by J. M. Snyder
Jerry ran a hand through his thin, close-cropped hair. “Look, can’t you just delete this and forget about it? You don’t have to tell anyone. You don’t—”
“I don’t,” Quin agreed.
Jerry let out a relieved sigh. “God, thank you—”
“But what’s in it for me?”
Jerry frowned. There was a calculating look in those large, dark eyes now, and Quin held him pinned with that frank stare. “What do you mean?”
Quin shrugged. “If you want me to keep quiet…”
“What do you want?” Jerry asked.
Quin made a show of looking around the room. Obviously nothing was in it that might interest someone like him, but finally his gaze fell on the laptop’s screen, where two buff, naked men were fucking furiously. One eyebrow arched, and he glanced sideways at Jerry. “I hear you play the field.”
A spark of interest raced down Jerry’s spine and spread out, tingling his fingers and toes, exciting his dick. “You could say that,” he admitted. “I’m single, and I like to have a good time.”
“You play for both teams,” Quin said.
Jerry nodded. “Whoever strikes my fancy. I’m not particular.”
Quin let the moment stretch between them, then finally shrugged. “I like older men. Maybe we can work something out.”
Now Jerry saw where this was going. With a languid grin, he leaned across the desk and turned on the charm. The kid was cute, after all. Lowering his voice, he murmured, “So what are you doing after work?”
Quin’s gaze turned back to the laptop and the two men screwing onscreen. “I’m sure we can find something to do.”
“I like the way you think,” Jerry said as his cock twitched in the confines of his khakis.
* * * *
For the rest of the day, Jerry’s thoughts weren’t far from Quin. He imagined what that rail-thin body would feel like in his arms, and pictured running his hands through that thick mess of hair. In his mind, he saw Quin on all fours, begging Jerry to mount him. He saw his hard cock parting those narrow buttocks, saw Quin’s back arch as he entered, saw his hands fist in the mop of dark hair as he tugged Quin’s head up while they fucked.
Yes, he was definitely looking forward to getting off tonight.
At quarter to six, Quin knocked on Jerry’s office door. He looked up from his laptop, which was running smoothly now, and gave Quin a sexy grin. “Hey there. I’m just finishing up.”
Quin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, hip jutting at a sharp angle. “You really should use the Mac.”
“As long as my laptop works, I’m good,” Jerry told him.
He didn’t miss the smirk on Quin’s face. “I could disable it, you know. Lock it down from IT. Then you’d have to use the Mac.”
“I’d know it was you,” Jerry pointed out as he shut down the laptop. “Then where would we be?”
“You’d be using the Mac,” Quin said.
Jerry ignored the comment as he waited for the laptop to turn off. A minute passed, two, but the shutdown screen didn’t disappear. “I thought you said you fixed this thing.”
“I debugged it,” Quin clarified. “It’s free of viruses, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to run any faster. It’s still a dinosaur for old fogies.”
“Like me?” Jerry joked. When the screen finally went black, he shut the laptop and tucked it into his briefcase. “Why are we going out again if all you’re going to do is make fun of how old I am all night long?”
Quin laughed. “Because age breeds experience. I’ve yet to meet someone who could please me. I’m hoping you know something others don’t.”
Pulling on his suit coat, Jerry warned, “Just so you know, the first Viagra joke you make and the night’s over.”
“No Viagra jokes,” Quin said with a nod. “Got it. And you, no cracks on my age, either. I don’t want to hear anything about hairless chests or teenage zits.”
“You don’t have any hair on your chest?” Jerry asked, incredulous. It’d been a long time since he’d been with a guy without chest hair. Like, since high school.
But Quin gave him an enigmatic grin. “I have one or two. Are we going to stand here all night talking about it, or what?”
Jerry hefted his briefcase and breezed past Quin into the hall. Quin fell into step beside him as they headed out into the parking lot. Jerry hit the remote lock on his key and, across the lot, the headlights flashed on his sleek BMW 335i convertible. Then he asked, “You want me to drive?”
“Unless you want to ride on the back of my bike,” Quin said.
Jerry gave him a strange look. “Seriously? You bike to work? How old are you again?”
“Thirty,” Quin told him. He pointed to a space not far from Jerry’s car. “And that’s my bike.”
A chrome yellow Harley Davidson Fat Boy glistened like a wet dream. “Shit, really? That baby’s yours?” Jerry dropped his briefcase in front of his car and headed to check out the motorcycle. It was funky and quirky and modern, and he suspected it fit Quin to a T. Awed, Jerry ran a hand along the black leather seat, warm from sitting in the sun all day. “This is bitching.”
“You ride?” Quin asked.
Jerry shook his head. For the first time since he met Quin, he felt out of his league. A Harley? How much did this kid make in IT?
Quin nudged Jerry with a pointy elbow in the ribs. “You should. Makes you feel younger when you’re flying down the highway, the wind in your face.”
“That explains your crazy hair,” Jerry said. “So what, you feel like you’re ten on this?”
“Ha ha.” That elbow nudged him again, harder this time. “It’s better than Hot Wheels.”
Jerry laughed. “Hot Wheels! I used to have one of those.”
He felt Quin lean against him, the thin body warm alongside Jerry’s back. “What, the first one they ever made? It’d be worth a fortune now. If you still had it, you could sell it on eBay.”
“Again with the age jokes,” Jerry warned. “I told you…”
“You did,” Quin conceded. “But that was before you saw my bike. Try and tell me you aren’t interested in going for a ride.”
Something in his suggestive tone of voice made Jerry suspect the ride he mentioned had nothing to do with the Harley in front of them. Jerry’s whole body tingled at the thought of this young buck beneath him, crying out his name with lust. “Dinner first,” Jerry said, leading the way back to his car. “Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t just jump in the saddle without a little wine and foreplay.”
“Sometimes the old ways work best,” Quin said. “Tonight, I’m all yours.”
The promise running beneath his words made Jerry’s cock hard with anticipation.
* * * *
Earlier in the day, Jerry had made dinner reservations at a posh bistro in a recently renovated, upscale section of Richmond. He tipped the maitre d’ to secure a cozy table by a window overlooking the James River. The city lights twinkled like stars in the dark water. Jerry was familiar with the bistro’s expensive surf and turf menu and ordered for both of them, but an embarrassed server asked Quin if she could see some ID before pouring the wine.
Quin gave her a sexy grin that turned Jerry on even though it wasn’t turned his way. “No problem,” Quin said, digging out his wallet for his driver’s license. “I know I look young.”
The server floundered for a convincing explanation. “Oh no, sir. It’s not that. State law requires us to card anyone under the age of forty-five. You understand.”
“Funny, you didn’t card me,” Jerry quipped.
Her face flushed a deeper shade of red. “Sir, I-I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” he said, waving her away.
“I’m very sorry,” she mumbled before leaving them alone.
When he looked across the table, Jerry saw Quin’s enigmatic gaze turned his way. Jerry smirked. “What?”
“She probably thinks we’re father and son,” Quin said.
&nbs
p; Jerry shrugged. “If you’re really thirty—”
“I am,” Quin assured him, reaching for his wallet again. “Do you want to see my ID, too?”
Jerry shook his head. “I believe you. If you do the math, I would’ve had to have fathered you when I was thirteen. I’m not saying that’s impossible, but highly unlikely. At that age, I hadn’t yet found my dick.”
Quin leaned forward, and beneath the small table, Jerry felt a hand stroke up the inside of his thigh. “I can help you with that,” Quin murmured.
With a grin, Jerry leaned back in his seat and spread his knees, angling them open to allow Quin’s hand a little farther up his leg. “Almost there,” he purred.
Before Quin’s fingers made it as far as the inseam of his pants, though, a waiter arrived with their appetizers and both men sat up. Quin’s hand fell away, but only after giving Jerry’s knee a quick squeeze that said simply, soon.
* * * *
Back in the BMW after their meal, Jerry turned on the ignition and idled a moment. He wanted to ask Quin back to his place, but this date hadn’t been his idea in the first place. Quin had to call the shots. If he wanted more, he had to say so.
Jerry waited. Quin sat quietly beside him in the passenger seat staring out into the night.
After a long moment, Jerry put the car into gear. Maybe his company hadn’t been as scintillating as he’d like to think. Maybe he’d bored the young guy, and Quin just wanted to call it quits. Or maybe he was too full to fuck. Another minute passed, and Jerry saw headlights in his side-view mirror, a blinker indicating that someone was waiting for his coveted parking spot. Reluctantly he pulled away from the curb.
Finally, hoping to break the silence between them, he asked, “So, back to your bike?”
“It’s safe where it is,” Quin said. “I’ll tell you where to go.”
Now that sounded promising. Following Quin’s curt instructions—“Turn here. Right up ahead. Straight through the light. Left now, now”—he found himself cruising through Richmond’s Museum District, a collection of cobbled streets fronted by old Colonial and Victorian style homes that had long ago been sectioned into condos for those who could afford them. Parking here was at a premium—at this hour of the evening, the streets were lined with cars, and more filled the alleys behind the homes. Quin guided Jerry to a darkened side street, then had him turn onto a tight strip of gravel hemmed in with trashcans. “Right here,” he said, tapping his window.
Jerry slowed and stared at the narrow opening between a garden shed with aluminum siding and an overgrown mulberry bush. “Will I fit in there?”
“You should be able to,” Quin said. “When I had a car, it fit just fine.”
“What was it, a bug?” Jerry asked. He eyed the mulberry bush with distrust. “If that thing scrapes my paint…”
Quin laughed. “Then I’ll have to make it up to you. I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”
He reached over as if to rest his hand on the gear shaft, but he kept reaching, and instead, wound up in Jerry’s lap. His fingers curled around Jerry’s zipper, kneading the stiffening member beneath the thin fabric. His touch was electric, and dispelled any insecurity or uncertainty Jerry might have had earlier about where things were heading between them. The hand in his lap, on his dick, said it all.
A little recklessly, Jerry reversed the car and barreled through the narrow gap into a back yard barely eight feet square. His car just fit—he wasn’t even sure Quin’s bike would be able to squeeze in beside it. He pulled up the hand brake, put the car into neutral, and turned off the ignition. The engine ticked softly in the darkness around them. Then he turned to Quin. “So…”
He could faintly see Quin’s face in the light on the back porch a few feet away. Quin’s hair was a tousled mess across his forehead, threatening to spill over across his glasses. The lenses reflected the light, hiding his eyes. By now, Jerry had come to realize the quirky grin on his lips wasn’t so much amusement as just the way he normally looked. If the glasses were off, maybe Jerry could get a better grip on what Quin might’ve been thinking. All he had to go on was the hand between his legs.
He caught Quin’s wrist and tugged lightly. “Come here.”
Quin leaned forward, across the space between them. Jerry closed his eyes, lips tingling as he waited for a kiss that never came. He felt the tip of Quin’s nose brush his cheek, then felt damp lips on his earlobe. “Inside,” Quin whispered, pulling his hand easily out of Jerry’s loose grip.
“Can’t we—” Jerry started, but the car door opened and slammed shut, leaving him alone. When he opened his eyes, he saw Quin’s backside cross the few remaining feet of yard before those long, lithe legs took the porch steps two at a time.
He needed no further prompting. Pocketing his keys, he hurried after Quin.
By the time he reached the porch, Quin was already inside. Jerry followed him into a dark utility room. Ahead an open doorway led to a small kitchen. The only light came from above the stove, left on to cast a golden glow around the room. Quin tossed his keys onto the kitchen table, then removed his messenger bag, then his jacket. He spared Jerry a quick glance as he kicked off his shoes.
“When I first saw that video on your computer, I thought there must’ve been some kind of mistake,” Quin admitted. He turned and leaned back against the table, studying Jerry. “The word around the office is you’re straight.”
Jerry shrugged off his suit jacket and hung it on the same chair where Quin had placed his. “I like men and women. It doubles my chances of getting laid, you know?” He moved closer, trailing a finger down the front of Quin’s shirt. The body beneath the fabric felt firm and taut, and oh-so-tempting. Jerry lowered his voice to an intimate murmur. “What about you? What do you like?”
Quin reached out and grabbed Jerry’s belt buckle in one sure hand. The other snagged his zipper; in seconds, Quin’s nimble fingers had the fly of Jerry’s pants gaping open. Quin delved inside, pushing Jerry’s tucked-in shirt up and out of the way as his other hand eased into the front of Jerry’s briefs to cup Jerry’s dick, already half-hard with anticipation. With a little tug on Jerry’s cock, Quin pulled him closer and Jerry stumbled into his coworker, placing his hands flat on the table behind Quin to steady himself.
Then Quin’s hot, wet lips closed over Jerry’s mouth in a possessive kiss.
“This,” Quin whispered when they parted for air. “I want this.”
To emphasize his point, Quin encircled Jerry’s dick and gave it a healthy squeeze he felt from the back of his teeth all the way to the balls of his feet. His other hand tweaked at Jerry’s navel, then rubbed around Jerry’s waist to dip down between the cleft of Jerry’s buttocks. Jerry arched his back and felt one long finger rim his ass. He gasped as Quin’s fingertip breeched his butt. “God,” he gasped, his face pressed into Quin’s shoulder. “This, yes. Me, too. Right here?”
Quin kissed his cheek. “In the kitchen? Please. I thought you were old-fashioned.”
Jerry thrust into Quin’s hot hand. “Not when it comes to sex. Where—”
Suddenly Quin slipped out from under him, and Jerry fell against the table. “Fuck,” he growled, pushing himself upright. “You little cocktease.”
“I didn’t say no.” Quin was already moving through the kitchen, undressing as he went. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the floor in front of the stove; undoing his pants, he shucked them down his hips as he moved through a doorway leading further into the house. “I just said not here. You coming along, or what?”
“I’m coming, all right,” Jerry muttered. Quickly he unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall to the floor. His undershirt followed, and he half-pushed, half-kicked his pants away as he hurried after Quin.
The hallway was dark and widened into a foyer that led to a large living room lit by a single lamp near the front window. As Jerry entered the living room, he crouched to remove his briefs and socks. “I feel like I’ve been chasing after you all damn nigh
t. Where—”
“Right here,” Quin breathed into Jerry’s ear.
This time when Jerry started in surprise, Quin’s strong, slim arms caught him before he could fall. He kissed Jerry’s shoulder, then moved along Jerry’s collarbone, leaving a little trail of kisses in his wake. Each time his lips pressed against Jerry’s skin, Jerry felt his cock twitch in response.
Jerry smoothed a hand along Quin’s forehead, then dove his fingers into that thick patch of dark hair he’d been eying all night. It wasn’t stiff with product, as he’d expected—no, Quin’s hair was soft and cottony, begging to be tugged and kneaded. Jerry pulled Quin close and buried his face in the hair to breathe in its fresh scent. “God,” he sighed into its depths. He nuzzled behind Quin’s ear, wanting to revel in the rich darkness beneath him.
When Quin backed up toward the couch, Jerry let himself be led. Quin stretched out on the cushions and lay back, his creamy skin pale in the darkened room. He took off his eyeglasses and set them on the end table by his head. To Jerry’s pleasant surprise, Quin’s eyes weren’t refracted by the lenses—they were large and round and deep, almost black in the dim lighting. Jerry thought if he stumbled and fell, he’d drown in those endless depths forever.
Jerry started to climb onto him, but Quin pointed at the table. “Condoms and lube in the drawer. I like you, but not enough to bareback.”
“Sure.” Jerry found a box of condoms and, plucking out one of the sealed little foil packets, dropped the rest of the box onto the table. He tossed the condom to Quin as he hunted for the lube. “Do you want to do the honors? Who’s on top?”
“My date, my ride,” Quin said. By the time Jerry found the lube, pushed back into the far corner of the end table’s one drawer, Quin already had the condom open and rolled down on his long, thin cock. He lay back, arms behind his head, dick jutting up like an exclamation point from the mass of curls at his groin. “Unless you have an objection…?”
Jerry squirted lube into his palm and fisted the rubber-sheathed dick. “Not at all. Damn, you’re bigger than I thought you’d be.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” Quin closed his eyes and leaned back as Jerry stroked his cock. A faint moan escaped his parted lips, exciting Jerry’s blood. “See? Now, this is what I’m talking about. Older men know just how to rub you the right way. God, yeah.”
