In books, people’s palms always sweat when they were nervous. Gordon thought it was bullshit. Palms don’t sweat. At least, his never did. Except for now. His mouth was dry, and his palms were sweaty. God, he was a fucking cliché, and he hated it.

Wiping his hands against his slacks, he tried to swallow as he paced around the small motel room. Hazel eyes glanced towards the queen sized bed. He paused his steps. It was covered by a floral pattern blanket so hideous it made him nauseous. The lights cast a dirty yellow tinge over everything in the room. It made pain pound behind his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so anxious, and he spoke in front of people for a living. His wife was very into meditation, always trying to convince him to practice it with her. Said it would be good for him. He’d scoffed and gave her more money for her yoga classes and mindfulness practices so she would leave him alone.

He really wished that he’d listened to her now.

Gordon ran his fingers through his slicked-back brown hair and plopped onto the edge of the bed. The frame creaked beneath him, the mattress felt like cement. Cheap. So cheap. Pacing, nervous in a cheap motel room. He was pathetic. He lifted his hand, glanced at the expensive watch on his wrist. 7:58 PM. Only three minutes since he’d last looked at it. Time was dragging, giving his blood pressure time to increase to dangerous levels.

“I could just leave.” In the empty room, his voice was loud to his ears. “I haven’t done anything wrong yet. I could leave and forget about this.”

The room didn’t respond.

He felt suffocated, choking on his planned infidelity. Loosening his tie did nothing. Taking deep breaths did nothing. His head swam with those pesky what-if’s.

What if I get caught?

What if it’s a set-up?

What if the cravings just got worse?

All his political ambitions could be destroyed by this one night. The family-man politician caught in a seedy motel with some rent boy because he couldn’t control his dick. Because it was all too much for him. Because he wanted one night when he didn’t have to pretend. God, he really was a cliché.

Pounding on the door jerked him to his feet, his heart hammered up to his throat as he looked towards it. He glanced at his watch. 8:07. The guy was late. That was a sign to cancel everything, wasn’t it?

Despite his shaking breath, Gordon tore the door open. He attempted to put on his best business face, prepared to scold the prostitute and send him away. Pretend that he wasn’t the one who had answered that ad online. “You know you’re very late and—”

The words stilled on his tongue, perched on the tip as he caught sight of the young man standing on the other side of the door. Oh god. He did not want to turn him away. Even though his mind screamed to end this, he just couldn’t. The man looked too...perfect.

Shaggy hair bleached white-blond and topped with faded turquoise at the tips. It fell over large blue eyes, rimmed by long lashes. A cigarette dangled from soft pink lips, smoke curling around the pretty face. He was petite and slender, coming up to about nipple height on Gordon. With torn jeans, sleeveless black band shirt, and battered unlaced combat boots, he looked very much like a porcelain doll pretending to be a punk. A very young porcelain doll. He shifted a heavy looking messenger bag on his shoulder as he looked up at Gordon.

“Uhm, are you going to finish that sentence or do you wanna just stand there like an idiot? I’m getting paid either way.” The hooker took the cigarette from his lips and dropped it to the ground, crushing what was left of it under the heel of his boot.

“Uh…” All the gears in Gordon’s head were grinding together, creating smoke but not much else.

“Oh, my god. Lemme in.” Blue eyes rolled, and one slender hand moved up to push Gordon out of the way as he slipped into the motel room. “You’re on the clock.”

Gordon blinked towards his watch. 8:11. He’d wasted four minutes of his hour already, and they’d not even got down to business. That wasn’t good.

Shutting the door, he turned. The young man made his way over to the bed and sat down, setting his bag next to his feet. He rested his hands behind him; slender body stretched out as he worked on kicking off his shoes. “Got the money?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. One boot dropped, then the other.

“Um...yeah. I got it.” Gordon walked over to the small table set up near the TV and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. Reaching into the inner pocket, he pulled out the thick wad of cash he’d taken from the ATM this morning. It was for a “donation” as far as his wife was concerned. “Here it is.”

Like a firecracker, the boy bounced off of the bed and snatched for the money. Gordon pulled it back. “Wait, how old are you?” he asked suspiciously. He’d watched cop shows, and he knew that they couldn’t arrest him until money had exchanged hands. If this was a sting, he would much rather get arrested for paying a prostitute than paying an underage prostitute.

“Twenty. Now give it,” he said impatiently, seizing the money and turning his back to Gordon. It gave him the chance to check out that perky little ass in his tight jeans while he counted the bills. Seemingly satisfied, the young man tucked the money into his back pocket before turning around to face Gordon with a sneer. “Well, then, big boy, what do you want?”

“...sex?” Gordon felt like a moron, but he’d not done anything remotely like this. He was still half-convinced it was going to be a set-up and the cops would burst in at any moment.

Ever since the last evening fundraiser, where he drank too much and almost got too friendly with the senator’s son, he hadn’t been able to get the thought out of his head. He needed something that neither his wife, nor any other woman, could give him.

Blue eyes narrowed, and the hooker crossed his arms over his chest. “No shit,” he said dryly. “What specifically?”

Gordon glanced towards the door, biting his lower lip. What did he want? Obviously, he was doing this because he was unsatisfied, but he hadn’t thought it through that much. Maybe he should have written out a list of all the things he wanted to do. Wide-eyed, he turned towards the hooker before shrugging. “Sex.”

A snort left the young man, and he moved over to Gordon, grabbing his left hand. His thumb brushed over the simple gold wedding band. “Big boy, what won’t your wife do for you, huh?” he wondered out loud, leaning closer to Gordon. He rose onto his toes, so they were face to face, lips almost brushing against Gordon’s. He could smell the smoke from before. The hooker’s tongue flicked out, a silver stud glinting as he dragged it over Gordon’s lips.

A pale, slender hand dropped down to the front of Gordon’s pants, giving his cock a firm squeeze that caused his mind to go blank again. “Come and fuck me.”

Gordon moaned, stiffened at the touch and then tilted his head back. “Oh.” A shuddery breath left his lips. He moved his hand from the boy’s grip, wrapping it around the back of the hooker’s neck to pull him forward. Fingers interlacing with the thick white-blond strands, Gordon looked down at him. “What should I call you?”

“Jett,” he said, grinning wolfishly up at him. Wicked fingers rubbed over Gordon’s clothed erection before slipping up and pulling his zipper down. Jett slid his hand in, tugging down the boxer briefs to expose Gordon’s cock. The lean muscles of his arm flexed faintly as he started to stroke. “What would you like me to call you? Sir? Daddy?”

“G-Gordon.” His voice faded as all the blood rushed from his brain to his cock. “Just, Gordon.”

“Gordon, huh?” Jett pulled his hand out of Gordon’s pants and went to his bag. He knelt in front of it, popping it open and rummaging around. He pulled out a tube of lubricant and a condom, tossing both onto the bed before rising to his feet. “Now let’s see…how do you want me?”

“Naked,” Gordon spoke before his thoughts could trip him up, eyes fixed on Jett. “Completely naked.”

“I can do that.” Jett’s smile was sly, bright blue eyes flashing with mischief.

The young man hooked his fingers under the edge of his shirt, pulling it up over his head and tossing it onto the floor. Next came his belt. It clinked against his knuckles as he made a show of unbuckling it, eyes on Gordon. More and more pale skin was revealed, Gordon’s tongue dragged over his dry lips as those tight pants dropped. Jett wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

There were bruises on Jett’s pale sides, a bite mark around one of his nipples. Reminders of his sins painted across his skin. The sheer sight of those marks turned Gordon on. Yet he was still rooted to the spot, unable to approach the prostitute. His morals fought with his dick, forcing him into inaction.

“So?” Jett quirked an eyebrow and moved to sit on the bed again. “You can’t tell me all you wanna do is stare at a naked prostitute. Unless that’s your fetish. I ain’t one to judge but…”

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, voice thick and hoarse with lust.

Another laugh left the hooker. “You’re paying. You don’t gotta compliment,” he said, blue eyes twinkling as he scanned Gordon over. Jett placed his hands behind him on the bed again, half-hard cock resting against his hip. “Mm. Take your clothes off. C’mon.”

Eyes fixed on Jett, thoughts buzzed like bees in Gordon’s brain. The hooker wrapped his hand around his own cock, pumping it as he waited. Hazel eyes stayed fixed on that hand, so white against the dark red flush of his rapidly hardening cock. Gordon felt like he was moving through molasses, fingers working on his shirt almost in slow motion. Cold air kissed his skin when he brought his shoulders together, letting the expensive material fall to the floor behind him. His tie dropped on top of it; he toed off his shoes before working his pants off. He wasn’t shy. In fact, his body was the only thing he was confident about when it came to this whole situation. He wasn’t muscular, but he was trim, lean. At thirty-six he had a better body now than in his twenties. A nutritionist planned out all of his meals, and there was a small gym in his house so that he could work out in peace. People trusted a handsome politician. Even if he didn’t deserve it.

Gordon leaned down to tug his pants and briefs off. The moment they were removed, his cock bounced against his stomach, smearing precum along the trail of dark hair there. He caught it quickly, rubbing his thumb over the tip, looking into those bright blue eyes.

“Oh. Happy to see me, hm?” Jett winked, squeezing his cock once more before letting his hand fall away. “You ever fucked a guy before?”

“Yeah.” That was the whole problem. The memory of that one night had haunted him for years. “A long time ago.”

Jett let himself fall back onto the bed, lifting his legs up, wrapping an arm around them. He pressed his knees to his chest, wiggling his toes a bit. Gordon noticed that the bottom of his feet were dirty. “Wanna prep me? Get my ass nice and ready for you?”

Gordon had never wanted anything more.

Moving across the room, he knelt in front of Jett. The hooker shifted and planted his feet on Gordon’s shoulders. He pushed the lubricant towards the end of the bed. “Go on, Gordon,” he purred.

Feeling around for the bottle, Gordon grabbed the tube and opened it. His eyes were fixed on Jett. On the way his pretty cut cock rested against his stomach. On the way his tender pink balls hung. On that pale ass waiting for his cock. Through feel alone he coated two of his fingers with the lubricant, rubbing it around. He let out a shaky breath. “Fuck,” he murmured.

He wanted a taste.

As his fingers slid to the cleft of Jett’s ass, he leaned down and trailed his tongue along the underside of his cock. Long lashes fluttered, and the hooker hissed out a breath, tilting his head back against the bed. “Mm. Taste good?” he cooed.

“Delicious,” Gordon whispered like in a trance, lapping off his precum as his fingertips found that hot pucker. It quivered beneath his touch, and he hummed against the hooker’s hard-on while wiggling his finger. Slowly, he applied pressure, leaning into it until the tip of his finger was surrounded by that tight, pulsing warmth.

Jett whimpered and ran his hand over his chest, digging his nails into his own side. “Don’t be gentle. Hurry.”

Gordon wanted to take his time. He wanted to work him open, make him feel good. Wanted to have him come apart under his fingers. But Jett’s words reminded him that they were playing on borrowed time—unless he shelled out more money. Money that he hadn’t thought to bring with him.

He thrust in all the way, up to the knuckle, before pulling out and twisting his finger slightly. In again, buried deep and then out to the tip. Several more times until he could work his second finger in. Jett thrust his hips back against them, the bed squeaking quietly. “Come on. Come on,” Jett growled.

Not wanting to stop but knowing he needed to, Gordon pulled his fingers out. He doubted the hooker needed all that much prep anyway. God only knew how many other men he’d been with this night. It was a thought that made a twinge of excitement pulse through his cock.

His hand wrapped around Jett’s ankles, pulling them up as he rose to his feet. He pressed Jett’s knees to his chest again, bending that slender body in half. His body leaned over him, cock brushing between those soft cheeks. He reached for the condom. Tearing the wrapper open with his teeth, he shifted back just enough to slide it on before pressing against him again.

Using his body weight, forcing Jett to keep his legs bent, he dropped a hand down to steady his cock. That heated entrance was waiting for him, ready for him as he rubbed his cockhead right against it. Rocking onto the balls of his feet, he slowly sunk into Jett. That ring of muscle clung around him, trying to force him out, making him want to go even deeper. Fuck, he’d been wrong. Jett’s ass was tight, strangling his cock.

A jerk of Gordon’s hips was enough to drive in halfway, a low moan bouncing off the walls. Gordon slammed his hands down on either side of Jett’s head, hovering over him. The man was so small he felt like he could break him. God, he wanted to break him. “Ready for me?” Gordon asked, teeth gritted as he looked down at him.

“Always,” Jett replied shakily, arching his back to force Gordon’s engorged member deeper inside him.

“Hold on.”

With renewed confidence, Gordon rocked back until only the head of his cock was inside of Jett. And then, with a sharp snap of his hips, he buried himself all the way to the root. His teeth snapped together, a low growl rumbled in his chest as Jett’s body sucked him in. “Fuck!” Jett’s fingers twisted in the blankets while Gordon seized big handfuls of that almost white hair.

“Oh. Like that,” Jett gasped out in pleasure, bucking against him, meeting his thrusts. “Keep going.”

Gordon withdrew halfway and slammed in once more. Again and again, he hammered into the petite figure under him until the sound of his balls slapping against skin filled the room. Whimpers fell from Jett’s lips with each hard jerk against the bed. The mattress had begun to protest now, squeaking and creaking beneath them. His wife never let him get rough. Never let him fuck her like this. Missionary style with minimum foreplay every two weeks if he was lucky. Sometimes he got a blow job on his birthday. That was it.

At that thought, his demeanor changed, and Gordon began to thrust harder.

Practically on his toes now, using all of his body weight, he pounded down into the whore who kept skidding back on the mattress. Gordon’s hips pistoned forward while his hands kept tugging Jett back on his length. Glutes clenched and arms strained. “Take it,” he hissed between his teeth. Words sounding foreign to his own ears. What was this beast he’d become? “Fuck, yes, take it all.”

“Oh, go-h-od.” Jett’s fingers clenched and unclenched on the blanket, eyes jammed shut.

Pleasure blazed through Gordon; his whole body wound taut like a bowstring. His balls tight, heavy. Gordon felt like he was going to burst. Felt like he was going to burn into cinders as he fucked the whore beneath him open. Hair fell into his blank, hazel eyes, the lashes fluttering as he continued at the reckless pace. Breath labored, sweat rolled down the side of his neck.

He couldn’t take it much longer. Plunging into Jett, his world was shaking apart. “Shit,” he half-groaned, half-hissed as he brought his hand up, tangling in blond hair to force Jett’s head against the bed. “You like this.”

“Fuck, I do,” Jett breathed, encouraging the rough treatment.

“Tell me how much you love my cock,” Gordon ordered.

“Mmmgh, I love your cock. Please, Gordon. Come for me. Come for your little whore.” Jett’s voice was husky, his eyes closed tightly while he frantically jerked his boner.

Gordon didn’t need permission, but he took it.

His hips jerked forward and months—if not years—of repressed sexual urges pumped into the condom. Gordon gasped, face contorted, every muscle in his body tensing up before the pressure finally exploded from him. Ribbon after ribbon of thick come squirted into the condom, filling it completely. Gordon shook, eyes rolling back as he buried himself as deep as possible, feeling how his own juices surrounded his cockhead.

It felt like an eternity until his balls were seemingly empty. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, and his breathing was still harsh, rough as his chest rose and fell. He collapsed on top of Jett, smothering the smaller male as he slid himself free of that tight pucker.

He felt slender hands pressing at his shoulders, and he took the hint, rolling over onto his back. Gathering the last bits of strength he had left, Gordon bent upwards, tugging the condom off and spinning it around his finger. Then he just fell back, hand hanging off of the bed as the condom dangled back and forth. “Fuck,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

The bed shifted and creaked as Jett exited it. Gordon didn’t bother to look and instead listened to the hooker’s movements. He must have dozed off for a moment because all of a sudden he heard footsteps towards the door and smelled cigarette smoke. Opening his eyes, he glanced at his watch on his wrist. They ran late.

Jett stood at the door, his hand on the knob, ready to turn it. Blue eyes drifted towards Gordon, and he smirked.

“You know, Mr. Hayes, if I voted, I’d vote for you.”