“I showed you mine,” he said. “You show me yours.”

“What?” Miles asked. “What do you want from me?”

“I want more than your name,” Alex admitted. “I want some little piece to attach to the memory of what you taste like.” He flicked his tongue against Miles’s bottom lip.

“Why?” Miles didn’t like where this was going.

“Why not?” Alex asked. “No expectations,” he added. “Just give me a sense of who you are.”

Miles squeezed his eyes shut. Because there was an expectation. Alex had invited him to stay for the weekend, but what did Miles think? That the guy would be satisfied with nothing but a name for three days? Still, he hadn’t signed up for this. The more he gave to Alex, the less safe he would be.

“I’m the guy who’s shit when it comes to sharing,” he said, and Alex brushed his lips with a small kiss.

“Were you always?” he asked, and Miles couldn’t help it. He shook his head. He wanted Alex to know at least this.

“Well then,” Alex said, kissing him again. “That’s a start.”

Miles lay on his back, hand behind his head. He figured he should probably text Maggie and make sure she was doing okay without him. Hell, he didn’t even know if Griffin had made it back yet, but he wasn’t sure where exactly his jeans were. Or his shirt. His boxer briefs were probably nearest, since they’d been the last to come off, but he couldn’t really be sure. One thing was certain—he wouldn’t have access to his phone until he went on a naked scavenger hunt for his clothes.

But Alex stood in the open doorway of the bedroom now, the tray he held across his midsection the only thing giving him any sort of coverage at all. Not that Miles wanted any part of the man in front of him blocked from view.

Shit. This man was a sight, bare and beautiful and ready to sate him in a wholly different way than he just had. It had been hard enough for the two of them to make it from the living area to the bedroom, mostly because Miles had been—well—hard. Every time Alex’s lips touched his, Miles’s body ached for more. And once they finished what they started on the plane, he knew he’d say yes to anything this man asked of him this weekend. Maybe he didn’t commit long-term, but he sure as hell had pledged his entire being to Alex for the seventy-two hours he’d be in Greece.

“You look hungry,” Alex said, and Miles caught himself licking his lips. He was starving, the last full meal he ate in Minneapolis seeming like it was days ago.

Alex set the tray on the side table next to the bed and crawled back in next to Miles.

They fit together like instinct, as if there was no question that when Alex slipped under the sheet, Miles would drape a leg over his and pull him into another kiss. Because hungry as he was for whatever was on that tray, he craved the taste of Alex on his lips just that much more.

“You are delicious,” he said, and Alex let out a small moan mixed with a deep, sexy laugh.

“You need to eat,” he told Miles, sliding away just enough so that Miles and his ready-to-go-again erection were no longer pressing against Alex’s thigh. “Let me feed you,” Alex continued, reaching over to the tray and coming back with something that looked like a green egg roll. “And then”—he teased Miles’s parted lips with his tongue—“I’ll feed you.”

Miles growled under his breath. This weekend would be the end of him for sure, but what a fucking way to go.

He propped himself up on one elbow and raised a brow at the item between Alex’s fingers.

“Dolmathes,” Alex said, answering his unspoken question.

Miles narrowed his eyes. “Does not compute.”

Alex laughed. “Grape leaves stuffed with rice, pine nuts, onion, dill…they’re my specialty, so you’d better think they are exquisite or else lie and say they are anyway.”

Alex held a napkin under Miles’s chin, kissed him, and then lifted the green egg roll to his lips. Miles opened his mouth and bit down, olive oil dribbling from his chin and onto the napkin. He may not have been a foodie, but he knew enough to understand that he would never eat a dolmathe prepared by anyone else ever again.

“Jesus,” Miles said after swallowing. He licked the tangy oil from his lips. Was that lemon juice mixed in there?

Alex popped the second half in his own mouth. “Most people call me Alex.”

Miles rolled his eyes. Alex made a move to clean his hand on the napkin, but Miles grabbed his wrist before he could do it, licking the tips of his finger and thumb.

Alex closed his eyes and sighed. Miles knew the napkin would do a better job, but he couldn’t let an opportunity to savor the taste of his skin go to waste. In fact, as absolutely exquisite as the dolmathe was, he had an appetite for something else entirely.

He climbed over Alex, straddling him, Miles’s hard length pressed against Alex’s hip.

“Are you sure you don’t have to help out at the party?” he asked, and Alex shook his head.

“That was the deal, since I was only arriving back from New York this morning—finish food preparations for this evening and tomorrow, and I get the night off. The serving staff is taking care of the rest.”

Miles wrapped both of his hands around Alex’s wrists, pinning his arms above his head as he sampled what he craved, starting with full, inviting lips.

“In that case,” Miles said when he took a breath, “I’d like to satisfy my appetite, if you don’t mind.”

He held Alex’s wrists above his head as he kissed his stubbled jaw and neck.

“I don’t mind,” Alex told him, his voice low and hoarse.

When Miles needed the use of his hands to support his own body weight, he repositioned Alex’s on the low headboard.

“Don’t let go,” he said, just the hint of command in his voice.

Alex gave him an amused grin, but his eyes were hungry with need.

“Yes, sir,” he said, and Miles continued his descent down the length of this beautiful man’s body, kissing and sucking until he found the trail of fine dark hair, the map to his desired destination. Only when he dipped under the sheet, his expression safe from detection, did he let his overconfident grin fade.

Man or woman, Miles had never had a preference. He found both beautiful in their own ways and understood that his sexual connection came from a place deeper than the physical, which was why he was both terrified and insatiable. He couldn’t get enough of the man who lay beneath him. It had been so long since he’d wanted someone as much as he wanted Alex, and here he was, ripe for the taking and his—all his—for two more days. And then what? Alex said he wanted more than just his name, but it was only to remember him. That’s what he’d said. Not to deepen their bond past the physical. Miles enjoyed the hell out of the physical, but what did it mean that Alex fed him in bed, made him laugh, and made him somehow feel safe when he was thousands of miles from home?

He didn’t want to think. Instead he swirled his tongue around Alex’s tip, the tang of salt on his taste buds. Then Miles took his solid length into his mouth and lost himself in desire.

Two more days, he thought as Alex writhed beneath him. Two more days and then good-bye—because what was the alternative?

There wasn’t one, not a single scenario where Miles could test the waters—see how far his appetite could take him or if he’d ever admit to himself what couldn’t possibly be true after only one day: that Miles was hungry for more than food or the sweet agony of what Alex did to him physically.

The thing he’d so easily avoided when he called the shots flew out the window when a seven-hour flight took away what he’d maintained for years—control. And now that thing, that need, was creeping up from the depths and threatening to tear down his carefully constructed fortress.

Connection. Miles hadn’t known he’d wanted it, needed it, had been missing it until he got a taste of the possibility.