by Megan Slayer
“Fuck, yeah,” Jer murmured.
The bell dinged, and the doors slid open on the ninth floor.
“I’ve never done something like this before,” Jeremy blurted. “A one-night stand in a fancy hotel.”
“Neither have I.” Together, they padded across the thick carpet. “Well, I’ve had my share of quickie dates.”
“Oh,” Jeremy cleared his throat, “me, too.”
Trace stole a glance at him as they walked down the hallway. He needed him to know their date wasn’t a quickie. “But I’m not looking for a meaningless hook-up. This is my first time using 1Night Stand. My friend Carlton said Madame Eve worked wonders for him, so I gave her a shot.”
“Works for me,” Jeremy said, sounding relieved.
Stopping at room 922, Trace slid the card in the key slot and swung the door wide. Light spilled out, and the scent of strawberries filled the air. “Wow.” He strolled in then stopped. Jeremy crashed into the back of him, but he didn’t care. “This is wicked cool.”
He wandered through the luxurious space. Landscape paintings adorned crisp white walls, and there were enough chrome fixtures to make a car detailer jealous. An ice-filled bucket chilling a bottle of champagne, waited on a glass-topped desk. The fragrant strawberries with whipped cream sat on a plate beside it. He hadn’t eaten since noon and his stomach rumbled.
“This is very cool.” Jeremy lifted the bottle, read the label then placed it back in the ice. “Tonight is for our heart’s delight, right?”
“Yes.”
He wiped the condensation on his pants legs. “I’ve wanted this date since the night we met.” His eyes glittered. “I couldn’t get you out of my head.”
“Well, this is our 1Night Stand. We can do with it whatever we want.” Trace folded his arms. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Whatever you want. I’m not big on holding the control. As long as we’re both happy, I’m good.”
“Get undressed. I want to see all of you.” He glanced around the space. Strawberries. He could use those as interesting sensory items.
Jeremy hiked the tight shirt up over his head, and folded the garment. He popped the button on his pants. They sagged and landed in a pile at his feet. His cock bulged from behind his briefs.
Tattoos decorated his pale body, with sleeves of colorful artwork on both arms and a bloodied heart emblazoned on his right pectoral. A thick barbell pierced each nipple.
Trace’s mouth watered. He’d never seen a sexier man. “More.”
A deep blush spread across Jeremy’s cheeks. He shoved his briefs to the floor, removed his socks and fell to his knees at his Trace’s feet.
“Good, but we’re not in a scene. I don’t want to play.” Trace popped the cork on the bottle of champagne and let a ribbon of froth spurt over Jeremy’s colorful shoulders. “Tonight is for having fun.”
“Yeah.” Jeremy shivered when the cold liquid hit, and moaned, his rigid cock bouncing.
“That,” Trace said and grinned, “wasn’t supposed to happen.” He bent and kissed him on the lips. “But you’re hot as hell covered in the sweet stuff.” He licked a path through some of the bubbly. “Tastes good, too.”
“Thank you.”
Trace liked a man with confidence, but in Jeremy he also sensed unleashed passion, fury and fear battling within.
“Let’s go non-traditional.” He picked up a strawberry and bit into it. The sugary taste exploded in his mouth. Settling beside Jeremy, he tilted his head back and kissed him. When he broke the connection, he added, “Tell me what you’re feeling and if you like this.”
“You taste like strawberry.” He smiled.
“Here.” Trace drew a circle around Jeremy’s mouth with his tongue. “Have some.”
He sighed and closed his eyes, darting his tongue over his lips. Another moan rumbled.
Delight and desire coursed through Trace. He loved watching his man enjoy himself. Rubbing the half-eaten berry over Jeremy’s nipples, he licked the sticky juices. The combination of salt from his his skin complemented the sugary fruit. He tugged at the piercings, then watching his lover’s eyes as he dragged another berry down his shaft.
Jeremy jerked. “Jesus.”
“Cold?” Trace nuzzled the hard muscle of his chest.
“Sexy.”
“Yeah?” Trace licked his erection, lapping at the sweetness. He flicked his tongue across the blunt head, each touch bringing a new groan from Jeremy’s lips. Then he swallowed him to the hilt, burying his nose in the springy curls at the base of his cock.
“Trace,” Jeremy bit out. “Oh.”
Trace bobbed his head, increasing the suction. He glanced up. The tattoo on Jeremy’s chest rose and fell with each breath, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching.
Moving from dick to sac, Trace tasted and explored the soft skin. With one hand he tapped his lover’s asshole while stroking his cock with the other, wrenching another whimper from him.
“Too much,” Jeremy panted.
“Not enough,” Trace replied between licks. Releasing his tender grasp on his balls, he swatted his inner thigh. “On the bed.”
Jeremy only stared at him and swayed on his knees.
“Didn’t hear me?” Trace patted the mattress. “Come here.”
Jeremy blinked twice, then his eyes widened. He crawled across the floor to the bed. “You’re good.”
“We’re really good together.” Trace slapped his lover’s ass. “And now this,” another slap, “is mine.”
Jeremy wobbled on his hands and knees. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, but lust at third encounter? Now that he bought in to. The air traffic controller knew the right moment to push and the exact time to try something different. He glanced over his shoulder at Trace. How’d he get so lucky to find a handsome guy who didn’t act like a domineering prick? The dating service? He doubted it, but then again, he’d asked for a perfect match.
Trace picked up a bottle of lube and a condom packet. “What do I want to do with you next?” He left the bottle between Jeremy’s knees. “Spank you? Maybe a couple of times? I can make you suck me off. Not all the way, but get me nice and wet. Maybe.” He trailed his palm down Jeremy’s side “I know.” He raked his nails over the tender flesh. “On your back. I want to look in your eyes.”
Jeremy froze. He always kept sex impersonal for very personal reasons. A stress reliever, never involving emotions. But Trace wanted more. What the hell? This was a date—not a deep-down connection. Maybe he wanted his heart involved—maybe he was ready.
Was he?
More than a little.
He rolled onto his back and spread his knees.
“Scared?” Trace rested his palms on his knees. When Jeremy didn’t reply, he said, “Talk to me.”
“I’m good.” Liar. God, he hated what he’d become, but he wasn’t ready to talk about his past with him. What if things went to hell? He focused on the flecks of gold and green in Trace’s eyes.
“You’re hiding something from me.”
“I’m—this is so sexy,” he lied. “I’m overwhelmed.”
“I see.” He tore the corner of the condom packet. “You don’t have to keep the shields up. I’m not like the other guys.”
Without a word, Jeremy spread his ass cheeks in invitation.
Trace rolled the condom down his cock and picked up the bottle of lube. “This is just you, me, and a good time. Yeah?” He knelt at the side of the bed and squirted the clear fluid onto his hand. Without breaking eye contact, he eased one digit into Jeremy’s hole.
The breath rushed out of him and he gasped.
“You’re a treasure,” Trace murmured, his voice a soothing rumble. “Flawed, sexy, and just who I want.” He curled his finger then added another, then another. Each push widened and loosened him up. Pressure built and flutters filled his belly. “I’m glad we got this chance.” Trace grinned. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Jeremy bore do
wn on him and sighed. He could fall in love with and open up to a guy like Trace. Head-over-heels, story-book style, forever-in-perfect-land kind of love. The thought scared him to death.
Trace kissed his dick and pulled out. He stood and crawled on top of him.
“You’re the guy I dreamed of when I asked for this date.” In one push, Trace breached the tight ring of muscle. Resting on his hands on either side of Jeremy’s head, he kissed him. “Best date ever.”
He rose up between Jeremy’s thighs and his groans echoing in the room. A trickle of sweat slipped down his temple and his eyelids drooped.
Heat coursed through Jeremy and his thoughts blurred. He wrapped his hands around Trace’s wrists, bringing their bodies closer together. Nothing mattered but the man above him. He met Trace thrust for thrust. Waves of emotion slammed through him—lust, desire…love.
“Fuck,” he gasped, focused on Trace’s face. The flutters in his belly turned to raw tumbling. His balls ached and he needed to come. “So close,” he murmured. “Close.”
Trace grunted. “Yeah.” His nails dug into Jeremy’s skin and his thrusts increased.
“Come for me.” Trace yanked on Jeremy’s upper thigh and buried his cock deep. “Come.”
Jeremy let go of the breath he’d held and gave in to the need to finish. He climaxed over Trace’s smooth chest.
“Jesus.” Trace slumped on top of him, their sticky bodies sliding against each other. Bracketing Jeremy’s head between his forearms, he said, “I’m glad I finally asked for this date.”
Jeremy smiled. He loved the idea of finding his someone. Loved the notion that one simple date would lead to the best relationship of his life. But he knew the way things went for him. No. The night was for having fun, not worrying about tomorrow. He’d have fun while the date lasted.
Chapter Three
“Shower with me?” Trace offered his hand. “I’m not ready for this to end.”
Jeremy nodded and followed him into the massive bathroom. Chrome gleamed under the bright light and the scent of cleanser and strawberries permeated the air. For the first time in his life, things felt right. He bit back a grin. Madame Eve was a genius, and he owed her a huge debt. The more he and Jeremy spent time together, the more he wanted him for more than the date. Why hadn’t he tried to look the man up before? Fortunately, fate had other plans.
He’d found his man—nothing else mattered.
Trace twisted the shower knob and steam billowed from the stall. He breathed in the damp heat and glanced over at Jeremy. Instead of the strong, confident man from the club, he kept his head bowed and his gaze low.
“You’re quiet.” Trace led him into the shower stall. “What’s on your mind?” He grabbed the shower gel bottle and one of the many folded washcloths. “I’m good at listening and I won’t interrupt.”
The other man picked at the tiles on the wall with his thumbnail and sighed. “I love having your dick up my ass and being with you in every other way, but I hardly know anything about you besides what you do.” He dipped his head under the spray. His hair turned a darker shade of blond and the blue strands stuck to the sides of his head. “I know this was meant to be one night for us to have whatever sexual fantasy we want, but I want more.”
“Good. So do I.” Trace held the cloth beneath the water and flipped the cap on the soap. “What’s the problem?”
“I want to know about the man who captured my attention. Who are you when no one is looking? You inspire me.”
Drawn to him? Well, hell yes, he’d tell him more. He squirted soap onto the washcloth and stroked Jeremy’s back, taking extra time to scrub over the tattoo of the name Landon. “Trace Gavin Robeson. Thirty-five-years old and I work air traffic control at McCarran. Been there for six years. I love classic rock and old Hollywood movies. I don’t hide my sexuality, but I don’t flaunt it at work, either.” He smoothed the sudsy cloth over Jeremy’s ass. “I lived in Ohio until I was eighteen then moved out here to Vegas for my degree. I spent time in Minnesota training for ATC. Winters in Ohio make you hate snow and ice, but the winters in Minneapolis are even worse. You?”
Jeremy sagged in Trace’s arms. “How do you do it?” He rested his head on Trace’s shoulder. “You’re easy to talk to, easy to be with, and you seem so laid back. Doesn’t your job stress you out?”
“It can.” Trace reached around him and scrubbed his nipples. “I compartmentalize. The job is a job and a huge puzzle. I go in, do the job, go home. I de-stress by listening to music, working out, and clubbing on my days off. I date, but I want to find someone to settle down with.”
“Yeah.”
Trace turned him in his arms. Opening his palm over the tattoo of the bloodied heart on Jeremy’s pec, he asked, “What about you? You wanted to know about me. What do you do when you’re not meeting up with someone handsome?”
Jeremy took the cloth from his hands and soaped it up again. “I’m an artist.” The tips of his ears reddened. “Painting, and not just on my skin.” The blush spread to his cheeks and down his chest. “I paint nudes.”
“That’s awesome.” Trace envisioned him beside a canvas, brushing color over the white surface. Glee shone in his eyes. Paint sloshed on the floor. Would he be a madman while he worked, or was he more reserved? Didn’t matter. He wanted to watch him.
Hell, I might even pose.
“You’re not amused?” Jeremy’s eyes widened. “Most guys think I’m a freak or they want money. You haven’t even asked about my tats.”
“I thought I’d ask later. Why would someone think you’re a freak? The tattoos? That’s nuts. They make you original.”
“You might see them that way, but most of my dates think I’m a freak. I’m a gay man who stares at nude women, and paints them for wealthy clients. I make good money at it, too. I’m not attracted to the women, they feel safe, and the men don’t have to worry about me hitting on the models. It’s not what I want to do with my life, but it pays the bills. If I had my way, I’d be doing more graffiti art like I started out doing.”
Graffiti art? Cool. The more Trace heard, the more he appreciated him. Making the rent mattered more than doing what he loved, too. Then again, he enjoyed working at the tower, but still, he understood.
“I’m intrigued. I want to see your work.” Damn, there was so much more to the man than he’d expected.
“I don’t believe you’re the real thing.” Jeremy pinched Trace’s nipple. “You’ve got to be a dream.”
“Why?” Trace groaned. He loved nipple play, too.
“You’re not going to hit me or demand I suck you off again? No expectation of money?”
Trace winced. Someone had really done a number on him. “I don’t want your money or to assault you. I don’t hit people. I watch what my lover is doing and feeling, and act accordingly. If you’re getting into it then we’re good.”
Jeremy froze, then shook his head and stepped out of the shower stall, his movements jerky.
Trace rinsed off in a hurry. What the hell just happened? In the space of a few hours, they’d gone from white-hot sex and dancing, to confessions and depressing talk. Crazy. He grabbed the closest towel and rushed after him.
“There’s more to this story and I want to know.” He swiped the towel over his body then tossed it on the floor. “Jer, I’m serious.”
“Don’t want pity.” Jeremy stepped into his briefs. “Not happening.”
“Who said anything about pity? I’ve come to care about you. This—this date wasn’t because I wanted to get laid. I wanted a night with you, but I didn’t know how to get in touch with you. I specifically asked Madame Eve to set up a date with you.” He stilled Jeremy’s hands. “Give me the rest of the night. I don’t want you to go and I still want to know about those tattoos.” Trace yanked the covers back on the bed. “Come to bed with me.”
Shoulders sinking, Jeremy crawled onto the mattress beside him. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually get so emotional.” He rested his head on Trace’
s chest.
Trace hugged him and dragged his fingers through his blond hair. “We don’t have to talk. We can just lay here.”
He trembled and remained silent for a long time before throwing an arm across Trace’s stomach. “Mom and I came to Vegas because she wanted to make it big. She thought she could beat the system and didn’t. We spent so much time in dump hotels and shelters. So many men wandered in and out of our lives. I saw more shit than I cared to witness.” He leaned up on his elbow and nodded at his forearm. “This tattoo reminds me of school. One of Mom’s exes left a box of charcoal crayons in our apartment. I picked them up and never looked back. I could hide in my room or lose myself on the streets and draw. I had the label on the box tattooed onto my forearm so I wouldn’t forget where I came from. I got arrested a couple times for my art, but I also learned to put it to use doing good things.”
Trace didn’t speak, but rubbed his palm up and down Jeremy’s shoulder. Talk about living in crappy circumstances...but Jeremy had made it out alive and admitted he wasn’t perfect. He respected him even more.
“I made myself go to school so I could get out. I wanted something beyond what I had.” He shook his head once and smiled. “I went to a performing arts high school and made a small name for myself with my paintings. Still do. I’ve got a gallery show down at the YaYa this Thursday. Want to go?”
The YaYa? Hell, the gallery catered to wealth. Having a show there meant the artist hit a pinnacle. Did he care if Jeremy was famous? No. He liked him with or without money.
“I’ll be there. If I have to trade shifts to do it, I will.” Trace curled his fingers under his chin. “Promise.”
Jeremy gritted his teeth to hide a gasp. His smile wobbled and he dipped his head. Trace was too good to be true. No way could he actually care. Guys didn’t show such emotions or worry about Jeremy. He always served as a quickie and a play toy, not a long-term commitment. Maybe Trace was different—he said he wanted to go to the opening. Jeremy sure as hell hoped whatever they shared was something more than a simple affair.
