Asher's hand trailed slowly up the inside of Noah's thigh, finally cupping his ass through the thin fabric and kneading firmly.
Noah froze, panic shooting through his body. He grabbed for the man's wrist, his voice breaking.
"D-Don't… not now, I have to get to set—"
Asher acted as if he hadn't heard him. His fingers pressed harder, rougher.
Noah's teeth sank into his lip. He pushed, but the man's strength didn't budge.
"At least… let me finish breakfast before we—before you continue, okay?" he whispered, desperate, trying to offer any excuse that would stall him long enough to escape.
Asher didn't respond. His breath burned against Noah's ear, lips grazing his skin before planting a string of kisses down his neck.
Noah's chest tightened, shame and urgency tangling together. His voice quivered.
"We can't… really, we can't. We have filming today. You haven't been on set for a week—"
Asher's gaze darkened instantly. Work. Nothing was more important than fucking Noah right now.
He grabbed his phone, dialed in front of him, and when the call connected, said coolly, "Noah and I won't be coming today."
The director on the other end had barely started—"They weren't scheduled for you two, Sarah has—"
Click. Asher hung up. He didn't even glance at the dozen missed calls littering his screen.
Noah's eyes flew wide. He cursed silently—this man is insane.
Then that low, heavy voice came against his ear.
"You've run out of excuses."
His hand slipped inside Noah's shorts, palm closing around tender flesh.
Noah jolted hard, nearly crying out, breath scattering in a rush.
"...At least take it back to the bedroom, please—this is the kitchen!"
"It doesn't matter. Here's fine."
The last trace of hope drained out of him. Nothing he said would get him away now.
Asher's gaze fixed on the flush spreading across his ears, a sharp smile cutting through. He bent down and captured his lips.
His tongue pressed insistently past his teeth, the kiss deep and consuming, until Noah's breath was unraveling in short, shaky bursts. His vision blurred. His mind betrayed him, flashing back to the way Asher had held him last night, body caged in unrelenting heat.
Why—why, for one reckless heartbeat, did he actually want to respond, to give in to the kiss and beg for more?
Asher kissed him harder, one hand still groping, possessive and obscene.
Noah clutched at his shirt, knuckles white. The air was about to ignite when—
Ding-dong.
The doorbell split the silence.
Both of them froze.
Noah shoved him away, panic rushing in. "Someone's here!"
Asher's eyes flashed with irritation, but he released him.
In seconds, Noah was tugging his shirt straight, fixing his shorts, even swiping at the wetness clinging to his lips. His eyes were faintly red, but his expression—cold, composed—made it seem as if nothing at all had happened.
He was an actor. He knew how to hide.
Asher went to the door.
It swung open to Sarah.
"Really, you won't even give me the code? I'm your sister, for god's sake," she complained, stepping inside with her bag.
Then she spotted Noah in the living room.
He had just come out of the kitchen, loose white T-shirt hanging off his shoulders, hair damp as though from sweat. Asher wore gray sweatpants and slippers.
Sarah stopped mid-step, her gaze flicking between them.
"…Don't tell me you two just woke up. What's going on?"
Noah's expression didn't so much as twitch. He inclined his head slightly.
"Good morning."
His tone was cool, perfectly even. But inside, he was already scrambling for a plausible excuse.
Sarah sat down on the couch, dropped her bag.
"What are you doing here?"
Noah's voice was calm, his story rehearsed.
"My lease ended. He offered me a place to stay for now."
Sarah blinked, unconvinced. Her eyes lingered on their casual clothes. But before she could prod further, Noah bent down to pour her a glass of water and held it out with both hands.
"Here."
She hesitated, then took it. "...Really?"
He nodded, a polite smile curving his lips. Not a hint of disorder in his breathing.
Asher's stare burned into him from the side.
Sarah shook her head, skeptical. "My brother? He's never cared about anyone. And suddenly he's letting you move in?"
Asher cut her a sharp glance. "Shut up."
"Fine, fine," she muttered, but her eyes kept drifting, sly, amused.
Noah only smiled faintly. "He's just helping out."
Sarah let it slide—for now. She switched topics, scolding as if it were her right.
"I thought you were at the villa, couldn't find you anywhere. Called you both a dozen times. Neither of you picked up. Today you're supposed to shoot for Scene magazine."
Noah checked his phone, voice steady. "Silent mode."
Sarah smirked. "What a coincidence. His too. You two are perfectly in sync."
Asher's face chilled. "Why wasn't I notified?"
"You were. I confirmed with your assistant. But both of you silenced your phones."
"Should've been told earlier."
"This shoot was last-minute," she said airily.
Her eyes flicked to Noah. "Next time, don't miss calls. You're still rising—every opportunity matters. Unlike my brother, who's used to being a diva."
Noah inclined his head. "I understand."
Her gaze sharpened, a teasing smile tugging her lips.
"And living together… if that ever gets out, your fans will explode."
Noah's calm never cracked. "It's temporary."
"Mm." She didn't push, though her expression said she wasn't buying it.
The air tightened, invisible wires stretching taut.
Asher's jaw was rigid. A few minutes ago, Noah had been trembling and gasping against him. Now he sat upright at the edge of the sofa, every line of his body neat, polite, untouchable.
It made something in his chest coil, hot and restless.
Sarah sipped her water, her gaze catching briefly on the faint flush at Noah's neck. Her lips curved.
"Settling in all right?"
"Quite well." His voice was clipped, even.
Every exchange—civil on the surface, edged beneath.
Finally Sarah put her glass down and stood, waving her phone.
"Anyway, the studio's already chasing me. How long till you're ready?"
"Ten minutes," Asher said flatly.
Noah rose with him. "I'll change."
He walked quickly to the bedroom, his steps too rushed to be casual.
Shutting the door, he stripped off his T-shirt, reached for a clean shirt—then froze.
The mirror showed it.
A deep mark, red and raw against his pale neck.
His breath caught sharply. That had been left in the kitchen, moments ago.
His hand shook as he covered it, Sarah's glance flashing through his head.
She was so close just now… did she see? If she saw, she'll know. She'll definitely suspect.
His pulse hammered wildly. He bit his lip, fumbling for the makeup bag, snatching out concealer.
The brush trembled in his grip, strokes rushed and messy, until the angry mark dulled into skin tone at last.
Only then did he let out a long breath.