by Tatum West
“Your optimism is sexy as fuck and shall be appropriately rewarded,” he says, kissing me again, biting my lip before releasing me. “I have a question for you, and there’s no wrong answer.”
Here we go. At least he’s asking first, before he dives in, balling me with vigorous abandon.
“Okay,” I whisper, biting my lip with feigned apprehension.
Fox blinks, his nose just inches from mine. His crystal blue eyes penetrating, as if he’s trying to see into my soul.
“Do you top? Ever? Would you?”
What!?
No one has ever asked me to top before. I’m plenty versatile; I’ll do whatever it takes to please my partner in the heat of the moment, but nobody’s ever led with that question even before our clothes came off.
“Yes,” I answer firmly, confidently.
Everyone assumes I’m an exclusive bottom because I’m… pretty… effeminate… androgynous. Queens can go balls deep as well as any butch guy. Sometimes we’re a lot better at it, in my opinion. But no one has ever asked my opinion. Not until just now.
Fox relaxes, breathing out a deep sigh, his body sinking into the bed covers.
“Outstanding,” he whispers, smiling as he kisses me. “Let’s get naked.”
“Let’s,” I agree, using my position on top to begin the process. I unbutton his shirt, opening it wide, exposing a ribbed cotton t-shirt that needs to go, along with everything else. Fox didn’t fully undress last night until I was falling asleep. I’m taking this opportunity to familiarize myself with his geography.
He must spend hours every week in the gym. I run my fingers over the exquisite structure of his body, my fingers trailing over the fabric of his slacks, each inch of him toned and perfected. His legs are strong and his thighs thick, his shoulders broad and intimidating. His cool eyes regard me as I take my time with every inch of him. He moans softly as my tongue reaches one nipple and then the other. I can see the magnificence of his bulge, waiting for me, wanting me.
My lips caress every round turn of muscle. My tongue worships every angle of bone. His skin is fragrant, soft, but firm. It tastes salty and sexy, and I want it against mine.
Next, I unbuckle his belt; Fox simply watches, hiking up on his elbows to better observe my deliberate attentions. He’s hard beneath worsted wool trousers. I open the button and slowly, dramatically unzip his fly, laying back the front of his pants
I slide a hand in, finding Fox’s thick, firm length underneath white Calvins. I stroke fingers over the fabric, making him moan and clench his jaw. A bead of precum is visible at his tip, and the sounds issuing from his throat are a mix of frustration and desire.
Satisfied that he’s hard beyond comfort, I slide my hand out, gripping the waistband of his trousers, pulling down. He lifts his hips to help. I draw them down to his ankles, pulling them off, then lay them aside. His hard-on stands up, trying to rip through his boxer shorts. They need to go.
I peel the stretchy fabric down, freeing him. His cock bobs up, standing at attention, begging for more than just exposure. The object of my attention is long, thick, and framed by a perfectly groomed thatch of dark hair, trimmed short.
I’m pleased he takes care of himself, and I’m beyond thrilled that he manscapes. If he didn’t, I’d offer to do it for him. I like his grooming; it shows off the pure beauty of his body.
“I can’t resist,” I say, dipping down over that porn-picture-perfect instrument of seduction. Using only my tongue, I lick him from base to glistening tip. I drink in his musky heat, the air around us thick with desire. My mouth reaches the crest of his cock, and I pull it between my lips for just a moment.
“Oh, fuck…” Fox breathes, falling to his back, his chest trembling with caught, staccato breaths.
I tease him, using my tongue and the delicate edge of my teeth to draw him forward. I gently grasp his tight sack, massaging the skin, rolling his balls slightly from side to side before abruptly ceasing my ministrations and pulling away.
Fox’s eyes open. He looks up at me with expectation.
“Turn over,” I instruct sharply. “I want your ass. Now.”
He obediently does just as he’s told, rolling over between my straddling legs. I unzip, kicking my jeans and shorts off, then slide the full length of my cock along the seam of his ridiculously perfect ass as I lean over his broad back. We spend moments like this, our bodies pressed together as Fox spreads lube over his ass, then along the length of my hardened cock.
“Is that what you want?” I ask, breathing into his ear. My hand cups his ass, and I gently press my thumb against his lubed hole.
Fox nods silently, his head resting on folded forearms, perfectly relaxed, ready for whatever I want to do to him. He moans softly as my finger explores him, drawing him open, bit by bit. His back arches with the ecstasy of it.
I’ve finally figured out something about Fox Lee. In his world, he’s the ultimate ‘Top’. He knows everybody. He’s in charge of everything, running his world like an orchestra conductor. He’s never resigned a client. He’s never conceded a battle. He always wins.
Except, he gave control of my legal issues to his junior partner. Except, he welcomed my mother into his tightly controlled world and has given her every resource she needs without insinuating himself into her process. Except, he’s asked me to come away with him, sharing his ‘private place’; the island retreat where he goes to escape.
He needs this. He needs to give himself over, relinquishing control. It’s not that he wants to be ‘dominated’ so much as he doesn’t want to drive all the time. The level of trust it must take for him to allow me here is phenomenal. Maybe he’s not even completely aware of all this.
His ass is tight and round, with little indentations at the very base of his spine. I kiss him there, scrubbing the bare stubble at my chin along this sensitive skin. The backs of his thighs are thick with muscle, shrouded in a thin layer of downy dark hair. I trace my fingers over the hair, tickling his thighs with delicate attention.
Fox moans lightly into the sheets, his fingers and toes curling.
Grabbing the bottle of lube from the nightstand, I pump out a generous glob onto my palm and warm it, spreading it around my hand and fingers. I part his legs and cheeks, exposing his hole, smearing a slick layer around with my thumb and fingers, pressing in gently to spread the lubrication into his tunnel.
Using one finger, then two, I slide inside him, gently stretching the muscles, massaging them so they’ll relax.
“Feels so fucking good,” Fox mumbles, his voice hot, tight, breathy.
With my free hand, I retrieve a condom from the box at the night stand, peeling the foil wrapper open with my teeth. I roll it on, stroking myself to full hardness.
I place a hand on Fox’s shoulder, gripping hard, while bringing myself into position. With my free hand I grasp his hip, lifting it up to meet me.
“Oh god…” he moans, and I haven’t even done anything yet.
I press in, finding the spot, pressing my tip past his tight ring of muscle. I hold myself there for a long moment, feeling him, knowing him fully. It’s exquisite pleasure, my length wrapped tight in a perfect vise. He feels so fucking good, surrounding me with his heat.
Fox mewls like a kitten, his hands opening wide, then gripping the sheets in tight fists when I jerk his ass higher, closer.
With two forceful thrusts, fingers digging into his shoulder, I’m in and there’s no better thing in the world than the tight, deep heat of Fox Lee’s ass sucking against my cock, pulling me in deeper. I lose my breath, shoving in then drawing back, my left hand holding his ass up, welded to me, my right bruising his shoulder, gripping him harder than I should.
“Oh, fuck you feel fucking good,” I cry, driving into him with the steady rhythm of a determined tide. His ass is as tight as a tick in a dog’s ear, and I’m ready to bust it open. I fuck him hard, bottoming out, then shove even deeper as he cries out, his ass backing into each of my thrusts, welcoming the
invasion.
I want it to last, but I don’t get to do this often, and lasting is a skill I haven’t bothered to practice because I had never seen the point before. Nobody was worth the effort.
My balls seize, drawing up hard and tight between my legs.
“Fuck!” I cry, gripping Fox with both hands dug hard into his shoulders, riding his ass with everything I have. His balls bounce, slapping against the tops of my thighs. His hand reaches down, gripping his length, stroking slowly, evenly.
Fox’s back arches, rounding beneath me, leaving only his forehead and knees touching the bed. He’s coming.
“Fuck,” I heave as his muscles seize around me. I explode, a load of cum pouring into the condom stretched around my cock. For a few moments I lose myself in the feeling, waves of ecstatic bliss washing from my dick out through the tips of my fingers and toes, punctuating the nerve endings at every hair follicle on my body. My ears ring. My heart beats fast. My eyelids flutter, trembling.
“Fuck…”
A few minutes later we’re just an overheated tumble of sweaty arms and legs lying in a puddle of cum. I’m slumped over Fox’s broad, muscled back, the moisture between us creating a slick, sucking vacuum that pops like a fart as I lift and pull out, trying to keep the condom on and intact so I can dispose of it without making a bigger mess of things.
I tie it in a tight knot, dropping it in the wastebasket a few feet from my bed. Fox rolls on his back, stretching out, his eyes glazed; a big, silly grin lights up his face. His impressive cock is slumped to the side against his upper thigh, considerably less engorged than it was a little while ago.
I guess that went well.
I drop in beside him, my head still a muddle. For a few minutes, I just stare at him, trying to focus. While I watch Fox, my mind goes to places it’s never ventured before.
He liked that. He liked me on top. He came so easily. There’s nothing awkward or artificial between us. It was so… easy; like we’ve known one another a thousand years.
Fox heaves in a lungful of air, turning toward me with liquid eyes and a slightly creased forehead.
“That was… you’re… it was… we’re…”
I lift my hand, pressing fingers to his lips to shush him. “I know,” I say. “I feel exactly the same.”
Fox and I drift to sleep not long after. When next I open my eyes, sunlight streams into my bedroom through the blinds. I hear the shower in my bathroom running, and I smell the unmistakable scent of fresh coffee brewing.
James always puts on a fresh pot for me when he comes on his shift in the morning.
Today’s Thursday. I have exactly one day to get over myself and go buy some deck shoes and outer gear so I can be comfortably presentable when we arrive at this magical, mystery place called Ocracoke Island.
Fox emerges from my shower wearing only a towel draped around his spectacularly narrow hips. The ‘V’ of muscle and trailing hair dipping deep behind the recesses of terry cloth fabric, tempts me beyond description.
“Don’t even think about it,” he growls, dropping to a plank over me, kissing me hard. “I have to go to work to finalize some things before we fly out.”
“I’m not thinking,” I say, defending myself. “I need to go shopping anyway. Sperry Topsiders are calling my name. Perfect for a trip to the Carolinas.”
Fox winks at me, pulling on his clothes, while regarding me carefully. I’m still in bed, still naked, the sheets pulled up past my hips.
“I’ll call you this afternoon,” he says, slipping on his wingtips. “Don’t stress about shopping. The place we’re going to doesn’t have many fashionistas. It’s a judgment-free zone.”
How terrible for them.
Fox drops down over me again, pressing his lips to mine. “Get some coffee and get something to eat,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine. “I’ll check in with James and let the detail know about the trip and travel arrangements so they can plan. I’ll see you tonight.”
“They’re going with us?” I ask, surprised.
Fox smiles. “Of course,” he says. “They go with you everywhere.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FOX
I was born and raised in Beverly Hills. I went to Beverly Hills High, sharing textbooks and locker rooms with the pampered children of celebrities and high-powered studio executives, along with a healthy assortment of realtors, fancy restaurateurs, lawyers, plastic surgeons, and financial advisors who catered to them. I grew up in a modest home—by Beverly Hills standards—on the south east side of town, where a lot of people still mowed their own lawns. Our house didn’t have a pool or a guest wing. It had three bedrooms, a bath and half, and no view. My father was an attorney at a small firm that handled talent contracts for the studios. My mother was an accountant at the Beverly Wilshire.
My parents came home from work every day sharing stories around the dinner table about the celebrities they ran into or interacted with. At school I knew kids who lived in multi-million-dollar mansions; kids who, at sixteen years-old, drove Porsches and Maseratis. I knew kids whose parents were the scandal du jour in the tabloids and the LA Times. I paid attention. The one thing that became clear to me is that, no matter what, lawyers were at the center of every deal, and no matter what was being negotiated—from an employment contract to a divorce proceeding—the lawyers always got paid, even if their clients lost everything. I learned early that law was the safest place to be in California, especially when dealing with the very rich and the very famous.
The other thing I noticed is the best lawyers often lived in more expensive homes than some of their famous clients; but, unlike their clients, they could go to the dog park or grocery store without getting harassed by tourists or the paparazzi.
I was strongly attracted to that combination of benefits. Growing up in the midst of all this, I made important contacts and formed lasting relationships early. After I finished law school, establishing myself in Beverly Hills was a piece of cake. My career has been, for the most part, satisfying and financially rewarding. Aside from the long hours this profession demands, the job has very few drawbacks.
From time to time, I’ve had security issues, but they’ve been few and far between. I don’t worry about my photograph showing up on the front pages of the National Enquirer or TMZ. No one but my clients care who I am.
That may change now. Dating one of the best-selling, most prominent pop stars of the decade is going to put me on the radar. That’s not something I’m looking forward to. Having sex within earshot of a house full of security people isn’t conducive to complete intimacy. And yet, I find myself willing to make accommodations to get closer to Nikki.
I’ve never been willing to make accommodations for anyone. I’ve been an island, closed off in my own world. I’ve made my appearances at parties and events, had one-night flings and week-long sex binges with some of the hottest men in the state, but I’ve never arranged my life around anyone else, never worked to fit anyone in.
That changed when I started falling for Nikki. And somehow, I’m not disturbed in the least.
I tap away at my laptop, looking through bookings and arrangements for me, Nikki, and the security team.
Originally, I planned to fly commercial to North Carolina, just as I always have. That’s not a possibility now that Nikki and his detail—not to mention his luggage—are coming with me. My place at Ocracoke is small by beach house standards. There’s no way in hell we’re all going to fit in it. I need to rent a place for the security team to make their headquarters. I also need to rent a second car for the detail. These are the last-minute details to be settled today.
On my way out of Nikki’s this morning, I tell James about the trip and tell him I’ll call him with all the travel and accommodation details when I have everything ironed out.
I spend the better part of an hour on the phone with the realtor who handles all the vacation rentals. I bribe her to move some other reservations around so I can rent the house beside mi
ne. I solve the rest of my problems with only a little less trouble. Getting a charter flight on short notice isn’t difficult, just expensive. The rental car was no problem at all.
The last thing I do before lunch time is tell Stephan he doesn’t need to tend to Nikki in my absence.
“He’s coming to the beach with me,” I say, proud of myself for managing to convince him to come.
Stephan furrows his brow. “Wow, that happened really fast,” he says, a crooked, uncomfortable smile dimpling his cheek. “Okay. I hope you two have fun?” The last phrase rings like a question, and I can tell he’s very slightly scandalized—more about the insanity of dating a pop star, and less about the gay.
Stephan’s straight and narrow, emphasis on the narrow. He’s married with a couple kids. He’s always talking about his family, showing me photographs. A few times he’s even invited me to parties at his house. Subtle inquiries always reveal the fact that I’d be the only queer person there, and probably the only adult without kids. Stephan has always taken pains to let me know he doesn’t care who I sleep with, or where, or when. But he’s about as white bread as they come, and a top pop star who lives his life like it’s Pride Month every day… that doesn’t fit into Stephan’s world of understanding.
That’s fine.
I don’t talk much about my personal life at work. I don’t hide it, it’s just that it never really comes up in a context that syncs with most of my co-workers’ discussions of their lives. This is a first for me—and for Stephan.
Stephan’s clearly feeling awkward about me sharing this much with him, and stunned that I’d date a client. It’s a shame. He’s going to have to get used to it. I may not be Nikki’s lawyer, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to ignore his legal and business dealings. In fact, I’m even more invested in looking out for his interests now than I ever was. Now it’s very personal.
“Thanks,” I reply to Stephan with a wry smirk. “And now, unless there’s something you need from me before I go, I’m heading out.”
