by Solace Ames
He drank in the sight of her pleasure for a few moments before turning off the switch, withdrawing, and gently stroking the wetness on the inside of her left thigh.
Adriana sighed. “Mmm. Good morning. Very good morning.” She turned her head lazily to look him in the eye. “Oh! You—you’re...”
Jay grinned. “Now witness the power of this fully armed and operational battle station,” he growled.
He’d practiced that.
She grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him on top of her, his don’t move forgotten. Jay didn’t mind. He kicked off his pajamas and thrust into her, that moment of locking into her heat sparking another familiar ecstasy and setting him on fire from the inside. Her hips arched. Her pussy clenched around his cock, tight and sweet and fucking perfect, and yes there was a dull ache at the base of his spine, but he refused to even acknowledge that fucker as pain. “Feels so good,” he gasped, because it did, and mindless sex talk felt right just then, felt like it protected both of them.
She wrapped her legs around his waist. A chant of “Oh God, yes, oh God oh God...” trailed off into little moans with every one of his short, sharp strokes. He loved seeing her like this, so hungry and wanting and ready and, best of all, surprised. This wasn’t the first time since the accident, but the sex was never this raw and sudden, the way she loved it.
Your love, Adriana...
Throughout it all, she’d been there for him.
He cupped her sweet, soft breasts, tongued her bared throat. Anything for you.
Almost anything. Her hands still twisted by her sides. If he gripped her wrists and held her down...
She wanted that. Such a small thing, and he couldn’t do it, couldn’t take that step. Because she only wanted it if he wanted it. And he didn’t, not really.
It was an old frustration, not bitter enough to ruin the glorious morning. He imagined her fully satisfied. Another man holding her down—
—fuck. Not yet. No no no. He pumped wildly into her as his release took away all control. Left him moaning and shivering, too far gone into pleasure for regret.
“Baby, did you come in me?” Adriana whispered.
“Yeah. Yeah.”
“Good.” She kissed his ear and petted the back of his neck. Somewhere in his daze, he remembered—wasn’t he supposed to tell her something? Right.
“We won the settlement.”
She screamed and kicked her legs in the air. They fell half off the edge of the mattress together, falling apart, sliding messily down the sheets and wrestling with each other all the way to the floor, laughing and laughing and laughing.
“We’re going to have some money left over,” he told her once he’d caught his breath. “And I’ve got a really crazy idea for part of it.”
“Europe?”
“If you can swing it with work, we can finally have a real honeymoon. Go to Paris and then rent one of those canal boats and float up and down the country eating ridiculously decadent food. We could do it for under four thousand dollars in the off-season.”
She hugged him tighter. “I love it. It just might be a long time before I can get the days off. It’s not like it doesn’t make sense, though, so I don’t know why you called—”
“Oh no, no, no. The rentboy. That’s the crazy idea.”
“What?”
* * *
Paul checked his email on his tablet, aware that most of the other people in the coffee shop were also gazing into glass screens of various sizes—windows to another, brighter world. He was also aware that someone was probably watching him. Working up courage, maybe. He hoped he looked approachable enough, but if the contact fell through, well, it wouldn’t be the first time. There were a lot of dilettantes and flakes in this business.
By the door. Eye contact. So you’re Jay. Interesting.
Jay looked shockingly young at first, but with skin the color of the Sonoran Desert and those south-of-the-Rio Grande genes, he’d probably look eighteen until he hit forty. Slim, medium height, hair cut short and sleek and inky black. His eyes, uncommonly large, telegraphed nervousness but not out-and-out fear.
Paul’s moment of surprise lasted only a heartbeat. He read people well and he read them quickly. One side of his mind ranked Jay, slotting him right at the top of the highly fuckable Latino twink category. The other side put the man in context and searched for points of empathy. The process was like wearing 3-D glasses: meat market versus soul connection. When Paul could no longer reconcile or control the two different ways of seeing, he’d know it was time to give up the business, but for now, it worked.
Jay saw him. Blinked rapidly in recognition. Paul smiled, showing a little teeth, keeping it confident but not predatory. Jay smiled back, less nervous, and moved haltingly toward his table.
He’s glad I look as good as the pictures.
Paul wasn’t especially proud of that; he looked at himself in the mirror too honestly, with the same 3-D vision he’d just used on Jay. After all, Paul wasn’t even at the top of his own category. College boy was overcrowded, and pushing thirty, he was already edging out of it. He could have doubled his gym sessions for a move into muscle studs, but college—real college—ate up too much of his time, and anyway, doing the BDSM specialty stuff kept his prices nice and high. It took more mental work. He liked that.
Paul moved his laptop case off the chair he’d reserved for Jay. Jay sat down precisely and put his hands on the table, one on top of the other. Formal. “Hi, Paul. Nice to meet you.” He was still blinking very rapidly.
“I’m glad you made it, Jay.” A small shoulder twitch exactly at the sound of the name. So he was using his real one. “Do you want a coffee?” Paul leaned forward close enough to touch Jay’s arm, testing his personal space without fully invading it. Jay’s reactions were subtle and mixed. And also kind of exciting.
“No thanks. I, um—do you want the deposit now?” Jay broke eye contact at that and took a shaky breath.
“You can send it anytime today. We can set things up right now. And by the way, you’re doing great for a first-time client. It’s always awkward, the first time.”
“Thanks.” Jay’s smile was relieved and grateful.
“Especially when there’s another person involved.”
“Yeah. Oh God. Definitely.” Jay took another deep breath. “So you said you’d done this kind of thing before.”
“Right. Do you want me to go into detail?”
Jay’s smile instantly fractured.
Paul lowered his voice to his most reassuring register. “That’s not a trick question. I can talk about what I do with my other clients. I’m happy to. I won’t say their names or jobs or anything like that, of course.”
“Oh. Okay.” The smile came back. Paul noticed how bright it was, each time it came back. “Yes, could you talk about the other couples? I think that would help. Thanks.”
“Most of my business is single men, but I’ve got two regular straight-couple clients. One of them I do a cuckold scene with.” He didn’t mind reading or writing that word, but he hated pronouncing it, so oddly antiquated. “I tie the husband up and fuck his wife.”
“Wow. Okay.” Jay swallowed. Paul imagined he was currently regretting his decision not to have a drink, like maybe an ice water. Or a shot of vodka, never mind it was eleven in the morning. And from a rustle faintly audible above the coffee shop’s background hiss and hum, Paul could tell that Jay had just crossed his legs.
“The other couple, it’s more of a flexible, improvised thing. Different each time. We have a lot of interaction. They’ll book me for the whole night. And by the way, it’s a good idea for you to start off with two hours. If things go well, and I’m pretty sure they will—” more teeth with that smile, moving his hand right next to Jay’s, “—we can set up something longer, later.”
/> “Makes sense. Very practical.”
“I like couples.” Paul dialed down the serious business body language and leaned back in his chair. “I probably lose some gay business advertising myself that way, but I don’t mind.”
“Why?”
He’d hooked Jay. He liked this curious stage, the feeling of discovery. Finding common ground. “Some guys don’t like any mention of women. They want a gold star gay cock in them and nothing else.” He shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t judge, and they’re not a huge part of my client base, anyway.”
“I’m bi.” That was Jay’s first real statement. He was definitely relaxing, fingers not so tightly curled anymore. “I mean, I guess that would be obvious. But most people think I’m a closeted gay guy. They think my marriage is—fuck it, I don’t want to waste your time—”
“Fifteen minutes is a while to talk,” Paul reminded him gently. “And this stuff is important.”
Jay sighed. “Well, it’s not like I’m in a perpetual state of resentment about it. It just pisses me off. I don’t let Adriana see how much sometimes. Although I don’t hide it from her. We talk about everything.” He met Paul’s eyes; something in him had gone to steel. “But this isn’t about me. It’s about her. I’m doing this for her.”
“Damn straight.” Paul gave him a hearty straight-guy whack on the shoulder. They laughed at the same time, making a simple connection over a complex joke.
“So, yes,” Jay said, and cleared his throat. “Two hours. Centered on what she wants.”
“And if what she wants includes, for example, you sucking me off?”
No hesitation. “That wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Oh, good.”
Jay didn’t break eye contact there, but his gaze went soft and unfocused. The same way he might look on his knees, maybe, his pretty, angular face tilted upward just so... Paul reminded himself that the main point of this meeting wasn’t to scramble Jay’s mind and get himself off. Later. “Let’s talk about what she wants, then. Broad strokes. You mentioned domination. I emailed you a list.”
“I’ve got it.” Jay reached for his phone. No fumbling. His confidence was obviously increasing. “Yes. I got it yesterday. And here’s a picture of Adriana.” He offered the phone shyly. This was a slightly dangerous moment; he’d be looking closely at Paul’s reaction.
Adriana had fantastic glossy chestnut hair, but otherwise, she wasn’t a looker on Jay’s level. Beautiful with better makeup, but otherwise, she’d melt into a crowd. She was either a light-skinned Latina or Mediterranean. When he turned off the colder part of his vision, he noticed an appealing energy, a restlessness that must make it hard to get good pictures of her.
“She looks great,” Paul said. “I love her hair. Does she like to have it pulled?”
“Oh, God.” Both shoulders twitched. “That’s, umm, that’s a—a perfectly legitimate question. Fuck. I don’t know.” Jay’s face showed the struggle to fight back some emotion that could have been fear, or maybe sadness. He won before Paul could tell.
“I understand why she’s not here with you. But I’ll need at least a voicemail message from her. And you’re going to go over the list together, right? The only surprises should be the good kind.”
Jay nodded. “Of course. When do you need it back?”
Paul allowed himself a moment of quiet pride that he’d won this man’s trust. “Anytime before next Sunday. Unless there’s any heavy gear necessary, which I don’t recommend for the first time anyway.”
“No. I get it.” Jay’s fingers smoothed over the glass of the phone, over the smiling face of his wife.
Paul put his palm on top of Jay’s hand. The skin on the inside of Jay’s fingers was soft and warm, and Paul thought for a second that he could feel his heartbeat. But no, that must be his own.
The touch seemed to calm Jay.
“You made a good decision,” Paul said. “I’m biased, of course, but still. There’s no downside.” His stomach twisted, and he instantly regretted using that phrase. He’d learned it in the same place he’d learned how to read people so well. No downside was stiff, contrived, and he wished he could erase it from his vocabulary. Change it. Now. “Have you ever had a threesome before?”
“Not with Adriana.” Jay kept his right hand lying calmly under Paul’s hand, and rubbed at his eyebrow with his left hand, smiling crookedly. He must have missed Paul’s distracted moment. “We almost did. Last year. We met this guy at a party and went out with him later, and we were all totally on board with it. Everything was going great. Then he started pounding Cosmopolitans like a jackhammer and by midnight he was throwing up onto a palm tree outside the bar, and someone thought he was throwing up blood and called 911, and we just ran away and went home. Talk about awkward.”
Paul visualized Jay sadly shaking his head next to a vomit-splashed palm tree and couldn’t help laughing. “Well, you tried.”
“And that reminds me—in a really gross way, sorry—kissing. Umm...”
“It’s up to you. I love kissing. I’d show you now if the lights were lower.” That slightly darker color under his cheekbones—Jay had to be blushing. Wonderful. Too bad Paul had to bring it back to business. “I’ve got limits, but I don’t think they’ll come into play for you. They’re mainly about safety. No breathplay, no blood, condoms all around. Optional for oral, though.”
“That sounds good. You’re making me feel good about this too. It’s all professional and sane in a fundamentally insane context, you know? I—” Just as he was gathering his breath, his phone vibrated. Their hands fell apart. Jay grabbed it, stared into the glass, shook his head. “Do we have time left?”
“Five minutes.” Time enough to blow me in the bathroom on a free test drive. Paul bit his lip to keep from smiling. He was terrible, sometimes. “I think we’re on the same page now, though. We can follow up on email or phone.”
“Right. Well, I’m going now, then. I’ll send the deposit and go over the list with Adriana and—and—this was great. I like you.” Jay hurriedly stood up, skimmed his way between tables to the exit, turned for a graceful wave, one hand on the door, and then fled into the morning.
“I love my job,” Paul said to the empty space across the table. It wasn’t true all the time, but today it sure as hell was.
Chapter Two
Adriana wondered why she wasn’t more scared.
Maybe I’m just as crazy as Jay.
The thought was comforting.
But when she stepped out of her car to unlock the Sapore back door, she remembered to be scared at least a little, if only in a common sense kind of way. At two-thirty in the morning, the alley behind Sapore was dark and empty, and she was very much alone and not happy about that fact. She’d been volunteered for a mission to the fish market, no chance to complain or ask for backup. Her reputation couldn’t afford those kind of special considerations.
She hauled three coolers of iced flounders from her car trunk into the walk-in. The kitchen was usually a space of heat and light and never-ending noise, so the profound silence creeped her out.
Once she’d finished, she went outside and turned her back to the alley to lock the doors. The back of her head itched with anxiety and her fingers trembled with the keys. I should get a Taser if I’m going to do this again, alone.
Everything was fine. She drove ten blocks to the sports bar where the Sapore night crew typically unwound.
At this time of night, Leatherback was crawling with cooks and waiters and strippers fresh off their shifts, eager for alcohol and any other chemical to help ease the adrenaline crash into a smoother glide. Adriana wove past the bar, elbowing through knots of people dressed in everything from street clothes to polyester uniforms to DayGlo bikinis.
The Sapore crew took up one big table. Wallace, the executive chef, and Lorenzo,
another sous chef, made space for her between them. Someone poured her a beer in a plastic cup, and she drank a healthy swallow just to get the smell of the fish market out of her sinuses.
“How’d it go?” Wallace asked. He had a stubbly gray beard and a Brooklyn accent. He’d hired Adriana.
“I got a great deal on flounders.” She handed him the receipt. “Whole flounders.”
“Thanks, babe. Lorenzo really screwed the pooch with that carp shit,” he grumbled.
Lorenzo made a disgusted face. He’d bought fifty pounds of so-called Chilean sea bass fillets that on closer inspection had to have been sliced off something born and raised on the bottom of a muddy river in Vietnam. Adriana’s late-night run had saved the fish special tomorrow.
“About that carp,” she said. “We could put it in a bouillabaisse.”
“Don’t know if that’ll sell,” Wallace said, but he looked like he was thinking about it.
They talked fish for a while, Lorenzo very apologetic and also wishing hyperbolic violence on the fishermen who’d scammed him.
When Adriana’s phone beeped with a text, she knew it had to be Jay, and hunched over her phone a little bit.
Teacher/student?
She texted back a quick No.
“Time to go the fuck home,” Wallace said. “See yas.” He drained his beer and lumbered away. “Someone tell Steve about the flounder,” he called out over his shoulder before the crowd swallowed him up.
“That’s you,” Adriana told Lorenzo. “I’m out, too.”
“I can’t. He’s hiding in the women’s bathroom.”
“Christ.” This was injustice on a massive, cosmic scale. She was about to tell Lorenzo to man up when another text distracted her.
Whore?
She gave Jay a Yes and a <3 on that one.
“By the way,” Lorenzo said, “I was thinking I could trade my Sunday shift with you. I’ve got a thing.”
