Chapter Four
‡
It’s not entirely surprising I find myself pulling into a parking spot a block away from the bar I’d wandered into a few days ago. I’ve had thoughts of Allie Hart since I abandoned him to mind the bar he was ill-prepared to deal with. Not that he’ll be here. He was doing his sister a favor, and it’s likely when I step inside, it will be someone who can make a proper Manhattan who greets me and not the especially white teeth that made Hart’s smile so appealing.
I pull the door open, struck by the already familiar scent of this bar. The corner booth I ought to have opted for last time is open, and I’m near to claiming it when I notice who’s behind the bar. It’s not Allie, but it is the next best thing.
The woman is drying a pint glass with a towel when I step up to the bar. She doesn’t cease her work. Indeed, she puts the now-dry glass down and takes up another one while offering me a smile. “What can I get for you?”
“That depends.”
Like her brother, she’s got a glass face. Which you’d think would’ve gotten steamrolled out of her after she started working at a bar, where it’s best to keep a neutral expression no matter what kind of shit goes down in front of you, but apparently not. Hart’s sister has clearly decided I’m going to be a pain in her ass, which may be true.
She raises an eyebrow and cocks a hip. “On what?”
“Do you make a better Manhattan than your brother?”
At the mention of her brother, her face softens and she rolls those cynical eyes with a lazy shake of her head. “A panda bear with a bottle of vermouth could make a better Manhattan than my brother. One?”
I lift my chin in assent as she sets another dried pint glass aside and gathers up what she’ll need to make the cocktail. Taking down the right bottles is a good start, and I watch her move easily. She has the same grace and muscular build as her brother, but also the ease of someone who’s tended bar for quite a while. It’s a treat to watch her select a respectable rye and a vermouth that will pair nicely with it and, god bless her, stir the concoction over ice for a good twenty seconds. Through, she sets the perfectly full glass in front of me, still grace personified.
“Do you want to open a tab?”
“No, thank you.” Since I can’t explain exactly why I’m here at all, I can’t make a night of this. Just the one and then I’ll be on my way—back to Matthew, back to my records.
“Then it’s thirteen.”
I hand over a twenty, wanting to tell her to keep the change because it’s seven meaningless dollars to me, but I’m not sure if her illness is common knowledge and I don’t want to get Hart in trouble for spilling to a stranger.
I do lay the two one-dollar bills on the table, and she drops a nod of thanks before scooping them up and tucking them into her pocket. I take a sip, and goddamn, it’s phenomenal. This woman makes a Manhattan the way it’s meant to be sipped.
Wanting to savor the divinity in liquid form this priestess has laid before me, and checking to make sure she’s not needed elsewhere imminently, I raise my voice so she knows I’m talking to her as she picks up yet another pint glass.
“So where’s your pinch mixer this evening?”
“Allie?”
I give a casual half-nod, half-shrug, trying to ignore the spark of jealousy that lights between my shoulder blades. Allie. That’s what his friends call him.
“You know my brother?” Suspicion creeps into her expression, and I watch her gaze crawl over my hair, my jaw, my tie, my suit. She’ll have the practiced eye of a person who relies on tips to earn a living. Apparently I don’t fit in with his usual crowd.
“Only from a few days ago.”
She nods thoughtfully, still drying that line of pint glasses. I’m tempted to ask her if she could give me a way to get in touch with him, but I’m not sure if he’s out to his family. Hell, I’m not a hundred percent certain he’s not straight. I’m willing to wager an ugly slur and possibly a threat to my physical safety he isn’t, but I won’t take that chance with his family. Because keeping secrets is what I do.
Something must occur to her, because she drops her drying cloth and points a triumphant finger at me. “You’re the guy who jumped over the bar, aren’t you?”
I trace the never-ending edge of the coaster under my glass. Interesting he described me that way. That he described me at all. Pleasing, in fact.
“He said you were cute.”
I highly doubt Hart would’ve described anyone as “cute,” but I’ll take it. And that answers another question.
“Did he, then? He’s pretty nice to look at himself.”
“Lucky you think so.”
“Why’s that?” Will she take my number? Pass it on to her brother? Tell him I stopped by and tease him about his admirer?
“He just walked in.”
She gestures with her chin to the entrance. Allie’s broad frame fills the doorway, backlit against the darkening sky. He waves at his sister without a second thought, then does a comical double-take when he sees me.
His face clears, and he walks over, eyeing me the whole time. I resist the urge to reposition myself in a way that would be more flattering. I don’t look so bad, though, perched on the bar stool with a drink in my hand.
“Hart.”
The corners of his mouth twitch, and I hope it’s because he’s resisting a smile. Yes, I remember you.
His sister has turned not-so-subtly toward the other side of the bar, studiously ignoring us. “It’s Walter, right?”
“Rey, please.”
Walter sounds so stodgy. Because it is fucking stodgy.
“Rey. What are you doing here?”
“Thirsting for another Camden. Your sister made me this instead.”
I lift my glass, the liquid sloshing inside. His nostrils flare, and I bet if his skin weren’t so dark and the light so low, I’d be able to see the flush that’s undoubtedly heating his face, watch the blue notes turn to pink. I shouldn’t tease.
“Going to leave another insane tip?” His face and voice have gone a bit hard, and chagrin tightens my jaw. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
I’m not going to apologize. He needed help, and I was in a position to give it to him. That’s all. That’s my job. To help where help is needed, if I can. And I could. I take another sip of my drink and wait for him to insist on paying me back.
“I’d pay you back, but I didn’t think I’d see you again.” He probably already gave the money to his sister, and it doesn’t seem like he’s in the habit of carrying a few hundred dollars around in his wallet.
“It wasn’t a loan. It was payment for services rendered.” He snorts and shakes his head. I smile at him, the curve of my mouth conspiratorial because we both know that’s ridiculous. “Don’t laugh, Hart. It takes a great deal of talent to make a cocktail that disgusting.”
“It’s a good thing I’m better at just about everything other than bartending.”
My, my, my. Since he’s clearly in a flirting mood, I pick up what he’s putting down. “It would be concerning if that were your special skill. Not much hope for you at all.”
Did the person who coined the term eye-fucking know Allie Hart? Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if they did, because there’s challenge and lust and hunger and all manner of filthy things in that man’s dark brown eyes.
The only thing I’d like more than having him continue to look at me like that is for him to fulfill the promise of that look. Which is what makes me ask in a low voice hopefully his sister can’t hear, “What are you doing in twenty minutes?”
*
After what seems like torturous hours of polite conversation, Allie and I both make our excuses to Kendra and beat a quick retreat. When we get out to the alley, I lean up against the wall, crossing one ankle over the other and putting a hand in my pocket.
“On your knees.”
Allie blinks and his brows gather. “I don’t…”
“You don’t what? Suck dick?”
He shakes his head. “I get blowjobs. I don’t give them.”
So he’s been with men before. Good to know, and it makes me braver still.
“Bullshit.”
That’s when his expression goes from bewildered to pissed, and he seems to get bigger, expanding like a puff adder when threatened. I could drop it, put my hands in the air and back my way down the alley to where my car’s waiting for me, drive home and act as though this never happened. I don’t want to.
“Maybe you’ve never done it before, but you want to.”
“What makes you think that?” He’s practically snarling, and I do a quick calculation. If this goes badly, I can probably make it to the street before he can assault me. Probably. Even if I’m right—perhaps particularly if I’m right and he’s not ready for it yet—this could end badly. I’d rather it ended much more happily and without Matthew losing his damn mind over me winding up in the ER, so I answer.
“I have a knack for these things.” More like a shark sniffing a drop of blood in the water from a mile away, but he doesn’t need to know that.
I watch him war with himself, the desire clashing with internalized homophobia or whatever other issues he might have to overcome. It takes a while for him to respond, but I can be patient. Appearing serene when, in fact, there are as many thoughts racing through my mind as there are through his is a skill I’ve mastered.
His hands curl into fists, and I force myself not to make a break for the street. Patience, Walter. Wait him out. So I stand there, looking impregnable, imperturbable, which might drive him crazy.
His face breaks into a forced, cocky smile. “What else do you have a knack for? I bet you’d look pretty with your face stuffed with cock.”
“It’s true.” If he’s trying to flummox me, it’s not going to work. I give mind-blowing head, and I’m not ashamed of it. “But I’m not going to suck you off.”
My refusal makes his eyes narrow. We might be crossing from irritated to irate, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take. “Why not?”
“Because I like you, Hart. I think what you’d really enjoy is to run your tongue up and down my dick and hollow your cheeks until I blow my load in your mouth.” I shrug in the face of his bugging eyes and tendons straining in his neck. “What can I say? I’m a giver.”
I’m playing with fire. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Except that’s a lie. I totally know. I want Hart on his knees for me so badly I’d do unspeakable things for the privilege. That’s what it would be to have this massive and fetching man grinding the knees of his jeans into the pavement while he takes me in his mouth. I hope he knows I think so.
Before I can open my mouth to try to coax him into it, my back’s meeting the wall with a thud and there are fingers digging into my shoulder in a way most people would find painful. I was so wrong about being able to make a run for it.
I try to keep my breath even in the face of a possible ass-kicking. Poor Matthew will be upset if I have to call him from the ER. He frets about me so. But instead of Hart’s meaty fist meeting my face, there’s a yanking at my belt, and with some fumbling, it comes loose. Fuck, yes.
Then Hart’s bulk is sliding down my body as he digs in my pants and pulls out my cock, stroking the semi I’ve got and turning it oh-so-quickly into a full hard-on. The man’s got amazing hands. Big and work-roughened, but gentle. Before I can say anything, the slick heat of his mouth is surrounding me. Fuck all is that good.
I let my head drop back against the brick as he works me over. The way he moves makes me think he wasn’t lying about never having sucked cock before. Not that it’s bad—most men have a pretty decent idea of what feels good to them and it’s not so hard to try to mimic that—but it’s…inexperienced. I kind of love the sloppiness of it, knowing I’m his first.
He’s tentative at the beginning, experimenting, and I lay a hand on the side of his neck for reassurance. What I’d like to do is grip his head on both sides and fuck his face, but there’s no way he’s ready for that and I don’t know him well enough to say if he’d enjoy it. If I’d find his dick swelled with desire, maybe moisture beading at the tip. It makes me happy he doesn’t flinch away from my touch or bat my fingers away. Perhaps he’s forgotten how angry he was at me.
Having gotten his bearings, he’s now going at me like he’s driving a horse to the finish. It’s not unpleasant per se, but… “This isn’t a race, Hart. Take your time. Enjoy.”
Sure, we’re in an alley and could technically be discovered at any moment and I suppose we shouldn’t make a meal of it, but I find myself wishing Hart’s first time were something more…elegant. Or, at least, not quite so hurried. But maybe he likes the illicitness, the fear of getting caught driving him higher. It frustrates the hell out of me that I don’t know.
His fervent strokes slow as he does what I asked and takes his time. He explores more, running his tongue around the crown and down the shaft of my cock, grazing his teeth ever-so-gently over the delicate skin, and the feeling sends shivers up my spine. Tantalizing and provocative at once, it takes all I have to keep my hips pinned against the wall. I told him to relax and enjoy, and that’s what he’s doing.
After minutes that feel like hours because I’m bracing myself against the crazy amount of pleasure he’s providing between his actual movements, his sweetly graceless enthusiasm, and yes, of course, his obedience, I’m ready to come and his jaw must be getting sore. He’s unpracticed, and blowjobs take a certain group of muscles most people haven’t worked much. Save brass players, god love them.
“I’m close,” I tell him, wondering if he’ll pull away. He doesn’t. So I stroke his neck and warn him one more time because no one ever accused me of not being thorough. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to spill in your mouth.”
He does stop then, and I try to ignore the itch of disappointment. That’s fine. Sucking cock for the first time is kind of a big deal, and I wouldn’t blame him for being gun-shy of a throatful of come. Instead of retreating fully, he wraps a hand around the base of my erection and looks up at me, dark eyes almost black in the low light.
“I want to…taste you.”
The back of my head thunks against the wall as I drop it back and close my eyes. “Please do.”
His mouth is on me again a split-second later, and between that and the tender but firm grip he’s got on the part of me he can’t reach with the hot wetness of his mouth, I’m ready. I tighten my fingers on his neck, and he swallows me deeper.
Some guys are quite proud of their enormous cocks, and sure, if that’s all you’ve got going for you, that’s fine. But I prefer to provide pleasure other ways. I’m perfectly average in this department, and in some ways, that makes my life easier. No one ever pales when they see my dick. And Allie’s doing a damn fine job surrounding me. So damn fine I can’t hold out a second longer, and frankly I don’t want to.
Though he’s said he wants to taste me, I still have manners and I also don’t want him to bite down in surprise when my release floods his mouth. “I’m coming, Hart.”
I do, my orgasm gripping me in its throes and making me weak in the knees, my breath come in pants. His sucking gentles but doesn’t stop, like he wants to draw every last bit of my climax out of me and into him. As though it’s a gift he wants to savor.
When he’s gleaned every last drop, I stroke his cheek with my thumb. He pulls away, sitting back on his heels. I can see the thick line of his own hardness through his jeans. So he did enjoy himself. Not that I didn’t gather that from his keenness, but it’s nice to have confirmation.
“Nicely done, Hart. I haven’t come like that in weeks.”
Which is true. Matthew is certainly adroit at giving head and he knows which of my buttons to press, but there’s something about a new partner and an artless one at that. His answering smile is bright and delighted, like sucking me off was exhilarating. God, I hope so.
I tuck my softening cock back inside my pants and zip up, enjoying the fact Hart hasn’t seen fit to get off his knees.
Withdrawing my wallet—and giving him a warning glance when he looks to protest—I pull out a card. All it has are my initials and my phone number. “I’d love to find out if that was beginner’s luck. Call me and we’ll do it again.”
He takes the card and stares at it before realizing his knees are still grinding into the dirty pavement and comes fluidly to his feet, his hard-on glaringly obvious against his zipper even in the darkness. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
It’s not that I don’t want to return the favor. I do. I’d love to take him in my mouth or my hand, feel and watch him come under my ministrations because I suspect he wouldn’t know what hit him, but if this is to be more than a one-off, I’d like to know he’ll be up for the games I like to play. Delayed gratification is one of them.
I raise an eyebrow at his darkening expression. “I guarantee if you call me and we set up something more…proper, I will make the wait well worth your while. I’d very much like to, in fact.”
That’s enough. I’d like to beg him to call me, but I won’t. Also, I’m guessing he will. So I cross my mental fingers I’ll hear his voice on the other end of my cell. Soon.