cane.

Hart got up, helping the old man—who refused to accept the assist gracefully—to a seat before retaking his. He waited until Francine poured his parents a cup of coffee each and went back to whatever she was cooking that smelled so delicious on the stove, before speaking. “Dad, tell me about 1845 Larchmont.”

Emmanuel stirred his coffee with an unsteady hand. “What about it?”

Hart shrugged, picking up his coffee and blowing into it. “I got an offer to buy it the other day.” He watched the other man closely.

“It’s not for sale.”

“I know, but—”

“Who made the offer?” Emmanuel asked.

Hart took his time swallowing his mouthful of coffee before he put the cup down carefully. “Sawyer Demming.”

His father inhaled loudly, rearing back. “That son of a bitch has been a thorn in my side for years.”

“Honey, calm down.” Jill stroked his back, shooting a glance at Hart. “I think this conversation should end right now.”

Emmanuel ignored her. “Whatever sob story he told you, it’s bullshit. Don’t believe a word he says.”

Hart had to bite his tongue to keep from responding to those harsh words about Sawyer. He’d never had the urge to disrespect his father more than he did at the moment. “He didn’t tell me any story,” he said, voice tight. “I had Jeb look into him. That’s how come I know what you did and how it affected him and his family.”

His father narrowed his eyes at him.

Francine placed a platter of bacon and eggs in front of Hart and something that did not look nearly as appetizing in front of his father, who gazed down at it with a grimace. The doctors had him on a special diet since his stroke and he hated every minute of it.

“Listen to me,” his father hissed when Francine walked away. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Everything regarding that property was legal.”

“I didn’t say otherwise, but I will say—and this is something you should have known—just because it’s legal doesn’t make it right.” Hart took one last sip of his coffee and stood. “What you did to the Demmings wasn’t right.”

Emmanuel’s jaw tightened as he gazed up at Hart. “Are you telling me how to run my business?”

“My business now.” Hart walked over to his mother and kissed the top of her head. Then he patted his father’s shoulder. “And I’m telling you that you fucked up, old man.”

His mother gasped. “Hart Taylor-Asamoah!”

He grabbed a slice of bacon off the platter and left, tossing a love you, guys, over his shoulder. His parents taught him to speak his mind. He didn’t always take advantage of that opportunity, but he needed to call his father on his bullshit. Arthur Demming had been the sole holdout and the only impediment standing in Emmanuel’s way of creating the property he wanted. So he’d made it difficult at every turn for Sawyer’s father to say no.

But he had, though. Every single time, until that last time when Emmanuel got a judge to side in his favor. It was underhanded and dirty, and it filled Hart with shame.

At the office, he couldn’t help thinking about his father’s reaction to hearing Sawyer’s name. Was that the same reception Sawyer got? No wonder he’d looked at Hart with contempt the day they met. He’d probably expected the same from him.

Hart didn’t know if he was good per se, but he wanted to be better than what and who his father had been. Clearly, Emmanuel had hurt people, intentionally or not. Hart didn’t want to be that way. He wanted to always be conscious of whatever business deals were made going forward to ensure everything was aboveboard. Forcing residents and business owners out of their places wasn’t the way to go; that shit just fostered ill-will and created fucked-up karma.

Sawyer hadn’t told him why he wanted to buy the property, but Hart hadn’t dared to ask. Maybe he would the next time they saw each other.

He touched his lips again.

Fuck.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Sawyer had kissed him so tenderly one minute than ravenously the next and Hart had been only too happy to reciprocate. He knew now how that tongue of Sawyer’s worked. It could bring the sweetest devastation if Hart allowed.

And fuck, yes, he was allowing it.

A thought crept to the forefront of his mind and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Did he agree to sell Sawyer the property because he was attracted to him? Because he could admit now he’d been attracted to Sawyer the moment they locked eyes. Originally, he’d wanted to sell the property because it’d been the right thing to do, but he couldn’t deny he wanted to take away the haunted shadows lurking in Sawyer’s eyes.

Shit. This had been personal from the very beginning.

Atop the table, his cell rang, and he glanced at it, a smile cracking his face in two when he spotted the caller’s identity. Speak of the devil. “Hey.” He answered way too eagerly, but he didn’t even care.

“Hey.”

Hart’s smile widened. Sawyer didn’t speak again. Neither did Hart. The silence swelled, cocooning him in a warmth that had his palms and the nape of his neck sweating. They didn’t need words. Not when this existed. He’d never experienced a connection like the one he had with Sawyer and Hart didn’t know what it meant.

He only knew he liked it. A lot.

In the silence, he felt Sawyer’s yearning and Hart wondered if the other man felt his in turn. He hoped so. He hoped Sawyer knew how much he affected Hart. He wasn’t one for playing games or denying himself. It gave him pause, him being the first man Sawyer admitted being attracted to, but Hart also couldn’t refute how badly Sawyer made him salivate. How good the other man made him feel.

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth.

The tension stretched tighter until he couldn’t breathe, but he stayed as if bolted to his chair, phone to his ear. Eyes closed.

“I was thinking about you.” Sawyer’s voice reached into Hart’s lower regions and cupped him. “So I called.”

Someone who also didn’t play games or mince words. That shit was too refreshing. “I’m glad you did.” He breathed out. “I was also thinking of you. About your kiss.” Because it was the truth. And when Sawyer’s breath hitched Hart knew he’d been in search of that, his reaction. It tightened his belly, made him ache even more.

“Hart.”

He liked the sound of his name, so drawn out. As if it pained Sawyer to speak it. It brought goose bumps to Hart’s skin. “Yeah?”

“Have dinner with me,” Sawyer blurted out. “Tonight.” Then he backtracked. “Or are you busy?”

“No, I’m not busy.” He didn’t even pull up his calendar for the day to check. If he had anything planned, he’d be telling Kenya to cancel them all. “Just tell me when and where.”

“I’ll set it up and get back to you.”

He nodded then remembered the other man couldn’t see him. “Okay.”

That overwhelming silence descended again and he dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling.

“I’m…gonna go.” Sawyer sounded hoarse. And reluctant.

Hart swallowed his disappointment. “Okay, yeah. Do that. I’ll see you later?”

“Yes. Later.” Then he was gone.

Hart blinked at the phone a few times to get rid of the stupor Sawyer had put him in, then picked up his desk phone and connected to Kenya. “If I’ve got anything planned for this evening, cancel it, please.”

Kenya made a shocked sound. “Not Hart Taylor-Asamoah, out here canceling meetings and shit? What’s going on, are you okay?” She definitely took advantage of their decades of friendship, but he didn’t mind. He liked it, and her comment had him grinning.

“I’m fine. Got a date.”

“What?” He’d shocked her again. “With Tam? Because that would be a mistake.”

“Not with Tam. Mind your business.” He hung up on her spluttering that he could also hear through the door.

Dinner with Sawyer. He couldn’t wait.