Did the person who coined the term eye-fucking know Allie Hart? Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if they did, because there’s challenge and lust and hunger and all manner of filthy things in that man’s dark brown eyes.
The only thing I’d like more than having him continue to look at me like that is for him to fulfill the promise of that look. Which is what makes me ask in a low voice hopefully his sister can’t hear, “What are you doing in twenty minutes?”
*
After what seems like torturous hours of polite conversation, Allie and I both make our excuses to Kendra and beat a quick retreat. When we get out to the alley, I lean up against the wall, crossing one ankle over the other and putting a hand in my pocket.
“On your knees.”
Allie blinks and his brows gather. “I don’t…”
“You don’t what? Suck dick?”
He shakes his head. “I get blowjobs. I don’t give them.”
So he’s been with men before. Good to know, and it makes me braver still.
“Bullshit.”
That’s when his expression goes from bewildered to pissed, and he seems to get bigger, expanding like a puff adder when threatened. I could drop it, put my hands in the air and back my way down the alley to where my car’s waiting for me, drive home and act as though this never happened. I don’t want to.
“Maybe you’ve never done it before, but you want to.”
“What makes you think that?” He’s practically snarling, and I do a quick calculation. If this goes badly, I can probably make it to the street before he can assault me. Probably. Even if I’m right—perhaps particularly if I’m right and he’s not ready for it yet—this could end badly. I’d rather it ended much more happily and without Matthew losing his damn mind over me winding up in the ER, so I answer.
“I have a knack for these things.” More like a shark sniffing a drop of blood in the water from a mile away, but he doesn’t need to know that.
I watch him war with himself, the desire clashing with internalized homophobia or whatever other issues he might have to overcome. It takes a while for him to respond, but I can be patient. Appearing serene when, in fact, there are as many thoughts racing through my mind as there are through his is a skill I’ve mastered.
His hands curl into fists, and I force myself not to make a break for the street. Patience, Walter. Wait him out. So I stand there, looking impregnable, imperturbable, which might drive him crazy.
His face breaks into a forced, cocky smile. “What else do you have a knack for? I bet you’d look pretty with your face stuffed with cock.”
“It’s true.” If he’s trying to flummox me, it’s not going to work. I give mind-blowing head, and I’m not ashamed of it. “But I’m not going to suck you off.”
My refusal makes his eyes narrow. We might be crossing from irritated to irate, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take. “Why not?”
“Because I like you, Hart. I think what you’d really enjoy is to run your tongue up and down my dick and hollow your cheeks until I blow my load in your mouth.” I shrug in the face of his bugging eyes and tendons straining in his neck. “What can I say? I’m a giver.”
I’m playing with fire. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Except that’s a lie. I totally know. I want Hart on his knees for me so badly I’d do unspeakable things for the privilege. That’s what it would be to have this massive and fetching man grinding the knees of his jeans into the pavement while he takes me in his mouth. I hope he knows I think so.
Before I can open my mouth to try to coax him into it, my back’s meeting the wall with a thud and there are fingers digging into my shoulder in a way most people would find painful. I was so wrong about being able to make a run for it.
I try to keep my breath even in the face of a possible ass-kicking. Poor Matthew will be upset if I have to call him from the ER. He frets about me so. But instead of Hart’s meaty fist meeting my face, there’s a yanking at my belt, and with some fumbling, it comes loose. Fuck, yes.
Then Hart’s bulk is sliding down my body as he digs in my pants and pulls out my cock, stroking the semi I’ve got and turning it oh-so-quickly into a full hard-on. The man’s got amazing hands. Big and work-roughened, but gentle. Before I can say anything, the slick heat of his mouth is surrounding me. Fuck all is that good.
I let my head drop back against the brick as he works me over. The way he moves makes me think he wasn’t lying about never having sucked cock before. Not that it’s bad—most men have a pretty decent idea of what feels good to them and it’s not so hard to try to mimic that—but it’s…inexperienced. I kind of love the sloppiness of it, knowing I’m his first.
He’s tentative at the beginning, experimenting, and I lay a hand on the side of his neck for reassurance. What I’d like to do is grip his head on both sides and fuck his face, but there’s no way he’s ready for that and I don’t know him well enough to say if he’d enjoy it. If I’d find his dick swelled with desire, maybe moisture beading at the tip. It makes me happy he doesn’t flinch away from my touch or bat my fingers away. Perhaps he’s forgotten how angry he was at me.
Having gotten his bearings, he’s now going at me like he’s driving a horse to the finish. It’s not unpleasant per se, but… “This isn’t a race, Hart. Take your time. Enjoy.”
Sure, we’re in an alley and could technically be discovered at any moment and I suppose we shouldn’t make a meal of it, but I find myself wishing Hart’s first time were something more…elegant. Or, at least, not quite so hurried. But maybe he likes the illicitness, the fear of getting caught driving him higher. It frustrates the hell out of me that I don’t know.
His fervent strokes slow as he does what I asked and takes his time. He explores more, running his tongue around the crown and down the shaft of my cock, grazing his teeth ever-so-gently over the delicate skin, and the feeling sends shivers up my spine. Tantalizing and provocative at once, it takes all I have to keep my hips pinned against the wall. I told him to relax and enjoy, and that’s what he’s doing.
After minutes that feel like hours because I’m bracing myself against the crazy amount of pleasure he’s providing between his actual movements, his sweetly graceless enthusiasm, and yes, of course, his obedience, I’m ready to come and his jaw must be getting sore. He’s unpracticed, and blowjobs take a certain group of muscles most people haven’t worked much. Save brass players, god love them.
“I’m close,” I tell him, wondering if he’ll pull away. He doesn’t. So I stroke his neck and warn him one more time because no one ever accused me of not being thorough. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to spill in your mouth.”
He does stop then, and I try to ignore the itch of disappointment. That’s fine. Sucking cock for the first time is kind of a big deal, and I wouldn’t blame him for being gun-shy of a throatful of come. Instead of retreating fully, he wraps a hand around the base of my erection and looks up at me, dark eyes almost black in the low light.
“I want to…taste you.”
The back of my head thunks against the wall as I drop it back and close my eyes. “Please do.”
His mouth is on me again a split-second later, and between that and the tender but firm grip he’s got on the part of me he can’t reach with the hot wetness of his mouth, I’m ready. I tighten my fingers on his neck, and he swallows me deeper.
Some guys are quite proud of their enormous cocks, and sure, if that’s all you’ve got going for you, that’s fine. But I prefer to provide pleasure other ways. I’m perfectly average in this department, and in some ways, that makes my life easier. No one ever pales when they see my dick. And Allie’s doing a damn fine job surrounding me. So damn fine I can’t hold out a second longer, and frankly I don’t want to.
Though he’s said he wants to taste me, I still have manners and I also don’t want him to bite down in surprise when my release floods his mouth. “I’m coming, Hart.”
I do, my orgasm gripping me in its throes and making me weak in the
knees, my breath come in pants. His sucking gentles but doesn’t stop, like he wants to draw every last bit of my climax out of me and into him. As though it’s a gift he wants to savor.
When he’s gleaned every last drop, I stroke his cheek with my thumb. He pulls away, sitting back on his heels. I can see the thick line of his own hardness through his jeans. So he did enjoy himself. Not that I didn’t gather that from his keenness, but it’s nice to have confirmation.
“Nicely done, Hart. I haven’t come like that in weeks.”
Which is true. Matthew is certainly adroit at giving head and he knows which of my buttons to press, but there’s something about a new partner and an artless one at that. His answering smile is bright and delighted, like sucking me off was exhilarating. God, I hope so.
I tuck my softening cock back inside my pants and zip up, enjoying the fact Hart hasn’t seen fit to get off his knees.
Withdrawing my wallet—and giving him a warning glance when he looks to protest—I pull out a card. All it has are my initials and my phone number. “I’d love to find out if that was beginner’s luck. Call me and we’ll do it again.”
He takes the card and stares at it before realizing his knees are still grinding into the dirty pavement and comes fluidly to his feet, his hard-on glaringly obvious against his zipper even in the darkness. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
It’s not that I don’t want to return the favor. I do. I’d love to take him in my mouth or my hand, feel and watch him come under my ministrations because I suspect he wouldn’t know what hit him, but if this is to be more than a one-off, I’d like to know he’ll be up for the games I like to play. Delayed gratification is one of them.
I raise an eyebrow at his darkening expression. “I guarantee if you call me and we set up something more…proper, I will make the wait well worth your while. I’d very much like to, in fact.”
That’s enough. I’d like to beg him to call me, but I won’t. Also, I’m guessing he will. So I cross my mental fingers I’ll hear his voice on the other end of my cell. Soon.
Chapter Five
‡
A week is not what I’d call soon. Even in my incontestable patience, a week is too damn long. I could’ve sworn Allie would call, and I’ve been irritated he hasn’t. More irritated with myself for leaving him in that alleyway when I could’ve given us both satisfaction and maybe have him tethered in my playroom right now. Instead, I’m bidding Matthew a good night as he steals out of my bedroom and shuts off the light.
Darling boy hasn’t even mentioned how irritable I’ve been this week. He’s doubtless noticed, though I don’t know anyone else would. Maybe India. If she were paying attention. Speaking of, I should call her. I check the time on my clock. If she’s in Kona, it’s not too late to call, and if she’s in San Diego, she won’t mind. She’s set her cell to silence everything but phone calls from me and Cris after she’s gone to bed, so if I text first, it won’t wake her.
When I pick up the phone, though, it rings. Nothing more than a coincidence, but it’s still unnerving. Not a familiar number, either. Not that I’ve got people’s names programmed into my cell because if it got lost or stolen… The idea makes me distinctly uncomfortable. It would be a career-ender. Or, at least, incredibly awkward.
I do, however, enter initials or nicknames, enough to let me identify the caller. This… There’s no identifier at all, just a number. It’s tempting to toss it to the side and go to sleep. Matthew gave me a lovely massage, and my muscles are all relaxed, my breathing toned down for sleep. But my father’s voice echoes in my head: They need you. Helping people is the best and most important thing you can do.
So I answer the damn phone.
“This is Rey.”
There’s pounding music and the loudness of a crowd on the other end. A club, maybe a bar, or a rave. I sit up, because chances are better than even that whatever this is is going to require me getting dressed and jumping in my car. Possibly on a plane. So much for all of Matthew’s hard work.
There’s no answer. It wouldn’t be the first time one of my clients butt-dialed me. If it were one of mine, though…
I try again. “Hello?”
Nothing but some breathing barely audible over the loud background noise.
“I’m hanging up now,” I say, employing a practiced, bored tone in case someone’s toying with me. That isn’t something I tolerate.
“No, don’t.”
The voice pings something at the back of my brain, a recent memory, and a craving seizes my chest. I want to make sure before I get my hopes up.
“S’Allie.”
A pretty drunk Allie if the slur in his voice is any indication.
“Are you okay?”
“Why’sat the first thing you ask? You didn’t seem to care if I was okay lasstime I saw you.”
“I was testing you.” I’m up and out of my bed now because if I can get his location out of him, I’m going to go get him. I don’t doubt he can more than take care of himself when he’s sober, but he’s wasted.
“Testing? Well that’s…rude.”
I hold back my laughter because drunks do not like being laughed at, but his righteous indignation over being left horny in an alley is entertaining.
“Maybe so. Though I did make you a deal and you haven’t seen fit to cash it in. Would you like to now?” I wouldn’t touch him when he’s blitzed, but he doesn’t need to know that. I head to the closet and pull out a form-fitting black T-shirt and jeans, something that won’t get me looked at twice in a club.
“What makes you think I’m not getting sucked off right now?”
Oh, drunk Allie, you’re a treasure. “Because you’ve got better manners than me, and there’s no way you’d be on the phone while someone was blowing you.”
There’s a pause, and I can only tell by the background noise he hasn’t hung up on me in disgust.
“True,” he mutters, sounding at once muddled and dismayed.
“So how about you sit tight and I’ll come pay you back. With interest. Tell me where you are.”
I hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I pull on socks and black boots. It’s difficult to do and I almost drop the damn thing more than once.
There’s the heave of a sigh into the phone, and I hold my breath, waiting for what comes next. He’s either going to hang up on me or tell me where he is. I hope it’s the latter because otherwise I’m going to spend the night agonizing over where he is, who he’s with, what he’s doing. If he’s dead set on getting off, I don’t have any doubts he’ll be able to find a more-than-willing partner, but drunk sex is frequently unsafe sex and… “Come on, Hart. Where are you?”
He laughs. “Oh, all eager for my dick now, huh?”
“Yes.” I roll my eyes as I run a hand through my hair and try to make it look artfully mussed. Lucky for me, it cooperates and I don’t have to take the time to stop in my bathroom for gel. Although, at the rate we’re going, I could stop by Phillipe’s and get a trim. I should have Matthew schedule that. “I’m absolutely desperate for you. Now tell me where you are so I can suck your brains out through your cock.”
Perhaps my rather vivid image has shocked him or maybe he’s passed out because he’s silent and I have to swallow the agitated words rising in my throat. Dammit, Allie, tell me where the fuck you are so I can get down there and drag you out by your ear.
“Tanza.”
I know that club. Relatively new, but I’ve been there with Matthew a few times because I know one of the silent partners, who owns half the clubs in the city. It’s clean and, on the scale of things, safe. Travis and his buddies run a tight ship. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Try not to get into any trouble in the meantime, yes?”
All I get is laughter and the click of his phone as he hangs up on me. I curse under my breath and then thumb through my contacts to make a call.
“Hey, Travis, sorry to call so late.”
“No problem, Rey. You k
now I’m up anyway.” Yes, at one of his clubs or another, probably in a back room with women draped all over him, getting champagne poured down his throat. Unless he’s planning to play, in which case he’ll be stone-cold sober. A good thing too, because the Dommes he likes to play with don’t take any shit, including irresponsible behavior from their subs. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got a friend who’s at Tanza. He’s pretty blitzed. I’m on my way to collect him, but in the meantime, could your bouncers keep an eye out for him? Either keep him out of trouble or don’t rough him up too much if he gets into some.”
“Anything for you. And lucky you, I’m there now. What’s his name?”
“Hart. Allie Hart.”
*
When I get to the club twenty minutes later, the front of the line groans as I cut right through the velvet rope, dropping a nod at the bouncer on my way. He nods and speaks into his wrist, probably telling Travis I’m here. I’m assuming things haven’t gone entirely to shit, because Travis would’ve called me if they had.
Not bothering to be polite to the dressed-to-the-nines guests surrounding me, I push my way into the main room and see Travis trotting down the steps of the industrial staircase that anchors the left side of building. He’s looking sharp in a suit, and if circumstances were different, I’d be happy to see him. As they are, I’m ecstatic.
He offers a hand, which I take in a firm grip, but I can’t pretend to be interested in pleasantries.
“Everything okay?”
“That your nickname for your new boy?”
I keep the scowl off my face, but barely. “He’s not my boy. Just a guy I met who I don’t want to see get into any trouble. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh.” Travis grins his disbelief, and it makes me want to knock his teeth out of his head. I don’t appreciate being teased.
“Maybe you should keep your theories to yourself, or I’ll have a word with Mistress Luna.”
Travis chokes, though his collar’s open wide enough to show more than a little of his waxed chest.
The Cartographer (The Compass series Book 6) Page 4
