by Cindy Dees
He studied his steak absently. What the hell was a person supposed to say in response to that sort of a line? Talk about the world’s best conversation killer.
They ate mostly in silence after that…. Stone didn’t seem inclined to share any more about himself, and Christian had little success drawing him out. Which was unusual. His smooth, blue-blooded manners usually worked on everyone.
Near the end of the meal, after yet another grunt from Stone in lieu of actual words in response to a question, he finally came right out and asked, “Why don’t you want to talk about yourself? I’m curious to know more about you.”
Stone laid down his knife and fork and stared at him intensely enough to actually make him uncomfortable. He finally growled, “Be careful what you ask for.”
“Why? Are you an axe murderer?”
A shrug. “An axe would not be my first choice of weapon. Too much blood spatter. Hard to clean up after.”
Oh. Kay. Was this guy really that dangerous or just putting on a tough-guy act? Posers tended to piss him off. He leaned back, laying his napkin down. “You gonna show me your gun?”
“You wanna see it?”
“Sure.”
Stone shook his head. “If that’s a come-on line, it’s a bad one.”
That made Christian sit back even harder in his chair, reassessing. Not interested in a cheap hookup, was Stone? Huh. He didn’t misread men’s signals often.
Surely a guy this hot wasn’t… awkward… about sex, was he? Hell, it was the twenty-first century. Same-sex marriage had been legal for a while, and sodomy laws were history. He wasn’t particularly prone to casual sex, personally, but this man had an interesting vibe about him. It was dark and hot. Intense. Not his usual brand of slick Washington politico.
“What do you want from me, Christian?”
“Funny, but I was about to ask the exact same thing of you.”
“Me? I don’t want much of anything from me.”
“You’re hilarious. Not.”
Stone rolled his eyes and replied, “I asked first.”
Bemused, he turned his attention to the actual question attached to his name. What did he want?
“Undecided,” he finally answered.
Stone stood from the table, and he matched the movement as Stone announced, “I’m jet-lagged as hell, a little drunk, and you make me laugh. Would I get off on fucking you? Yeah, sure.”
Truth be told, he was a little taken aback by the bluntness of that answer to his question. He wasn’t sure whether to be put off or turned on beyond all reason. Maybe a little of both. “Well, okay, then. Thanks for the honesty, I guess.”
“Here’s another bit of honesty. I don’t have the time or the patience for drama and sophomoric relationship bullshit.”
“Neither do I.”
Their hard stares met. They understood each other, then. Sex. Hot sex. Maybe even rough sex. No strings attached. Two ships passing in the night. Christian abruptly had such an intense hard-on, he could barely stand upright. A quick glance down revealed Stone was in pretty much the same state.
They didn’t kiss so much as collided. Stone was emphatically not the slender, lithe, dancer type Christian usually went for. But then, he suspected he wasn’t the type Stone usually went for either. The guy struck him as every bit as much of a control freak as he tended to be.
Which left the question hanging of who was going to take charge of the sex between them, given that they both were apparently tops by choice.
Stone’s frown as they ripped each other’s shirts off made it pretty damned clear that he was (a) pondering the same question and (b) registering that Christian wasn’t his usual type either.
But there was something challenging about this man. Something that made Christian want to bring Stone Jackson to his knees.
Then Stone grabbed his hair, yanked his head back, and bit his lip.
“What the hell?” he exclaimed.
“You’re telling me you like it easy and sweet?” Stone growled.
He grabbed the back of Stone’s neck, pulled his head forward, and bit back. “Not bloody likely.”
Their bodies plastered against each other, and Christian was assailed by impressions. Jeez, this man was like a brick wall, all hard planes, sharp angles, and bulging muscles. Make that rock-hard, bulging muscles. And scars. At least a half-dozen bigass “half-gutted at some point in the past” scars.
“You look like you’ve been through a war.” He added dryly, “And lost.”
“Couple of ’em,” Stone muttered against his mouth. “But I never lose in a fight.” His razor stubble grated on Christian’s face. And it was sexy as hell. This was a man’s man, and Christian was about to have all of him.
“Do you still never lose?” Christian murmured.
“Now more than ever.”
“Why’s that?”
“Do you always talk this much?” Stone growled.
“You gonna do something to shut me up?” he popped off.
There was an aura about Stone that brought out the testosterone in him. More than simple one-upmanship. A need to challenge and measure up to.
Stone laughed darkly, and actual intimidation flickered through Christian’s gut. Was he in over his head with this guy? Just what kind of baggage did a man with that many outward scars carry around on the inside? Did he have the balls to find out? Something daring—reckless, even—flared inside him. While the little voice in the back of his head shouted at him to avoid Stone Jackson like hell, a raging fire in his belly urged him on.
He’d never had sex with a man like this and probably never would again. It would be raw and pornographic and likely leave him wrecked for a long damned time to come. But he also sensed he would regret it for the rest of his life if he walked away from this moment. This man. This one-night stand.
He would always look back and wonder what it would have been like. Could he have kept up with a man like this? How much pleasure had he missed? Worse, would he look back and brand himself a coward?
That thought tipped the scales. He had plenty of flaws and had made plenty of mistakes in his life—and would make many more. He might have to suppress his ambitions and hide most of his opinions from his jerk of a boss, but he refused to live his personal life in hiding. His philosophy was that he had one shot at life and he was going to live it to the fullest.
Eyes narrowed, he reached for the buttons of Stone’s ridiculous khaki shorts. His knuckles brushed against an erection large enough to give him pause. Yup. A man’s man. His belly quailed a bit at the notion of absorbing all that hardness one way or another. Or maybe he’d do the taking and let Stone hang, hard and unsatisfied on his knees. The little voice in his head frantically warned him that taunting this man would not be a good idea. Payback would be an absolute bitch.
A bitch he’d never experienced before. It would include unpredictability and, undoubtedly, loss of all control. Control of himself and control of the situation. No question, Stone would totally dominate that sort of encounter.
Domination and submission had never been his vibe. Or if it had, it was a subtle undertone of his relationships rather than the main theme of them. But with this guy, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Hell, for all he knew, that aluminum trunk of Stone’s was full of leather, rope, whips, and chains.
A definite frisson of alarm chattered through him at that idea. The idea of being subdued, restrained… helpless….
Nope. Not a turn-on for him.
He was all about managing every situation. He liked predictable. Liked order. Some folks even called him OCD. He might even admit to being a bit of a control freak. He preferred his life to have no surprises. Even in sexual encounters, he made sure everyone had a good time, but he called the shots.
No way would Stone Jackson go along meekly with being told exactly what to do, when to do it, and how to do it.
Speaking of the devil, how was it that his trousers were suddenly unzipped, his balls being cupped by a big
callused hand plunged into his briefs while Stone’s hard thumb rubbed knowingly across the head of his cock? Lust exploded through him. Holy shit.
Decision time. Back out now or jump in the last car of this roller coaster as it pulled out of the station and throw his hands up in the air.
Fuck it. He was going for the ride.
His hips rocked forward hungrily, and Stone pulled his dick through the flap in his briefs, grabbed it in a firm fist, and actually dragged him across the room by it. He reached for Stone’s fly, not only to reciprocate, but also to regain a tiny measure of control of his own.
Stone casually batted his hand away.
And he actually let the man do it. A thrill shivered through him. He’d just crossed over into the unknown. Apparently, he was letting Stone take complete control of this ride.
That fist around his dick tightened rhythmically, milking his cock until his knees threatened to collapse from the pleasure rocketing through him. His entire being narrowed down to his erection and the fist holding it so confidently, the message clear. No longer his cock. Stone’s cock to do with what he wished.
Dang, it was sexy being handled like this, not having to make all the decisions. He could mentally sit back and enjoy the breathless drops and high-G turns of the ride.
Stone’s hand reached back until his palm cupped Christian’s balls and a thick, blunt fingertip rubbed his taint. He yelped as pleasure shot through him. Swoop. And drop. He plunged off the cliff, the car racing weightlessly through space.
The fingertip reached farther back, barely intruding into his ass. Just enough to force his sphincter to release and clench, clench and release around it.
He groaned, shocked at the raw sound coming from his own throat. He was the one who made other guys groan like that. He played the instrument until it sang—he wasn’t the instrument being played.
The finger probed a little deeper. Crooked forward, pressing against the wall of his rectum until it rubbed his prostate. Holy crap, that was really a thing. He practically spurted in his shorts then and there, and his knees did collapse.
Which was how he ended up on his knees with his face in Stone’s crotch, his breath ragged, mind blown.
The little voice in the back of his head, his own personal commentator on life, murmured, Interesting. You’re usually the one giving pleasure, not the one taking it. Perchance you’ve been missing out, knucklehead.
He’d wondered idly from time to time what it would be like to bottom. But the guys he dated were usually so intimidated by his job, his family name, his status and general classiness, that they seemed to expect him to take charge and do the honors. And he didn’t hate topping. Truth be told, he’d never thought to question how he liked his sex. When no one else stepped up to the plate to dictate play, he’d taken charge and taken care of business. Pretty much like how he did everything else in his life.
Until this dark, dangerous alpha male blasted into his life.
What would it be like to let go? Not to fight to stay in control of his body and its reactions? To just feel? To live in the moment?
He leaned forward and buried his face in Stone’s crotch, inhaling the musky scent and sharper tang of Stone’s desire. Through his pants, Stone’s erection jumped against his cheek. A surge of power flowed through him. He loved being the one to do that to this man.
Whoa. Wait. There was power in bottoming?
Fascinated by the possibilities, he stood, reaching for Stone’s shorts. But then Stone kissed him roughly, all but sucking his tongue free of its moorings. It hurt a little and turned him on ferociously. Shocking realization broke over him that he’d always wanted to make love to a man like this, a man who would take charge and do exactly what he wanted, who would fuck him balls to the wall and leave him begging for more. He’d never admitted it to himself. He’d been too afraid to climb on the roller coaster and see where it took him.
The emotional risk inherent in giving up control to this man skittered through him. What if he liked bottoming? What if he wanted more of the same? Where in the hell would he find another man like this? Even an hour’s acquaintance with Stone was enough for him to know men like this didn’t grow on trees.
He shouldn’t do this. His commentator voice warned him he was setting himself up for not only a big emotional fall, but also years of disappointment in all other men.
But when Stone released his trousers and shoved them around his ankles, the voice went completely, stunningly silent. And his breath hitched in his throat in so much excited anticipation he felt light-headed.
Stone’s hand was hard and strong and shockingly gentle on the back of Christian’s neck, urging him down. The roller coaster car was almost done chugging to the top of the big hill. Hands in the air. Time to fly.
He gave way to that guiding hand, letting himself be bent down, headfirst, over the back of the sofa, his face buried in the seat cushions. Chug, chug, chug. Only sky above now. Cresting the hill.
“Stay,” Stone ordered from behind him, his voice a rough rasp.
Stone disappeared for an endless, outrageous minute while Christian stayed exactly where he was, terrified of the drop to come, amazed as hell that he was putting up with being ordered around like this, and so excited that his body, hell, his entire being, quivered with it.
Stone returned, his hairy thighs brushing lightly against Christian’s ass. Muscles Christian hardly knew he had convulsed, completely out of his control.
A hand milked his cock from behind until he was dripping with precum, his balls so tight they felt like they would explode any second. He lurched when a big, blunt finger circled his anus, smearing something goopy and vaguely warm on it. And then that wonderful, invading, clever finger dipped inside his rectum once more. He reflexively lurched away from the invasion, his hipbones slamming into the sofa frame, but not far enough to escape that probing finger.
He’d bottomed a few times a very long time ago, when he was first experimenting with his sexuality. They’d been furtive, fast encounters with other teenage boys. Nothing at all like this. Apprehension coursed through him. And yet his cock was jumping and jerking wildly, banging into the upholstered back of the sofa, his glutes clenching and unclenching, and he was letting a dark, dangerous stranger spread his asscheeks and lube him up some more.
And then the blunt head of that huge rock-hard cock rested against his entrance, both a promise and a threat. The roller coaster started down, and the plunge yawned in front of him. Fear of the unknown swept over him, along with burning desire to know what lay beyond it.
Whatever madness had overcome him before swept forward now, stealing his breath and what little remaining sanity he had. The speed of the ride picked up and the pressure of an orgasm built in his groin as his entire body clenched to explode. He wanted to be impaled. Wanted to be plundered and taken and possessed by this man. His limbs went weak, his breath grew so short he panted, and his fists and teeth clamped down on the sofa cushion.
“If you don’t relax, you won’t be able to take me,” Stone muttered. He eased that big finger through Christian’s clenched muscles again. He slid it deeper this time, filling him up and then retreating almost all the way out. Again, he stroked him with appalling intimacy.
Christian felt the orgasm coming. Ripples of insane pleasure were building deep inside him, tucked up high above his balls as Stone worked his prostate, which he’d only worked on others before. No wonder his partners were addicted to sex. He was dying already.
“Jesus, you’re tight,” Stone ground out. “I’m going to have to be careful.”
It was good to know Stone was having restraint issues too. Thing was, he rather wanted Stone to tear the hell out of him at this point. His hips pumped of their own volition as his control slipped yet another notch. Sex. He wanted sex and lots of it. Right now.
Stone splayed one hand on the base of his spine, pinning him down. The strength in Stone’s palm was astonishing. Christian was not a small man, and he worked o
ut often. And yet Stone held him still with casual ease. More of that strange intimidation/attraction tore through him.
Stone took a step forward, his thighs shoving Christian’s wider apart.
He was at the man’s mercy now. Loving it and hating it, he swore in a steady stream. That rock-hard cock was back at his hungry opening, poised for the coup de grâce. He felt Stone tense against him….
And freeze as a phone rang.
“Not mine,” Stone snapped. “Do you have to get that?”
Son. Of. A. Bitch. It was his boss’s personal ringtone. The one person on earth whose calls he had to take day or night, rain or shine, about to be epically fucked or not.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered.
He jerked up off the sofa, yanked at his pants, and fished around in the pocket. “Yes, sir,” he answered, trying his damnedest not to sound out of breath—and failing.
“Did I interrupt your workout?” Senator Jack Lacey of the great state of Texas drawled. “Or is she a hot little number willing to put out?”
It was no secret he was gay, but Lacey insisted on trying to convince Christian to date women. Hell, tonight he was apparently the hot little number willing to put out.
“What can I do for you, sir?” he asked, ignoring the man’s questions.
“I need to go over the itinerary with you for this damned fundraising blitz Jill put together. No way in hell am I doing some of these appearances she’s got booked for me.”
“Why don’t you take that up with your wife, sir?” He did his best to stay out of the raging battles the Laceys engaged in behind closed doors.
“Bitch isn’t coming to town until Friday. Some gardening shindig came up in Texas, and she flew out to attend it. Left me to do all the goddamn glad-handing with a bunch of blue-haired Jews come South to die.”
Christian winced. His boss was nothing if not an insensitive racist. He actually wouldn’t vote for the man, were he a voter in Texas. But Jack Lacey was a powerful senator in Washington, and as a member of his staff, Christian had gotten a chance to help draft landmark legislation on federal prison reform, which was a personal passion of his. Privately, Christian hoped to parlay that into a job at the Justice Department working at the federal level to continue modernizing opinions within the government regarding rehabilitation, counseling, and education of incarcerated people, sooner rather than later. But until then, he was stuck wiping this jerk’s proverbial ass.
