Teeradon sprawled languidly across his hotel bed, exhaustion mingling with frustration. After finishing his golf game, he'd received disappointing news from both Nares and Toey—they couldn't locate Wittawin anywhere.
"We searched every hotel but came up empty. Only cheap motels left," his secretary had reported that afternoon.
"Are you sure, Toey? You didn't trick me into playing golf while you and Nares snuck off to do your own thing, then came back claiming you couldn't find him?"
"Are you insane, Khun Don? That's way too insulting. Someone like me? I wouldn't even glance twice at a cop. Besides, Major Nares is completely straight—not my type in the slightest." The secretary's voice dripped with superiority.
"Yeah, right. Straight guy. You don't know them well enough. They always want to bend rules after dark," Teeradon snapped.
"Khun Don, if I had to choose between Major Nares and you, I'd pick you in a heartbeat. But no matter how many 'ifs' you throw around, I won't go for a playboy like you because I''d choke on the bones. I prefer the type that's..."
"Bland and boring, I know. You like plain soup when there's delicious tom yum available. No taste whatsoever."
"Well, what good did wanting flavor do you? Now you're stuck sleeping alone at the hotel," Toey's voice turned mocking. "Actually, no—someone like you probably can't sleep frustrated. In a little while, you'll have company to keep you comfortable. Don't call me again tonight. I'm going to enjoy the music festival. Someone's buying me free drinks. Oh, Khun Don, I think you should give up on Khun Wittawin. He's probably like me—prefers high-quality steak over that spicy tom yum that's been sampled by countless mouths."
"Enjoy your night. But remember: steak still ends up chewed and swallowed," Teeradon countered.
Sharp tongue. No wonder clients are too intimidated to argue with him.
Toey, oh Toey, talking about him like that...
Teeradon wants to savor that quality steak—fair skin, clear complexion, thick brows, prominent nose, red lips. He'll chew slowly to appreciate the flavor, then spit it out.
Wittawin... with looks like that, what's he really like? I've only caught glimpses, never really studied him properly.
Teeradon reached for his phone to scroll through the four photos of Wittawin. He had to admit the young man in the pictures appealed to him, even if he looked a bit young. But with a cute face like that, he wasn't complaining.
Come to think of it, compared to the actors, singers, or models I've been with, Wittawin isn't necessarily better looking than any of them. But there's something about him that draws me in—something that captivated me from first sight. Can't explain why.
Fresh graduate who's already a partner in a computer network company—that's no small feat.
This last photo is really kissable. Head tilted toward the camera, lips slightly parted. So different from that face floating above the crowd at last night's concert—the rather startled expression, thick brows raised high, round eyes wide with surprise, red lips parted just a little. The decorative lights from the beverage stand flickered and danced across Wittawin's sweat-dampened face like sparkles. His face that night looked like a frightened young deer.
Sigh. Now I have another image of that 'handsome deer' to torment my thoughts.
A knock echoed at the door. Teeradon rose lazily and shuffled over to open it. Ricky stood there with a bright smile before immediately throwing himself into an embrace, chattering about how much he'd missed him—almost unbearably so.
"You ditched me last night. Where did you disappear to?" Rikky asked.
"My car got sideswiped by a motorcycle," Teeradon lied. Last night he'd been too irritated to want company. When Nares called to report that Wittawin's bike had vanished, he'd nearly lost his mind, wanting to kick his friend for not instructing his subordinate to watch the 'target' properly.
"Let me stay over tonight," Ricky wheedled, pressing his body eagerly against Teeradon's.
"I'm going out tonight. The conference is over, but I have to rush back to Bangkok early tomorrow for work," Teeradon declined. Ricky pouted with displeasure, recognizing this as Teeradon's polite way of saying: No, I want to sleep alone tonight.
"You're tired of me, aren't you?" Ricky switched to a wounded expression.
"Tired of you? Hardly." Teeradon nuzzled the young actor's neck. "If I were tired, would I have invited you to have fun?"
"Fun... then once you're satisfied, you ignore me, leaving me lonely all night," Ricky's voice turned petulant.
"Someone like you, lonely? You probably partied until dawn last night."
"I wanted to party with you," Ricky's voice grew husky.
Teeradon hooked his fingers under the waistband of the young actor's stretch pants, pulling them lower. Both hands cupped the firm, smooth buttocks, kneading gently as his mouth and tongue began their restless exploration along Ricky's clean, pale neck. The actor tilted his head back with a shiver of pleasure.
Teeradon didn't hesitate further. Blood pounded through his veins as desire surged. One hand left Ricky's curved backside to slip beneath the white tank top, caressing the muscular torso with intoxicated fervor. He peeled the shirt up and over the young man's head before bending down to flick his tongue against the small nipples on that broad chest, making Ricky jolt and moan louder than before.
Soon the actor's clothes had fallen away completely. Teeradon dealt with his own garments until he stood naked, displaying his powerful physique, before pulling Ricky to the bed to compose their song of passion.
But...
Damn it. Go away, you little monkey. Why are you popping up to disturb me while I'm with Ricky?
Teeradon lifted his head, drawing a deep breath as he gazed down at the sharp-featured mixed-race actor lying with eyes closed, waiting to receive his heated touch.
Just pretend it's that speed demon.
Teeradon closed his eyes and bent down toward the man lying with parted lips, waiting for him. Wittawin's face flashed in his mind again—first the image from when he'd seen the young engineer hanging from the steel rail beneath the building, followed by the four photos Toey had sent to his phone, ending with the most recent sight of Wittawin's startled expression before vanishing into the concert crowd.
These images cycled endlessly, and right up until the final moment when he threw himself at Rikky without restraint, Wittawin's image only grew clearer. Now all six pictures changed in rhythm with his movements as he thrust against Rikky, until his body shuddered and the images culminated in a fantasy vision of Wittawin naked, straddling a motorcycle seat, racing down the highway with him in pursuit by car.
God, I can't take this anymore. Why do I want Wittawin this badly?
***