by D. J. Manly
The dancer ran across the alley, whooping like a banshee; Vincent laughed, chasing after him, suddenly feeling like a teenager. They were both breathless when they reached the second floor of a shabby-looking building. At one of the doors, the dancer shoved the key in the lock, struggled with it a bit, then pushed the door open.
The light switched on. There was a single bed, a nightstand, a sink in the corner, and an old thirteen-inch television sitting on a bureau near the window. “The can is down the hall if you need to take a piss.” He whipped off his shirt, then rubbed his erection; his cock pushed against the confines of his tight pants. “See how hard I am?”
Vincent saw. This guy had a gorgeous body, perfect thighs, great chest, and an ass which probably could have made a fortune in underwear commercials. “Do you want me to dance for you?”
Vincent undid his own shirt and took it off. “No,” he breathed. “I want to fuck you.”
Frankie grinned as he slid his pants off, then came closer. “Even better.” He brushed Vincent’s hands aside and pulled down the zipper on his pants. “So, what do you do?”
“Anything you want.”
Frankie met his gaze. “Damn, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes, and sexy. I actually meant for a living, not in bed, but you can tell me that too.” He pushed Vincent’s pants down over his hips.
Vincent stepped out of them. “I breathe work. Can we not talk at all?”
Frankie traced the outline of Vincent’s erection through the underwear. “Suits me, beautiful.”
“Take it out,” Vincent told him.
Frankie pulled the underwear down over Vincent’s cock. It bounced out of his pants, hard and straight. Frankie ran his thumb over the head, licking his lips. “Wow,” he said softly, “that’s better than in my wildest fantasies. I’m going to swallow you whole.”
Vincent put a hand on his shoulder and drove him to his knees. “Then go to it, baby.”
He watched as Frankie took his cock into his mouth, inch by inch, murmuring his pleasure as he did. A tongue lashed the circumference, dipping into the slit, lips drawing tight around the base. Frankie’s head went back, his throat opening, muscles working their magic. Vincent’s hand settled in Frankie’s hair, pulled.
He didn’t realize how much he needed this until now. He really hadn’t had the time to digest all the stress he’d been under the last few weeks. The man he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with had run off with a younger man, leaving him with a vacuum where his heart once was and a business that was damn near impossible to run without Doug’s expertise and charm. Vincent had been operating in survival mode, denying a deep hurt which burrowed down under his skin and took root in his gut. He closed his eyes. Finally, at this moment, he felt wanted again. He gasped, moaned something, and felt his cock begin to empty into Frankie’s throat. All that stress released suddenly. He grabbed the dancer’s head and fucked his face hard, pumping into him as he shouted out his release.
Frankie relinquished his hold on Vincent’s cock. He sprang to his feet, dragged him forward into his arms, and dug his tongue deep into Vincent’s mouth. They stumbled together as Frankie moved his hands over him, pinching his nipples, roughly fondling his balls, bringing him again back to life.
Against the wall, Frankie lifted his arms over his head, pinning him there, gazing intently into his eyes. “You have a fantastic body. I want to taste it, every inch. Keep your hands like that, over your head. It’s so sexy.”
Vincent closed his eyes as Frankie licked down the length of his throat, slowly circling each nipple then kissing across his chest to his abs. One hand slowly stroked his cock, as the other snaked around to his ass and aggressively began to flirt with his anus.
Vincent grunted; he freed one hand from the wall to find Frankie’s erection. Vincent grabbed his hips and swung him around so that Frankie was facing the wall. “Spread your legs,” he told him, pushing his thighs apart.
Frankie was hyperventilating. “Fuck me,” he urged.
“Not yet. Soon,” he grunted, his lips on the back of Frankie’s neck. “Lube, condoms. I don’t have any.”
“Nightstand,” the other man grunted.
Vincent found them easily. He squirted lube on his fingers. One hand found Frankie’s nipple, explored it, brought it to a peak; the other opened his ass and began to slowly twirl one slick finger around his entrance.
“Oh baby, yeah,” Frankie grunted. “Oh yeah.” His ass bucked out, brushing Vincent’s erection. Vincent pushed his finger up inside, moving it in a way he knew would make Frankie even hotter.
“I want you to be ready,” he grunted, pinching his other nipple until it stiffened beautifully. “I plan to fuck you for a long time.”
“I’m ready.” He ground his ass against Vincent’s groin. “Come on.”
He was practically pleading when Vincent pressed him to the floor and onto all fours. He ran his hand over Frankie’s ass, reached around to torment his cock, teased his ass with the tip of his erection, then put on the condom and took him.
Vincent would make it damn good for both of them. He had always had great staying power; when he was hard, he was hard, and when he paced himself, slowed down just as he felt himself going over the edge, he could go for quite some time. Now, in and out, slow, fast, slower, faster, he did a dance with Frankie’s ass which had the guy screaming, panting, and trembling all over. At the same time, Vincent handled Frankie’s cock and balls, bringing him close, pulling back. He kept up the exquisite torture until the other man was incoherent. Finally he let go, bringing Frankie with him as he jerked to a jolting orgasm.
They both lay there in the aftermath, wet with sweat and cum, breathing hard, enjoying the utter sweetness. There you go, Doug. I’ll show you boring.
Frankie glanced over at him from where he lay on the floor. “God damn,” he whispered, “that was the best fuck I’ve ever had. And I’m not fooling.”
“Thanks,” he said. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”
Frankie perched up on his elbow and kissed his mouth gently. “Can I see you again?”
Vincent sat up. “No.”
Frankie narrowed his eyes. “Why not?”
“I have a new rule. I only do one-night stands. No more emotional attachment shit.”
“Just to fuck, no pressure.”
Vincent stood up and started to dress. “No thanks.”
Frankie lay there watching him as he finished dressing. He didn’t say anything. Vincent raised a hand to him. “’Bye. Thanks. It was great.”
Frankie nodded. “Yeah. Stay well.”
“You too,” he said before he left.
* * * *
When Vincent walked into the office the following morning, he felt a little tired. He hadn’t slept much the night before. He poured himself some coffee from the caterer’s kitchen, and dragged himself into his office.
At nine, his door flew open. Barbara came tearing in, jumping around like her butt was on fire. She was talking so fast, Vincent couldn’t make out a word. He stood, held up his hand. “What’s all this? Slow down.”
He suddenly noticed that there was a strange young man hovering behind her, desperately trying to make himself known. Barbara was rather viciously elbowing him at every turn. “Vincent,” she announced, quite breathless, “I’m sorry about this. This guy just walked right past the front desk, demanding to see you. I’ll call security if—”
The young man in question finally succeeded in ducking in front of Barbara. He held out his hand, a beaming smile on his face. “David Samson. Mr. Williams, this is your lucky day. I’m the best damn thing that’s ever happened to you.”
“Is that so?”
Barbara looked as if she was going to slug the guy.
Vincent patted her shoulder. “It’s okay, I’ll handle this.”
Barbara glared at David Samson then stalked out of the office.
“Looks like you’ve managed to alienate my assistant, Mr. Samson. What can I do f
or you?”
“David, please.” He lowered his hand. “I’m here for the job.”
“Job?” Vincent ran his gaze over him. He couldn’t have been any more than twenty-two, his fair hair expertly streaked with highlights and falling over his forehead. He wore a silver cross in one ear and a stud in the other. He was dressed in wide-legged jeans and a loose-fitting burlap shirt.
“Yeah, you need someone to run this place, to coordinate all the fluffy stuff, and I’m just the one to do it.”
Vincent’s eyes widened. Fluffy stuff? He smiled faintly. “What exactly makes you think you’re qualified for this job?”
David Samson took a folded piece of newspaper from his pocket. He spread it open on Vincent’s desk. “Okay, it says creative, multitasker, experience in planning special events, managing staff, yada, yada, yada. I have excellent people skills, and I’m an artist on many levels.” He gave him a beaming smile. “When do I start?”
He was standing terribly close to him. Vincent took a step back. “Do you have a résumé?”
“Sure.”
“Do you have a degree?”
“I have a college degree in English, and certificates in hairdressing, flower arranging, fast-food cooking, cake decorating, and heavy diesel mechanics.” He was counting them off on his fingers. “Oh, and I can do CPR in case anyone goes into cardiac arrest.”
“Heavy diesel mechanics?” Vincent narrowed his eyes. “How does that fit with the flower arranging and cake decorating?”
“Long story, hunky guy with great biceps, turned out to be a real disappointment in the sack.” He crooked his finger. “So, what’s the pay like?”
“Huh?” Vincent’s head was spinning.
“I’ll expect a raise in two years, paid vacations, and of course, medical and dental. That’s standard.”
“Mister…”
“David, please. And, by the way, I had no idea you were so gorgeous. I would have come by earlier, just to look at you.”
Vincent shook his head. “This is a joke, right? Bradley sent you to cheer me up.”
“Who’s Bradley?”
The phone rang. Vincent reached over and picked it up. It was an important client, a prominent politician. Vincent covered the receiver with his hand. “I have to take this. I’ll, ah … get back to you. Leave your résumé with my assistant, and maybe we’ll call you for an interview.”
“That’s okay”—he passed Vincent an envelope—“look it over. I’ll wait in the lobby.”
“No,” Vincent said, but the blond had already left the office. A little flustered, Vincent returned his attention to the client on the phone. “I’m sorry, Mr. Monroe, I wasn’t saying no to you. What can I do for you today?”
“What in hell happened to Doug? Someone told me he’d left Events.”
“Yes, he’s gone, but nothing will change. Events is prepared to give you the same service you’ve always had.” They had catered all Monroe’s parties, birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays.
“But you’re not the fancy pants Doug is. You’re the accountant.” Monroe made it sound like a social disease. “Are you sure you’ll be able to handle my wife’s birthday party?”
“Of course. No problem. I’ll send you the form; just fill out your preferences and have your secretary get that to me as soon as possible. If I remember correctly”—Vincent slowed his speech as he frantically punched the name Monroe into his laptop with one hand—“your wife, ah … Janet, was born on the tenth of January.” Damn. That didn’t give him a lot of time. “Where would you like to hold the event? We can arrange for a banquet hall.”
“No. I want it at the house,” he said. “And you have a good memory, Williams. Send me the form. I’ll drop it by personally tomorrow. Who’s coordinating the parties now that Doug is gone?”
“Ah, oh, I have a new guy,” Vince lied, “wonderful. I’m sure you’ll love him.”
“Well, I hope he’s good. Doug was a natural,” Monroe said, and clicked off.
Vincent sighed, slumped down in his chair, and closed his eyes. A few minutes later, he left his office to check on the kitchen. They had several buffets to deliver that evening and the kitchen was in full swing. John Burns was his head chef, an absolute genius. Doug had stolen him away from a very expensive restaurant in the city three years before.
“Hey boss,” he said, stirring a dark chocolate sauce on the stove, “what’s up?”
“Is everything under control?”
“Great. I’m glad to see you got a new guy.”
“New guy?”
“Yeah, that Dave fellow, he’s super, the staff loves him already. Not snippy like Doug.”
“I didn’t hire anyone yet,” Vincent replied, then got angry. “Was he in the kitchen?”
“Hey, what’s the problem? He was in here a few minutes ago. He said he was the new planner. I thought—”
“Where did he go?” Vincent growled.
“He said he’d be in Decorating if we needed him.”
“If you needed him. God damn it. Who in the hell … the nerve of that guy.”
“So, you didn’t hire him, or what?” John shouted after him as Vincent marched down the hallway to Decorating.
Anna Philburt ran Decorating. She had a staff of nine under her, people who could turn a bare room into a fantasy. As Vincent neared the office, he heard Anna laughing. One of the junior workers brushed past him suddenly, bumping into him. “Sorry, sir,” he said, “I didn’t see you there, Mr. Williams. I need to get to the supply room. Do you think we have any red velvet for Cupid?”
“Cupid,” Vincent mouthed, but the young guy didn’t wait for a reply. He just raced off down the hallway. Vincent shook his head.
“That’s wonderful,” Anna was saying when Vincent walked into the room. That David guy was standing next to her at a long table. They were both studying a magazine.
Anna looked up when she noticed Vincent. “There you are,” she said, her ruddy face animated, “where did you find this guy? He’s a bloody genius.”
Vincent met David’s gaze. “I don’t believe you.” He pointed at David. “I never gave you permission to wander around here. Why in the hell are you telling everyone you’re the new planner? I never gave you the job.”
“Vincent,” Anna said, “you’re joking, right? He’s perfect.”
“You see?” David beamed. “I’m perfect.”
“You’re a nut job. I haven’t even had time to read your résumé. Did you ever do anything like this before?”
“No, but I know I can do it. This job was made for me. Just give me a chance,” he pleaded, moving closer.
Vincent noticed that John had come into the room. He walked over and stood beside Anna. They both gave him a look which said quite clearly they wanted this guy.
“He’s just come up with the most wonderful idea,” Anna said. “A client wanted something very special for their wedding and stag, and since it’s on Valentine’s Day, David suggested a Valentine’s wedding. Isn’t that wonderful? They’re two guys and they want a bit of the wild, so we’re going to do costumes for hunky male cupid strippers.”
“Cupid strippers?”
David came over to show him a picture in a magazine. “Yes, with red velvet hearts covering their—”
“I get the picture. What client are we talking about?”
“A new one.” David grinned. “Samuel Green of Caress Music is marrying Tee Armstrong.”
“The rock star?”
“Yeah,” Anna said. “He’s great, eh? Wonder if we’ll get free tickets to his next concert now.”
John came over to join them now. “My cousin went, said it blew him away.”
“It’s going to be the event of the decade. Green wants to go all out. He said spare no expense. Isn’t that what he said, David?”
With everyone talking at once, Vincent couldn’t get a word in. If he’d had a gun, he would have shot it off. Finally, he shouted loud enough to get their attention. “You,” h
e pointed at John, “back to your sauce, and you,” he pointed at David Samson, “come with me.”
“I can see the steam coming out of the top of your head,” David said with a chuckle as he followed Vincent back into his office.
“Close the door,” Vincent demanded.
David closed the door and came to perch on the edge of his desk.
“Are you for real?”
“Want to feel?” He batted his eyes at him, then erupted into laughter.
“You seem to think that this is some kind of a joke!” Vincent glared at him. “Can’t you see how angry I am?”
“I do see one thing.” David grinned. “You’re really drop-dead gorgeous. I’m not kidding, and especially when you get angry. You get this crease right—”
“Okay, enough. Did you answer the phone at the front desk?”
“No.”
“Then how did you end up talking to this Green guy?”
“He’s not actually green.”
“Don’t mess with me.” Vincent narrowed his eyes. “I’m not in any mood to fool around right now.”
“Aw, damn. I’d probably enjoy that, and a lot.”
Vincent couldn’t help but notice that he had the cutest smile. And right now, this David guy wasn’t in the least intimidated by him. He was one cocky guy.
“It would be like a fringe benefit, so to speak, and boy, what a benefit, better than paid vacation.” His gaze was on his groin.
“Stop that,” Vincent muttered. “Answer my damn question.”
“I called his office,” David replied with a shrug.
“You called his office, just like that?”
“Yep. I read about it yesterday; the announcement was in the entertainment section. So, while I was waiting for you in the lobby, I called him on my cell phone and asked him if he had anyone lined up to plan his wedding. And he said no. So I volunteered us.”
“Us?”
“Events. He wants a stag too, for the gay crowd, and a more conventional wedding for everyone else, but he wants it around Valentine’s Day, since that’s when the wedding is. I suggested strippers. He liked that. Not at the wedding, of course.”
