If you’ve been following along through See How They Run and Like Grim Death you might be wondering and possibly worrying. Is Mr. Blink a bad guy? Is he secretly a good guy? If you’ve learned anything about me, you know the answer is definitely both. Mr. Blink is a hard, hard man but there’s a lot going on, once you see behind the curtain. For instance, here’s a whole glimpse of Chapter 7, where Cyril’s discovered a very different kind of treasure’s been hiding right under his nose. He’s not one to let something precious and enticing slip through his fingers but he’s deeply conflicted when it comes to a certain cranky professor…
“You cannot go down there,” Cyril whispered to himself. He already made a complete ass out of himself during his video conference with London. Elliot walked past the study on his way to the elevator and Cyril wandered away from the camera and nearly followed him. He was so desperate to get another look at Elliot’s ass. His coat was draped over his arm and Cyril hurried into the foyer to get a look before Elliot got in the elevator.
“Did you need something?” Elliot asked but he didn’t wait for Cyril to respond before he slammed the gate closed and jerked the lever to the right.
“An explanation would be nice,” Cyril grumbled as he reclined in his seat and steepled his fingers. “It seems like the sort of thing I should know about,” he said under his breath and another shocked gasp burst from him.
Apparently, the professor—Cyril’s professor—was utterly breathtaking beneath his itchy suits. Literally breathtaking, even. Cyril slipped into the pool and found Elliot on his back and panting. He snuck closer to make sure Elliot didn’t need assistance and Cyril was winded as he stood over him. Jesus fucking Christ and the motherfucking apostles. Cyril’s hands dragged down his face and his eyes went to the foyer. His feet longed to carry him to the elevator and his body ached. I would have had him right there on the floor.
Elliot had the kind of body Cyril could really dig into and lose himself in. Cyril stood over Elliot, mesmerized and starving as his brain struggled to get his head around it. Elliot’s chest and ribs stretched and rose as he fought to catch his breath and he was beautiful. His skin glistened in the moonlight and drops of water caught in the stubble along his jaw and the thin dusting of hair on his chest. Elliot’s body was sleek, lean and tightly muscled and Cyril yearned to taste him. Sprawled on his back with his arm thrown over his eyes, he looked like temptation incarnate. And that bright orange bikini…
“Fuck!” Cyril spat and bit into his knuckle. He dreamt that Elliot stuffed it in his mouth and rode him like one of the Furies. Cyril rarely dreamt about sex and assumed it was because he had so much of it, so often. But that dream was hotter than anything Cyril could recall doing with any of his past partners. Then again, he couldn’t remember any of his past partners. The woman from two nights ago was named… Cyril rubbed his lips together as he strained. “Jocelyn? Jasmine? Josephine?” She had dark olive skin and long black hair and her pussy tasted soft like melon. She moaned like a fire truck and Cyril pulled out and came on her breasts but he couldn’t remember her name. The boy the night before was named Simon. Or Silas. He babbled about his student loans and wanted Cyril to pee on him. Cyril sprayed him down in the shower then fucked his throat. Cyril liked variety and he liked forgetting names because sex had its time and its place and that was after dinner and until he said goodnight. Sex didn’t interfere with Cyril’s routine or his work. It certainly didn’t interfere with Blackhurst and Cyril’s other great passion: collecting.
“Was something wrong, sir?” Alon asked as he hovered behind Cyril’s shoulder.
“Why would anything be wrong?” Cyril replied and his attention sharpened. Alon’s head canted and his brows pulled together.
“I heard an expletive,” he said.
“Right…” Cyril nodded and waved vaguely over his shoulder. “Release the dogs,” he said. Alon raised his wrist and paused.
“Should we warn Mr. Grim and Dr. Hawkesworth? They complained after last time,” he murmured but Cyril waved dismissively.
“They don’t pay rent.”
“Fair enough,” Alon replied and his lips tilted into a grin. “Tell Hector to let the dogs loose for a run,” he whispered into his sleeve. “Is there something else I can do to help?” He asked hopefully but Cyril shook his head.
“Everything’s fine. Do you know if the professor’s had a chance to look at the bronzes?”
“According to the logs he accessed his safe an hour ago and left a note stating that he was taking them out for an initial inspection,” Alon said and punctuated it with a nod. He admired Elliot but Cyril wondered how much of that was due to a shared love of logs and procedure.
“I think I’ll see how his initial inspection went,” Cyril decided loudly as he sprang to his feet and Alon’s head pulled back. Why do I sound like I’m up to something suspicious? It’s my house and those are my bronzes. Cyril stuck his nose in the air and gave the front of his coat a tug. “I’m very interested in those bronzes.”
“Did the oysters arrive for dinner?”
“Of course,” Alon repeated as he bowed and exited through the hidden door behind the suit of armor.
“What the hell am I doing?” Cyril groaned and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He had a very strict policy about fraternization. It didn’t necessarily apply to him specifically but he had one and it stated that employees were not to engage in anything that might be considered sexual congress on the grounds of Blackhurst. They were free to do whatever they wanted off the property on their own time but not while they were on Cyril’s property, while he was paying them to protect it. And Elliot was a consummate professional, despite his extremely prickly demeanor. His taste was unparalleled and his instincts were impeccable. The Blackhurst Collection was renowned and Cyril was getting a better return on investment with Elliot’s picks than with real estate and much of his portfolio. “It won’t hurt to look,” he reasoned. He ignored his brain as it berated him and stepped into the elevator and swung the gate shut then pulled the lever. The antique elevator jumped before it carried Cyril down and he forced his face into a bored mask. The elevator stopped and Cyril took a deep breath before he wrenched the door open and stepped out. His footsteps should have echoed on the marble and bounced off the rows of bookshelves and the tall columns but it was lost as Beethoven filled the cavernous hall while Cyril slowly prowled to the platform in the center. Elliot still heard him coming and Cyril saw him stretch his neck and shoulders. Elliot mumbled something to himself and Cyril bit back a smile. The constant edge of hostility was a turn-on, if Cyril was honest.
“They were worth every penny,” Elliot said but he stayed bent over his table with his eye pressed to his magnifying glass, oblivious to Cyril’s gaze as it clung to the sharp corner of his jaw before it skated down his back. It settled on Elliot’s ass and Cyril licked his lips as he recalled a tightly muscled cheek, dripping and wrapped in garish tangerine.
“I thought so as well,” Cyril said as he drifted closer.
“The detail…” Elliot murmured. Cyril nodded and his head fell to the side as he appreciated the way Elliot’s trousers hugged his ass as he leaned over the table.
“I think so,” Elliot said as he turned and Cyril’s mouth pulled into a dreamy smile as he remembered how well he filled out the front of his Speedo.
“What?” Elliot asked as his head pushed forward. “Don’t lick those things!” He scolded as he pointed at the table. “The oxidized metals…! And the acids in your saliva…! Ugh!” He spun back around so he could search the sculptures with his magnifying glass. Cyril bit down on his lips and shook his head as he begged himself to get out before he said something truly stupid.
“Sorry. I was just thinking of a certain prime minister’s face once I told him how much these are going to cost him,” Cyril said brightly. Elliot’s face fell and he sighed as he went back to his inspection.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll get back to it. I suppose you want these dusted and polished but you want the patina intact,” he said and Cyril hummed as he backed away.“I trust your judgment.” Cyril replied as he turned the prospect over in his head. It might be worth putting the idea to Elliot. Later.