LIKE THE scrumptious breakfast with a side of head, Kaz’s bathroom was in the traditional Japanese style, albeit updated to fit the modern architecture of the apartment. The use of it was enough for Milo to forgive him for having to run out. Morning meeting.
He understood those. Thank goodness he didn’t have to be at the Rebel offices until ten. Cassandra had a morning spa appointment and a visit to her chiropractor, hence the late start.
A typical Japanese bathroom consisted of two spaces. Milo undressed in the entrance room and dropped his borrowed clothes into cloth-lined bamboo baskets. The watery-glass wall tiles and bamboo-wood cabinets were a nice touch.
A little further in was the sink and the actual bathroom, where the shower and a deep bathtub were. The toilet was somewhere else on the premises.
Each area was separated by shoji screen doors. It wouldn’t surprise Milo if the apartment had a tatami tea room to entertain guests in. Kaz seemed like the type to bring the comforts of home with him wherever he went.
Like the rest of the apartment, Kaz’s bathroom was extravagant. The tub was custom-made concrete that could be filled to overflowing and had a custom-designed waterfall spout. Steam rose from the water already there. The floor was limestone that incorporated precision laser-cut slots, providing a drain right around the tub so splashing wouldn’t be a problem.
In a similar style to the tub was a concrete bench with a shower above it. On a ledge were a shallow wooden bucket, a ladle, and a stool to be used by whoever was taking a bath. Milo imagined sitting behind Kaz on that bench and scrubbing his magnificent back. Then, after they rinsed themselves off, they would step into the tub and….
His cheeks burned. Oh, the things they could do. He had never fucked in a tub before. Not even with…. He pushed away thoughts of Celeste. She no longer had any place in his life. She had moved on, and so should he.
Once naked, he approached the concrete bench and gingerly took a seat, expecting the surface to be cold. Instead, warmth met his skin. Heated floors and bench. An indulgent smile spread across his lips.
He felt spoiled, and he liked it. Liked it a lot.
While he filled the bucket with water for rinsing, he looked out the windows. Behind the bamboo blinds were magnificent views of Central Park. He sighed, imagining late-night soaks. A part of him wondered if he could convert his apartment bathroom into a low-end version of this opulence.
Knowing his building owner might not approve, he upended the bucket of warm water over his head and let go of the idea. Once sufficiently rinsed, he carefully stood up from the concrete bench and made his way to the tub. In a traditional bath, after rinsing, there was an initial soak, which was his favorite part of the process.
The water in the tub was green. That brought another smile to his face. Kaz used green-tea bath salts. The man refused karaoke, but he followed all other traditional Japanese standards. What a contradictory man.
It was what excited Milo about him.
He hissed when he tested the water by dipping in one foot. He had forgotten that the water tended to be relatively hot for this kind of bath. It was meant to relax the muscles and remove all the kinks.
Once his body temp adjusted, he fully submerged himself. He reached for one of the neatly folded face towels, soaked it, wrung out the excess, and placed it on top of his head. Then he scooted lower until even his mouth was underwater. He caught himself thinking this was the life and made a mental note to book a trip to Japan soon.
The second a vacation concretized in his mind, selfish ideas of taking Kaz with him inserted themselves as an addendum to the original plan. Milo could still taste the salt of him in his mouth. Watching the man give himself over to his ministrations that morning was a heady turn-on.
Kaz was usually in complete control. Having him let go because of the pleasure Milo could give came with a sense of power. He wasn’t the only one affected in the relationship they had going, which presented a myriad of possibilities. Very pleasing, possibly hot—no, definitely hot—possibilities.
But before all that, they needed to have an uninterrupted dinner to talk things through. He wanted to know what Kaz meant by being “his.” Was that his way of saying they were exclusive? Were they even dating?
Sure, they had made each other come, but an orgasm did not a relationship make. If Milo was going to do this, he needed to be aware of the parameters. Were they purely physical? A booty call?
The idea of them having nothing more than sex made his heart ache.
Kaz said Milo made him lose control, that he had to stop himself from encroaching on Milo’s daily life, that if it were possible he’d want Milo by his side at all times. As plain as the words were, they still implied many things. He wanted clarity before he could commit to anything.
He hated to think that he was at the point where he would take whatever Kaz was willing to give. It scared him.
This was more than he had with Celeste. This was life-altering stuff. If he got in too deep, it might actually kill him if things went south.
He couldn’t have that. He had his career to protect. Most of all, he wouldn’t allow his heart to become that vulnerable again. Yet at the back of his mind there lived a sinking suspicion that he was already there.
Annoyed, he slipped the towel from his head and emerged from the tub. He needed to get to work. That meant finishing the bath fast. He stomped to the bench and reached for the sponge and bottle of liquid soap.
The moment he popped the cap, Kaz’s signature scent reached him. Without thinking twice, he brought the bottle to his nose and inhaled. There it was, the spicy musk.
His annoyance melted away at the thought of smelling like Kaz for the rest of the day. It brought a thrill that he didn’t expect.
Annoyed again, he squeezed a dollop onto the sponge and began scrubbing himself. He would forego shampooing, because he had his own preferred bath products at home. He just wanted to wash the smell of last night’s party off his skin.
A shudder ran through him at the memory of the aphrodisiac. He might never look at a cube of chocolate the same way again.
Only when he rinsed and stepped back into the tub for a final soak did he remember he didn’t have any work clothes with him. That cut his bath short. If he wanted to make it to the office before Cassandra, he needed to get home quickly and change.
He stepped out of the tub, toweled off, and contemplated rummaging through Kaz’s closet for something to wear that could get him to his apartment in one piece without looking like a boy trying on his father’s clothes.
Making up his mind to raid the man’s closet anyway, he slipped on one of the robes hanging from a wooden hanger in the entrance room. Then he grabbed a towel to dry his hair and bid farewell to the luxurious bathroom.
“Until next time,” he said dreamily as he stepped into the hall.
He was absentmindedly scrubbing excess water out of his hair when he stepped into the living room. At about the same time, Kaz’s brute of a driver entered the apartment carrying a garment bag. Milo paused with an embarrassing squeak of surprise.
The driver, who was also Japanese, stopped his forward progress and bowed at the waist. He apologized in Nihongo and introduced himself as Jiro. Milo could only stare at the dragon claw peeking out of the man’s collar.
His curiosity brought images of what the entire tattoo could look like. It could be small or massive. And he surely didn’t get it in Japan, since there was a stigma attached to having any tattoo. It was usually associated with the yakuza.
“McLaren-san?” Jiro straightened. The corner of his lips twitched when he asked in English, “Is everything all right?”
Milo blinked as he recovered from his initial shock at running into someone other than Kaz in his apartment. Of course Kaz had people who could come and go as they pleased.
“Yes. Yes.” He shook his head. “I’m pleased to meet you, Jiro-san.”
“Please.” He raised a large, scarred hand. The tip of his pinky was missing. “Jiro is fine.”
“Jiro,” he repeated with a smile, attempting to break the awkward tension in the air between them. What must the man think of him and his relationship with Kaz? “If you would excuse me, I need to get ready for work.”
Jiro bowed again. “That is what I am here for.”
His eyebrow rose unintentionally. What could the large man who was slightly intimidating in an “I can kill you with my thumb” kind of way mean? A shaved head and sunglasses indoors did that.
He indicated the garment bag. “Waka-sama asked me to bring you this. We’ve taken your measurements off your tuxedo and procured a suit for your use. We’ve sent the tux to be cleaned and will deliver it to your apartment once it’s done. If there’s anything unsatisfactory with what I have here, let me know and I can easily find a replacement. If you would like to personally visit a store to acquire a suit to your liking, I have been given instructions to drive you. This also extends to escorting you to work.”
In everything that Jiro said, the word that made the biggest impact was “Waka-sama.” This was the second time Kaz had been referred to by this term. If his Nihongo was correct, it was one of the old words used to denote the status of someone who was highborn or, at the very least, important.
He wanted to ask about it but was too shy to do so. Would Jiro even tell him? He seemed like the loyal sort. In any case, Milo wanted any information about Kaz to come from the man himself.
“McLaren-san?” Jiro asked again when Milo hadn’t responded.
“Please,” he finally said, getting his bearings back. “Call me Milo.”
Kaz’s driver shook his head. “It would be inappropriate for me to be so casual. For the sake of my job security, allow me to continue to be formal with you. Waka-sama would not take kindly to the breach of protocol.”
Seeing that the large man’s resolve was immovable, Milo reached for the garment bag. He unzipped it and peeled aside the flap to reveal the Hugo Boss suit he’d picked out from the Mercedes-Benz fashion show. With all the commotion, he’d completely forgotten about it.
“How….” His jaw dropped.
“Waka-sama instructed specifically that we procure this suit for you.” With an expectant grin, Jiro asked, “Is it to your liking?”
“I… uhm….” He shook his head to clear the shock that muddled his brain. “This is too much. Please let Kaz… ah, Mr. Yukifumi know I can’t accept this.”
As if on cue, Milo’s phone rang. He glanced around for the device and found it sitting on the counter near a bowl of loose change and keys. When he picked it up, his heart skipped.
Kaz’s name flashed on the screen, which included a selfie. It was a shot of him from head to collarbone, his hair wet.
But the most captivating of all were his eyes. That piercing stare knifed right through him. God, he was gorgeous. He must have taken it right after his shower the night he brought Milo home drunk. It blew his mind so much that he almost forgot how to pick up.
Before the call could end, he swiped his thumb across the screen and brought the phone to his ear.
“Hello?” he said tentatively.
“Take the suit,” came Kaz’s command from the other end.
“How?” Again he was reduced to monosyllabic responses.
“Jiro sent me a text when he arrived at the building. I figured you just finished your bath and are currently holding the garment bag. You’re not by any chance naked, are you? Because I would hate to have to gouge out my guy’s eyes.”
“I’m in a robe.” He glanced around the living room and squinted at the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Are you spying on me or something? Don’t tell me there are security cameras in here and you can actually see me?” Because that would be creepy.
“There are security cameras, but I can’t see you. I just knew you wouldn’t want to take the suit. Take. The. Suit.”
He rolled his eyes. The guy definitely smirked. He could hear it in the amusement in his words, the jerk.
“Kaz, this is too much. I can’t.”
“On the way to my meeting, all I could think about was you scrubbing your naked body in my bathroom. Then when you were soaking that tight, gorgeous ass in my bath, did you think of me too? Did you touch yourself while thinking of me?”
A flash-fire blush burned across Milo’s face. He turned away from Jiro and hurried to Kaz’s bedroom.
“Can you not?” he whisper-hissed. “Jiro is in the living room!”
Kaz chuckled.
The sound was dark and lush, like the richest chocolate. It seemed to reach out from within the phone to caress Milo’s suddenly overheated skin. It was like being in the tub again, but instead of feeling relaxed, he was all flustered and needy.
“Jiro has many superpowers, but unless you have me on speaker, I doubt he can hear me.” He paused. “Were the bamboo curtains drawn while you scrubbed yourself?”
“Of course.”
“Good. From now on your body is for my eyes only.”
“Kaz….” It was more a moan than the admonition it was meant to be. He was fighting a losing battle.
“Did you imagine what I would do to you in that bathroom? How I would take you in that tub? On that concrete bench? Against the window where someone might see?”
Feeling himself harden at the sensuality of Kaz’s tone, Milo exhaled, “Yes.”
The growl came loud and clear. “Have dinner with me tonight. This time, we won’t be interrupted.”
“Dinner?” He bit his lower lip, his hand already pushing between the folds of his robe.
“Yes. Wear that suit, and I promise I will make good on whatever fantasy you have swirling around in that beautiful head of yours.”
A delicious shudder ran through Milo’s body as he rubbed his cock with slow, sensual strokes. He closed his eyes and said, “With a promise like that, how can I say no?”
“You don’t.” When Kaz paused again it was as if he knew what Milo was doing to himself. “Because saying yes is so much better.”
He moaned.