Still swaying his body seductively to the music in the background, Gum dropped to his knees beside the bed, in between Lucian's opened legs.
He gave Lucian a naughty wink and slowly, his hands began to pull Lucian's pants down.
"Mhmmm..." Lucian moaned, his eyes rolling. He wanted nothing other than the slow torture to end but Gum definitely had no intention of stopping that anytime soon.
A seductive smile slowly played at Gum's lips as he watched how Lucian would arch his back and relax again.
He knew what Lucian wanted but... He was enjoying himself, teasing the man.
"Come here, I can't wait anymore." Lucian mumbled, his voice thick with need, his fingers gripping the sheets beneath him.
Gum's smile widened at those desperate words. He had reduced the usually composed Lucian Vale into this---breathless, wanting, begging.
And God, did he love it.
But instead of giving Lucian what he craved, Gum trailed his fingers teasingly up Lucian's thighs, watching with satisfaction as Lucian's body trembled under his touch.
"Patience," Gum whispered against Lucian's skin, his breath hot and teasing.
"Fuck patience," Lucian groaned, his head falling back against the pillow.
Gum chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through the charged air between them. Finally, he reached into his drawer and brought out a pack of condoms.
He threw it at Lucian with a playful flick of his wrist, winked, and mumbled seductively, "Come use me to your satisfaction."
The invitation was all Lucian needed.
A smile, almost predatory, curved Lucian's lips as he knelt up on the bed. His hands were steady as he rolled the condom onto his rock-hard cock, his eyes never leaving Gum's.
Then he grabbed Gum's waist, fingers digging into the flesh there as he positioned Gum in a doggy style. And in one smooth motion, he went into him.
"Ahhh..." Gum moaned, his back arching beautifully as he adjusted to Lucian's size.
A low, guttural moan also escaped Lucian's mouth, as the tight heat enveloped him completely.
He started moving, slow at first, savoring every clench, every gasp that fell from Gum's lips. Then faster, harder, their bodies moving in perfect sync to the rhythm of the music still playing in the background.
Gum's moans filled the room, mixing with Lucian's ragged breaths and the sound of skin slapping against skin.
Lucian's eyes were half-closed, lost in the pleasure, in the release he desperately needed after days of tension.
But then, without warning, an image flashed through his mind.
Ocean-blue eyes... Cold and distant.
Rowan Donovan's eyes.
That infuriatingly perfect face appeared in Lucian's vision like an uninvited guest; his sharp jawline, his cold gaze, that impenetrable aura that surrounded him like armor.
Lucian's rhythm faltered for a split second.
"Why the hell was he thinking about him right now?" He snapped at himself inwardly but the image wouldn't leave. Instead, it became clearer and sharper.
Rowan's expressionless face staring back at him, those ocean-blue eyes filled with something Lucian couldn't quite name.
Then, a thought slipped into Lucian's mind:
"What would it look like if he smiled for once?"
The thought was so vivid, so consuming, that Lucian's body reacted before his mind could catch up.
"Fuck..." Lucian gasped, his fingers tightening on Gum's waist as pleasure crashed through him like a wave.
He came hard, his entire body shuddering with the force of his release.
For a few seconds, the world went white.
Then reality slammed back into him.
Lucian collapsed onto the bed beside Gum, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling, his mind still reeling.
"What the fuck?"
He had just thought about Rowan Donovan--- that Rowan Donovan, while having sex with another man.
"Damn it!" Lucian muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.
Gum, still catching his own breath, turned his head to look at Lucian with a lazy, satisfied smile. "That good, huh?"
"I told you last time I'm more than capable of satisfying you... See how I rendered you breathless today." Gum muttered, his voice proud despite how his chest was heaving up and down.
Lucian didn't respond. He didn't even hear him, he just kept staring at the ceiling, his mind spinning with confusion and something else he didn't want to acknowledge.
What just happened to his body?
~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, across the city, inside Rowan's penthouse, the young billionaire was having his own sleepless night.
His large bedroom- decorated in shades of gray and white, minimalist and impersonal, felt suffocating tonight.
Rowan rolled over on his king-sized bed for what felt like the hundredth time, his body drenched in sweat despite the air conditioning running at full blast.
His ribs were aching...
No, ached was too gentle a word. They burned, a sharp, persistent pain that radiated through his entire torso and refused to let him find peace.
The painkillers the doctor had prescribed only gave him relief for a few hours before the pain came crawling back, more insistent than before.
Rowan clenched his jaw, his fingers gripping the sheets beneath him as another wave of pain shot through his body.
He couldn't sleep like this.
With a frustrated exhale, Rowan pushed himself up from the bed and padded across the cold tiled floor toward his bathroom.
A cold shower would help numb the pain, even if just for a little while.
He stepped into the spacious shower, turning the water on and letting the icy spray hit his overheated skin.
"Damn it!" He gritted his teeth. The shock of the cold made him gasp, but he didn't adjust the temperature. Instead, he stood there, letting the water cascade over his body, hoping it would wash away the pain.
But It didn't.
As the water touched his ribs, Rowan winced, his jaw tightening as he tried to keep from making a sound.
The pain was getting worse. He knew that. The doctor had warned him it would. But knowing didn't make it any easier to bear.
As he stood there, water dripping down his face and mixing with the silent frustration in his eyes, a thought crept into his mind:
"What would Father say if he saw me like this?"
The thought was almost laughable. Because Rowan already knew the answer.
His father would call him weak, pathetic and unworthy of the Donovan name.
And just like that, a memory surfaced, a vivid and unwelcome memory, actually. It was from many years ago.
FLASHBACK
That morning, ten year old Rowan was lying in his bed with a pounding headache that made it hard to even open his eyes.
"I don't feel well," he had whispered to the housekeeper who had come to wake him for his morning routine.
Within minutes, his father had stormed into the room, his expression thunderous.
"Get up," Richard Donovan had commanded, his voice cold enough to add to Rowan's pain.
"Dad, I have a headache..." He was saying but his father didn't even have the time to listen to his excuse.
"I don't care. My heir will not be a wuss. Do you understand me?" Richard had maintained sharply.
Rowan had nodded weakly, pushing himself up from the bed even though his head felt like it was splitting in two.
"No painkillers. And his morning exercise will be extended. Four hours is clearly not enough. Make it eight." His father had ordered the housekeeper.
"Dad!" Rowan's eyes had widened at the declaration.
"Eight hours," Richard Donovan had repeated coldly. "That's how you build perfection. And my heir, who will inherit everything I've built, must be perfect."
Rowan had spent that entire day pushing through exercises that made his vision blur and his legs shake. But he hadn't complained. Not once.
Because complaining was weakness. And weakness was unacceptable.
END OF FLASHBACK
Rowan exhaled sharply, the memory leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
He turned off the shower and stepped out, grabbing a towel and drying himself off with weak movements.
He slipped into a light robe and stood in front of the mirror for a moment, staring at his own reflection.
His ocean-blue eyes looked tired. His face was paler than usual. His body was betraying him in ways he couldn't control.
But his expression remained cold, composed and perfect.
"I don't have time to be weak," Rowan muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper.
With that, he turned away from the mirror and walked over to his desk, where his laptop sat waiting.
Despite the pain still throbbing in his ribs, despite the exhaustion weighing down his limbs, Rowan opened his laptop and pulled up the files he hadn't finished earlier.
Work didn't stop just because he was dying.
Perfection didn't stop just because he was in pain.
And Rowan Donovan had been raised to be nothing less than perfect.
Even if it killed him.