by Anthology
I just hoped that Lloyd knew that the night was just beginning for us. I had plans and I was pretty damn sure that he’d be up for what I had in mind.
I went into the guest bathroom and whipped my dick out to take a piss. Like everything else in Lloyd’s home, his toilet was pristine. That was the word that always seemed to come to my mind in observing his attire, his car and his home. It was pristine and impeccably kept. I wondered if he had a maid service. The man was obviously a workaholic and how he found the time to keep this place looking the way it looked was puzzling to me.
I was by no means a slob, but I made a mental note to make sure that I took extra care to pick up after myself. I had already infringed on him more than a client should but, then again, I was fairly certain that Lloyd would come to appreciate my company, if not soon crave it. I wasn’t bragging, I was simply being pragmatic. There was no denying the chemistry that sparked between the two of us since the moment he had first reamed my ass for keeping him waiting. Here though, it was a different story.
I shook the droplets off my dick, and tucked myself back in. I flushed the toilet and washed my hands, taking a quick look in the mirror to see if I was totally disheveled. I went ahead and splashed water on my face. I opened the medicine cabinet and, sure enough, there were packaged toothbrushes and new tubes of toothpaste, along with bars of soap and bottles of body wash.
This guy certainly made sure that there was no excuse for bad hygiene. I chuckled to myself, grabbing a toothbrush and opening one of the tubes so that I could make my mouth minty fresh for him.
I opened the other bathroom door that led directly out into the main hallway. Sure enough, I could hear Lloyd moving around in what I could only presume was his kitchen. Pots and pans were clanking, and the aroma of something tempting was definitely in the air. My stomach rumbled. I hadn’t eaten anything since a bagel this morning. Anything would taste good.
I entered the kitchen and was immediately taken aback by the size and design of it, although I wasn’t sure why I was surprised. Having already seen most of Lloyd’s place, it only stood to reason that his kitchen would totally have been a gourmet chef’s wet dream.
Granite countertops, an island with a bar sink in the center and leather-topped stools surrounding it. The stainless steel appliances were as shiny as if they’d just been delivered from some high-end store. Jesus Christ, he even had a built-in convection oven! On the other side of the room, there was a double sink, a shiny stainless steel dishwasher and trash compactor. Two hanging pot racks over the island displayed about any type of cooking utensil one could imagine -- and then some. My mom would have thought she had died and gone to heaven if she’d gotten a glimpse of Lloyd’s kitchen.
I looked at the expanse of it. One person lived here. My mom cooked for twelve most days. I hadn’t talked to either of them in a couple of weeks. It wouldn’t be wise for me to contact them right now, and I hated that they might be worried should someone come looking there for me. I hoped like hell that Lloyd’s private investigator was the driven pit bull Lloyd appeared to be in the office. That was exactly what I needed right now.
I walked up behind Lloyd. He was standing at the stove, stirring something in a saucepan. On another burner, pasta was slowly boiling in a large pot. He had changed into jeans and an oxford shirt. Casual business attire in my book, but I was betting that was as casual as Lloyd ever got. He had a chef’s apron on and, seriously, they had to have broken the mold when they created Lloyd.
I brushed my palm lightly against his ass, as I peered over his shoulder to see what he was stirring. “Smells good,” I commented. “I love pasta with marinara sauce. You’ve got quite the setup here, Lloyd. Everything is pure perfection.”
I moved beside him, and tested the heat of the sauce with my pinkie. Warm, but not yet ready to come to a boil.
Unlike me.
I proceeded to dip my index finger into the sauce, as Lloyd peered over at me, a frown forming. “I washed my hands after I peed, don’t worry,” I said, licking the sauce from my finger. “Mmm, now that’s some good sauce. I need to get your recipe.”
“It’s Ragu,” he deadpanned, tossing some minced onions into the pan. “Right from the jar.”
“Allow me,” I said, dipping my finger back into the pan, and swirling it around to mix the onion bits into the sauce. “But you are perfecting what they couldn’t Lloyd. I like that. Here, have a taste,” I said huskily, pulling my finger from the sauce and placing it on his bottom lip. “Don’t you want to suck it and see for yourself?”
His tongue darted out, lapping at his bottom lip, and then swirling around my finger. My eyes were locked onto his and, once again, I felt my dick rise to the occasion. “More?” I asked, dipping my finger back into the pan. "Speak now, it will be boiling before long and then we can’t play.”
“Yes,” Lloyd rasped, “I want more.”
I snickered and brought my sauce-covered finger back to his mouth. He readily accepted it, his tongue circling it and licking the sauce clean from my finger. And then he drew it in, and suckled on it while the other hand found his crotch, and I gently massaged his growing bulge. My fingers ran along the length of his shaft.
“I’m impressed,” I whispered, my mouth now lowering to his. “You missed a spot,” I said, my tongue flickering over his bottom lip where a drop of sauce remained.
“Since you made the meal for us tonight, how about I bring dessert?”
Lloyd groaned against me, and then reluctantly pulled back. “Can you pour us some wine, please? I’m almost finished here. I’ve got an appetite, but we need to eat dinner first.”
“Whatever you say, Lloyd.”
Chapter 9
THROUGHOUT MY LIFE, I have had quite few adjectives and colorful expressions used to describe me. The one I have never understood was "neat freak." I couldn't, for the life of me, comprehend what could possibly be "freaky" about being "neat." Organizational skills were a gift. "Cleanliness is next to Godliness" and all that, right?
Right.
The one downfall to liking your things in their place and your surfaces free of any dust or dirt was trying to convey that same message to your guests. Obviously, I couldn't screen them and their habits before inviting them to my apartment; that would have been "freaky" in its own right, but was it too much to ask for people not to touch my private property?
In my defense, I was trying damn hard not to mentally assess all of my personal belongings that Luke was touching and moving, all with a knowing glint in his eyes that told me he knew exactly what he was doing to me. But then he got closer, his hand slightly brushing against my ass, his breath sliding across my skin, his mouth hovering close enough to devour. There would be a follow-up to our earlier tryst but first, I needed to clear my head and talk about the impending situation.
As Luke uncorked the St. Joseph from the Rhône-Alpes Region of France, I began setting the adjoining bar for us to eat. No need to use the table since it was only the two of us.
"So, do you have some kind of man-cave set-up in this high-rise haven?" Luke asked as he began pouring the velvety red liquid into two wine glasses.
"Well, I do have a large screen TV, the remote controls are in the drawer to the right, just under the screen. There are also about...well, not about. There are precisely thirteen Xbox games ranging from car chasing to the guns blazing kind of action. Feel free to use it if you need to wind down after dinner."
When I'd finished explaining, I noticed the room had gone quiet, his movements had stilled. "What? Are you also anti-games?"
Luke flashed me a grin capable of illuminating the Empire State Building, showing off his beautifully white row of straight teeth. "Nah. As long as it's yours, they can't know I'm playing, right? And 'guns blazing' sounds right up my alley," he shot back with a wink that screamed bad boy with skills all the while placing the glasses at the top of the plates I had just set.
"Right," was all I could muster. As strange as it seemed to be utter
ly free of the virtual footprint, it still fascinated me that he had gone his entire adult life without the addictions of phones, Internet and GPS. I was impressed and more than a little turned on.
With the bar ready for our meal, I turned back to the burners and tested one of the spaghettis, hoping it was still al dente. "Could you hand me the strainer, please? It's just in that cabinet down there," I nodded to the double doors down to my left with a quick point of my foot for good measure.
"Jesus, this a bit domestic for a first date, don't you think, Lloyd?"
Oh, he was being cute and when he bent down to reach for the strainer, my eyes locked on the perfect shape of his tight ass and an image of me taking him just like that ran through my mind. Well, that was new. As a natural bottom and lover of all talented cocks, I was more than a little shocked to have had any type of fantasies involving me fucking another man. Not even Larson had evoked those types of desires.
"Stop checking out my ass, Lloyd. Wait until I'm naked, it'll look even better," he smirked as he handed me the simple bowl with convenient holes.
"Ah, yeah. Um, sorry," I stuttered all the while trying to come to grips with my illicit thoughts. Feeling a strong hand resting on my now evident bulge, my head snapped up and our eyes collided in a heated albeit silent conversation.
"Liked what you saw, yeah? Well, I like what I'm feeling, too. Maybe the one should be introduced to the other." Without thinking, my hips pushed into the touch but before anything could go any further, Luke leaned in and sucked my earlobe into his mouth, whispering. "Let's eat. Then, we'll fuck."
Okay, then.
Dinner was easy, with casual conversation about our lives and schedules. Well, I should say about my life and schedule since Luke's handlings were more secure than the NSA's database. "So, what do you do when it comes to your finances? If you don't have a bank account or credit card how do you keep track of your money?" I asked as I took a sip of wine to wash down the piece of bread I had soaked in the remaining traces of sauce.
"I have a few places that I stash it. Secure and untraceable," he answered, leaning back on the high chair and raising his arms up to stretch his muscles. His bulging, tattoo-covered muscles.
"I see," I really didn't. It all just seemed like a hassle and completely impractical but then I wasn't a criminal trying to keep my doings away from prying eyes.
The ringing of my cell phone disrupted our conversation. Excusing myself, I hopped off the chair and made my way to the kitchen counter where my phone was doing the vibrator dance. "Unknown Number" flashed across the screen and I had a feeling I knew who it would be.
"Ledbetter," I answered, waiting for the familiar voice to cut to the chase.
"I have some information but it isn't yet verified." Craig O'Connor was my trusted and incredibly talented Private Investigator. If something could be found, he was the man to dig up the dirt.
"Okay, what did you learn?" From the corner of my eye, I saw Luke lean into the bar, watching me intently. No doubt picking up on the serious expression on my face.
"Well, apparently, there's a bit of a turf war going on between the local police and the FBI regarding the impending warrant against a Mr. Luke Gunner. They are currently weighing each other's balls and trying to decide who's got the bigger ones." O'Connor's biggest fault being his analogies, I let them slide for the simple reason that his skills outranked his snark.
"Okay, so how much time to we have?" I asked as I walked back to my seat, all the while keeping my gaze fixed on Luke.
"Depends. Could be an hour or a couple of days. Missing persons usually fall into the hands of local authorities, but here we're talking about a U.S. Senator, so the Feds want a piece of that investigation. Gunner's prints and DNA are all over the fucking apartment so no matter who's heading the show, your guy's gonna get picked up sooner rather than later, in my opinion."
Shit. It would be impossible to get him any type of bail once he was arrested and if they found the body, assuming the Senator was, in fact, dead, they would hold him on terrorist charges for sure.
"Okay, thanks. Keep me posted?" I said absentmindedly while my eyes narrowed at Luke's arched, questioning brow. "Wait. O'Connor? Do they know where he is?" Luke ran a hand through his hair as a shadow crossed his gorgeous, normally carefree, features.
"No deets on that, sorry. I'll keep my ears to the ground and my eyes open."
"Okay, thanks." I pressed the end call touch button and carefully placed my phone back on the counter as I leveled a glare in my client's direction. "Care to tell me why your fingerprints and DNA is all over Senator Hastings' home?"
Chapter 10
I WAS RAISED by God-fearing people that felt everyone, no matter what their circumstances, deserved equal treatment and opportunities. They were probably the most non-judgmental people I had ever met. And while it is true that I have hidden what I do for a living from them, it’s only because knowing Mom and Pop, they would blame themselves.
Mom would immediately start a rosary…or ten. Pop would sit me down, and with his quiet, calm voice ask me where it was that they had gone wrong with me. The truth was, they had done everything right in making me part of their family. The same way that they had done that for other kids who were tossed away for one reason or another. They had taught me the value of family, the right of everyone to follow their dreams, the importance of education, the appreciation of all of my God-given talents, and a strong work ethic through their own examples.
The last one was the one I had the most difficulty with. It wasn’t because I was lazy, because I had worked my ass of on the farm and with the horses the whole time I was growing up in Northville. Neither Mom nor Pop had ever had an issue with me shirking my responsibilities. So, the real problem was that one of my God-given talents -- that would be my IQ and photographic memory -- was in direct opposition to that strong work ethic.
The way I had it figured was that people needed to utilize their strongest assets once out in the world making their own way. Pop had used his back and his brain. I decided that as big and strong as I had turned out to be, my brain was still my strongest asset. Therefore, I had set out to earn a ton of money without breaking a sweat. It had worked too. But before you judge me, know this: I did it for them as well. Every couple of months I sent an anonymous gift of cash to them.
You heard me correctly. I would box up several thousand dollars of cash, wrap up the box like a Christmas present, enclose the typed card that read: For all you do, here is some mannafrom heaven. I would then send it anonymously by courier so they would never know the identity of their benefactor. And I knew exactly what they would do with the money: find another kid that needed saving, and take him or her in the way that they had done with me.
I had grown up with plenty of siblings, not by blood, but by the grace of Mom and Pop’s charity, love, and huge hearts.
Which is why right now, even though I know that what I do is less than honest, I do have limits. I said it before and I will say it again -- kidnapping and murder are lines that I would never cross.
So, here we sit, the air is thick with accusation, because Lloyd didn’t bat an eye or take a moment before asking me the question that still remains unanswered. The question that was prompted by his PI’s phone call, which interrupted our pleasant dinner. He was still waiting.
“I’ve no idea, Lloyd,” I answer. “But it would please the ever loving fuck out of me if you would presume I’m innocent instead of being the judge and jury here in your spotless kitchen.”
“I need an explanation before I presume anything. I’m not about to aid and abet.”
I quirked my brow at the abet part. At the moment, I wanted nothing more than to push him down so that he was on all fours, and take him from behind right there on his immaculate kitchen floor.
“Here’s my explanation, Lloyd. I have never been in Senator Hastings’ home, nor do I even know where he lives. I do know that my fingerprints are on file in several jurisdictions as you well kn
ow having read through my previous legal cases, and the technology certainly exists to plant fingerprints belonging to another at a crime scene. Episode 12, Season 3 of The Sopranos. So, before you get your dick out, consider that if you will. What type of DNA is purported to be mine?”
I’m pissed and he knows it. He spun around and walked over to the sink, rinsing the dirty dishes. “He didn’t say.”
“Ah, I see. So, your crack PI hasn’t done a damn thing as far as I can tell with any of the names you gave him from my client list, is what you’re telling me? Now I know money hasn’t changed hands here, Lloyd, because I don’t have credit cards or a checking account for obvious reasons, but since tomorrow is Saturday, how about you and I take a road trip? We’ll go on my bike. I have a stash spot about an hour out of the city. I have a hunch that the sooner I get some cash in your hands, the more you’re going to be convinced of my innocence.”
I got up from the bar. “Can I help you clean up?” I asked.
“If you’d clear the table, I’ll do the rest,” he said tersely.
I stacked the dishes into a huge pile and set them on the counter next to where he was standing. They teetered precariously, and I could tell by how quickly Lloyd unstacked them he didn’t appreciate my help.
“You know, Lloyd. Keep it up and I may not be in the mood to...”
"In the mood for what, exactly? You think, what? My act of generosity is a free pass to pummel my ass? The fact I'm trying to give us time to figure out just how fucked up this situation is reason enough for you to assume you'll be fucking before we even get to dessert? Oh, no. Wait...I'm guessing I'm the dessert in this scenario? Well, screw you, Gunner. It'll be a cold day in hell when I put cock ahead of my career. Now clear the rest of the goddamn dishes, in an orderly fashion and let me get my head on straight before you start running your sexy mouth about getting your dick wet."
With every word that came out of his mouth, my hard on grew exponentially. Lloyd was sexually submissive but outside of the sack? He was a fucking fighter and loved every second of it.
