Chapter Eleven
‡
“Yeah?”
“Do you always answer the phone like that?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Rey Walter, Hart. I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“If it’s another job—”
I cut off the rest of his sentence, but I still hear it echo in my head: then you can fuck off. “It’s not. I have to travel, and I’d like you to accompany me.”
“Why?”
“I usually bring Matthew but he’s otherwise engaged, and my other choice of travelling companion is indisposed.”
“So I’m your third choice?”
“Not at all. You’re simply the person I thought least likely to say yes given how our last phone call ended. But since I’m running out of options, I thought I’d give it the old college try. What do you say?”
“You’re sure this isn’t a job? You’re not trying to hire me for your weekend rent boy or something?”
“If I wanted a rent boy, I would get one.” It would be far less troublesome than this. “This is a business trip for me, not you. I have a meeting with a client who I find…challenging, and I like to have a familiar face to come back to after my sessions. You’ll be my guest. Nothing will be required of you. This isn’t some quid pro quo. I hope there will be sex involved and, if you’re comfortable with it, perhaps some of ‘that, uh, stuff.’”
It’s nearly inaudible, but I do hear a snort on the other end of the call. Good, he was supposed to laugh. “You’re under no obligation whatsoever. If at any time you’d like to leave, I’ll arrange for you to be on the next flight back to the Bay Area, Scout’s honor.”
“When do we leave?”
I figured he would’ve at least asked where we’re headed and for how long. His lack of questions sets me on edge. What exactly is he running away from? As he’s told me, it’s none of my fucking business, so I’ll keep my nose out of it for now.
“Tomorrow morning. I’ll pick you up at nine. We’ll be gone for three days. Pack for warm weather.”
“Yes, sir.”
His words give me a thrill. He’ll be saying them a lot while we’re away, and I’ll need every single syllable.
*
Allie slides into the town car after tossing a weekend bag in the back. He looks virile and rough in the jeans that hug his ass just so and the Henley that clings to the muscles of his shoulders and chest.
“So where are we going?”
I stow my phone in my pocket and give him a sidelong look. “Good morning, Hart.”
His response is grudging, but he gives it to me. “Good morning, sir.”
“Better. And to answer your question, we’re headed to fabulous Las Vegas.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Vegas guy.”
“I don’t gamble if that’s what you mean. But gambling attracts a lot of people with deep pockets. If you’d like to keep them happy, you’ve got to have the finer things in life on hand. World-class dining, shopping, accommodations—it’s all there. That’s the part I find pleasure in. Besides, my client requested it. He’s coming from Asia, and he enjoys the high-stakes tables.”
Everything Kenji does is high-stakes. He’s one of the most hardcore players I know. It takes quite a bit to shock me, but he’s one of the few people who can. I think he takes it as a personal challenge. He likes to goad me. It’s one of the reasons I like to bring someone with me on these trips, a warm, compliant body to come back to after I’ve flexed every control muscle I have. It’s tiring, being around him. The man is smart, meticulously careful, and I’m honestly flattered he considers me a voice of reason. Plus, he pays well.
“I’ve never been,” Allie says, looking down at his hands.
“Then we’ll make sure you see some of the sights. Do remember this is a business trip for me, so everything can be expensed. I don’t want any arguments about paying for anything.”
His fingers curl into fists on his thighs, the dark skin of his hands lightening around his knuckles. “Yes, sir.”
I coax him into telling me some of the things he’d like to see while we’re there, and I make mental notes on the things to arrange for him to do while I’m with Kenji and his latest slave.
Pulling into the airfield, I can tell Hart’s surprised. “I thought we were going to the airport?”
“I prefer to travel on my own schedule when possible. It’s easier this way.”
He follows me out of the car, and I have to beckon for him to follow me instead of retrieving his bag from the trunk.
“Don’t worry about it. The driver will get it.”
Truthfully, I frequently fly commercial. I’m not entirely impractical. But it’s going to be a difficult few days so I’ll take my pleasure where I can. And my pleasure includes Allie on his knees sucking me off at thirty thousand feet.
I greet the crew as we climb up the small set of stairs and onto the plane. It’s quite well done on the inside, all cream leather seats and walnut inlay. You’d barely know you were on a plane if not for the awkwardly rounded ceiling and subtle seatbelts and other safety equipment stashed around the space.
I gesture him toward two seats on either side of a low table.
“You look dazed, Hart. Is this your first time on a plane?”
He shakes his head, not meeting my gaze because he’s still taking in his surroundings. “No. It’s my first time on a private plane.”
“It’s a nice way to travel. Now come sit so Leanne can bring our breakfast. I’m starving.”
He does as he’s bid, folding his big body into the seat. Luckily it’s wide and plush, actually able to accommodate his breadth. How does the man even fit into a coach seat? If he’ll let me have my way, he won’t fly coach for the foreseeable future.
Leanne brings coffee and orange juice, a bowl of fruit, and a basket of pastries. Allie devours two muffins and heaps melon balls, grapes, and strawberry slices onto his plate. The man eat likes a horse, and for some reason it delights me.
We finish up our breakfast as the pilot informs us we’re ready to go and Leanne clears everything away. I settle back in my seat and close my eyes. It’s not that I mind flying, but you’ve got to be crazy to enjoy the sensations of takeoff and landing. When the plane’s leveled off and I don’t feel so much as though I’ve been launched out of a slingshot, I turn to Allie.
“We’ve got about an hour and a half, Hart. Tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Where you’re from, for starters.”
“I grew up in Philadelphia.”
“I spent quite a bit of time in Philadelphia when I was in college.” And as a kid, but I don’t tend to talk about that much. “What neighborhood?”
Allie grins at me, flashing those brilliant white teeth, and shakes his head. “No neighborhood you ever spent time in.”
Maybe true, but probably not as true as he thinks. “Tell me where anyway.”
“Nicetown.”
He shifts in his seat, and I can imagine how this must make him feel, talking about his modest beginnings amongst this over-the-top demonstration of wealth. I’m almost sorry I brought it up, but I want to know. Besides, he should get to taste the finer things in life. He should especially. The silver spoon will actually taste like something to him, not just what he’s had to suck on for his whole life.
“When did you leave?”
“When I joined up.”
“Is that where you got your tattoos?”
He nods, looking down at his arms as if he can see the ink through the taut fabric of the sleeves. “The ones I didn’t get while I was in a gang.”
The thought of his skin getting punctured by some hack artist in some seedy room makes me distinctly uncomfortable.
“If you feel the need to get more, please let me give you some names of places that will do it properly. Beautiful work too. No more butchers. It’s dangerous.”
He makes a face, and I can see the cocky adolescent he must have been. “Don’t be a dick. You think I didn’t worry about that? Hep C? HIV? Fuck you.”
As soon as he says it, I understand, and I wish I would’ve thought of it before the words came out of my mouth. Yes, sometimes I enjoy being a condescending prick, but only when I do it on purpose. This was completely unintentional assholery, and I won’t make excuses. I hold up my hands to placate him. “I apologize. You had a choice to make, right? Getting that ink was a safer choice than not. In the same position, I would’ve done the same thing. I’m sorry.”
He clenches his jaw and breathes out his nose, but I think he’s forgiven me for my reeking-of-privilege misstep.
“What about you? Did you grow up like this?” He gestures to the interior of the plane with his thumb, and the expression on his face tells me he doesn’t think much of it.
“I did.” Private planes, luxe hotels, expensive cars, well-appointed yachts…yes, I grew up with all of that. “My mother’s family is quite wealthy.”
“Not your father’s?”
“No. My father was a police officer.”
“Seriously?”
I nod, the memory of my father picking me up after school one day for one of our rare afternoons together coming to mind. He always looked so big and imposing in his navy blue uniform, his gun and his nightstick swinging from his hip. Then he’d slide his sunglasses up and smile at me, and he wasn’t a cop anymore. He was just my dad.
“One of New York’s finest. That’s how he met my mother. She got mugged, and he took the report.”
“Let me guess: they fell in love, got married, had lots of babies, and lived happily ever after.”
That couldn’t be further from the truth. “Hardly. Well, except the falling in love part. They saw each other secretly for a while because my grandparents wouldn’t have approved and dating someone you met on the job is frowned upon. My mother got pregnant, and that was pretty much the end of it. Her parents sent her away until I arrived. I’m sure they tried to pressure her into giving me up, but she didn’t. But this is supposed to be about you, not me.”
“Am I not allowed to ask questions?”
“Of course you are. Always. I just don’t think I’m particularly interesting.”
“And I am?”
I nod. “Fascinating, in fact.”
“Why?”
“I find your ability to change faces incredible. I saw you at the bar, and you were one person. Then I see you talk to your sister, and you changed. Your body language, your posture, your vocabulary. I can’t imagine you don’t have other sides I haven’t seen yet.”
“It’s called code-switching,” he mumbles, looking at his hands. “We all know how to do it.”
“You’re quite adept. It’s impressive.”
“You going to ask me which one is real?”
“I suspect they’re all equally real given the circumstances. There may be some roles you feel more comfortable in, but they’re all shades of you, correct?”
“Yeah.”
“I get it. I have to do it too. We all wear different hats, Hart.”
“What hats do you wear? You still in the closet with your family?”
“No. They couldn’t have cared less that I’m gay. It was the whole being brown thing that offended them.”
You would’ve thought my grandparents would have gotten over it, but they never did. It pained them to the end to hear my whole name out loud.
“Reyes… It’s so ethnic,” I’d heard my grandmother whisper to one of her WASP-y friends at my college graduation party. The backs of my ears had gotten warm, and I’d wished I couldn’t hear her. “I don’t understand why Lillian couldn’t have stuck with the family name. He does look like a Humphrey, doesn’t he?”
Hart snorts. “That’s funny. Almost everyone I knew was brown, one shade or another. Being a fag is what would’ve gotten the shit beaten out of me.”
We laugh, even though it’s not funny. The world is such an incredibly fucked-up place.
“I suppose being a submissive wouldn’t have earned you any points either?”
“Definitely not.”
“It does with me.”
I press the call button for Leanne and ask we not be disturbed until I call for her again.
When she’s walked out of sight and eased the door to the back area of the plane closed, I point to the floor in front of me.
“Come here, on your feet.”
Allie presses out of his seat, and I get to admire the swell of his biceps as he does. All that power and it’s about to be mine.
“Take off your shirt.”
He peels it off without a second thought and drops it on the floor. He really is magnificent. My gaze coasts over the ink staining his skin, and now it means a lot more to me. All of these choices he’s had to make, carved into his skin. I’d like to keep him safe, happy. Take some of those choices away.
“The rest of your clothes as well.”
His eyes dart briefly toward the cockpit and to where Leanne disappeared.
“We won’t be disturbed, I promise.”
He purses his lips briefly, a reaction he can’t quite tame, and then he’s doing as he’s been bid. Satisfaction wells inside of me like a warm liquid, heated further by the sight of his narrow hips and powerful thighs. And that ass… While we’re away, I’d like to have that ass.
Not now. For now…
“On your knees, Hart.”
He lowers himself in front of me, sitting back on his heels, his thighs spread the way I like. I watch as he starts to get hard. It’s not easy for him to come to me like this, and I understand more now why. Because where he’s from, being gay was bad enough, but bottoming had to have been a thousand times worse. So for all his code-switching, he’s never been able to turn the dial here. I’ll give that to him.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and cup his face in my hands.
“You like being on your knees for me, don’t you, Hart?”
He huffs a short breath through his nose that wafts over my wrists and then swallows hard.
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you ever been able to do this before?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you ever been treasured for being such a damn fine cocksucker?”
“No, sir.”
“You are, though. I’ve been getting hard thinking about your mouth since you sucked me off in that alley.”
His cock has swelled further, thick and heavy but still laying against his thigh. I want him full to bursting, standing at attention for me.
“Is that what you’re thinking about right now, Hart? How much you want my cock in your mouth? How much you want to swallow my come down your throat?”
He makes an uncomfortable grunt, and his dick twitches. I’m not sure if he enjoys the dirty words, but they sure are getting him hot.
“Because that’s what I’m thinking about.”
I brush my suitcoat to the side so he can see my erection clearly through my pants.
“Do you want to touch me, Hart?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you want to suck me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I think it’s only fair you ask properly, don’t you? I could get myself off perfectly well. That’s what I’ve had to do for the past couple of weeks given that you weren’t inclined to see me.”
I widen my knees and lazily drop a hand to my crotch, stroking my own hardness through my pants.
“Please don’t, sir.”
“Hmm? You don’t want to watch me jerk off?”
“I—”
Huh. Perhaps he would enjoy that. But not today. I’ve been waiting for his hot wet mouth surrounding me, his slick tongue stroking me. As good as I might be with my right hand, it’s nowhere near as good as Allie is with his mouth.
“No, sir.”
“What do you want?”
“I—”
“You’re practically drooling, Hart. Spit it out.”
Coaxing is more my usual style, not challenging, but I think he likes a challenge. I’ll have to tread carefully, though, because I don’t want to push him too far. I don’t get the feeling humiliation is his kink, and I don’t want to find out the hard way. That’s a difficult breach of trust to recover from.
“I’d like to suck your cock, sir.”
I’d like to tease him more, watch him try to contain his desire in the cage of his finely tuned body, but I’m about out of patience myself. Between not having Matthew to use in that capacity and visions of Allie haunting my head when I’ve thought about having someone else, it’s been far too long since my last blowjob and my patience is fraying.
“Go on then.”
His eagerness as he rocks off his heels and comes closer, all while still on his knees, is quite lovely. He reaches for my belt and unbuckles it, not bothering to slide the leather through the loops. Eager indeed.
He starts in on the button and zip of my pants, careful to hold the fly away as he unzips, which I appreciate. He doesn’t waste any time but takes my erection into his hand for a few greedy strokes before his mouth is on me. And Jesus, yes, this is as good as I remember it. He’s remembered from last time, the things I like, and is doing them and more. It wasn’t the illicit thrill of standing outside the bar, knowing we could be caught. He really is fantastic with his mouth. He licks and sucks, paying particular attention to the underside just below the crown.
My head drops back, and I allow a small groan of appreciation to escape because he should be commended for this, understand his value.
“You are a damn fine cocksucker.”
The praise encourages a small hum of response that nearly drives me over the edge—what the hell is wrong with me? Getting my dick sucked is nothing new and god knows Matthew’s a pro, but there’s something about this. He’s sloppy, desperate. Maybe it’s raw gratitude for accepting him the way he is. It’s a powerful currency, that—not one many people understand the value of.
My fingers curl around the fine leather of the seat, but it’s nothing compared to the smoothness of his skin so I reach for his neck, draw him in further until I hit the back of his throat. He gags, so I release. The whole teary, bug-eyed, choking thing doesn’t do much for me. I’d rather have him lave me with that delicious enthusiasm than bring tears to his eyes.
He hits a certain rhythm, a particular degree of suction that’s absolutely divine, and I give in. “Keep doing that, Hart, and you’ll get what you’re after.”
With him working at me, I try to hold off to enjoy the exquisite pleasure, but then he looks up at me with big eyes, begging for approval, and I lose it entirely, spilling my release into his mouth. He doesn’t seem surprised, doesn’t break eye contact, just gentles his motions by degrees after my initial climax. And continues on a sweet and easy downslope until he’s barely moving at all. I tighten my hand on his neck. “That’s enough.”
He withdraws, letting my dick fall free of his mouth. I am so, so glad he agreed to come, and I plan to make it well worth his while.