Even though I couldn’t possibly go again, my imagination serves up an image of him kneeling between my thighs, working my cock with his mouth and hands while I go about the business of finalizing our trip. How I would love to cup the back of his head and roll my hips, making sure he’s taking all of me…
Fuck.
Fuck.
Pull it together,Bash.
5
ANT
Erik and I landed in New Orleans late last night and are staying in a friend’s vacation rental property in the Quarter. It’s nicely updated and has a classic New Orleans courtyard and fountain. Not that I’ve enjoyed any of it.
Erik glances over his morning coffee at me and gets his mind-reader look. “Okay. Out with it.”
I shake my head. No way I’m sharing my nerves with him. He’ll shove me back on the plane and have me back in Central Texas before I can say “crawfish étouffée.”
Gael was right though. Erik’s been decidedly more affectionate these last few days. Even now, he walks over and pulls me to standing before wrapping his long arms around me.
I’ll never tell him this, but he’s got this way of wrapping one arm around my waist and another over my shoulders like he’s draping me in the world’s best hug. The best part is how he rests his chin on my head—not all sharp and heavy, but more like he’s trying to tuck me in closer to him. I kind of need it.
I roll my eyes as he gently sweeps his big hands up and down my back.
“I’m serious, Ant. Tell me what’s going on. You look about as nervous as a guy waiting for his mistress’s pregnancy test.”
“I just miss Moose and Bunny.”
Actually, I kind ofdomiss them.
“Okay, I believe you,” he snorts, running his nose through my hair.
He’s also been joking with me more, which feels a little too good, frankly.Fine. I’ll give him one detail.
“There’s a reason we started in New Orleans and not New York. New Orleans was my first, um, john. I wanted to get him out of the way.”
Erik tightens his hold on me and takes a deep breath. “Makes sense.”
Even though I know he doesn’t agree with this whole thing, he’s stopped throwing up roadblocks and has been helpful since his offer to take me from place to place.
I wanted to plan everything out to the smallest detail, but Erik said a general idea is better and allows for flexibility in the moment. So while I have a file and a plan of action for every guy in this go-round, it’s a relief to be given permission to stop sweating the small details.
“Okay, we’ve got to get going,” I say, matching Erik’s deep breathing pattern. “He likes an early brunch.”
This op has been one of the trickiest to plan. New Orleans is an oil tycoon living in the heart of the Garden District. After Katrina, he bought two properties side-by-side and greased some city council fuck’s palm so he could tear down historical buildings and put some glass-and-metal monstrosity in their place.
He should die for that alone, but since he’s also a voracious purveyor of preteen virgins, he should diescreaming. Unfortunately, he has an equally ostentatious staff of servants who are made to wear old-fashioned uniforms like he’s some English lord of the manor.
What a fuck-stick.
Obviously, we don’t want to harm the staff, though it’s tough to know who’s innocent and who’s not. I also want to go after anyone who’s helped him find his underage victims while leaving alone the person only there to dust chandeliers, unaware they work for a monster.
Turns out, plenty of his staff was willing to sell him out in exchange for cash, help with incarcerated family members, or green cards, which tells me everything I need to know about the guy.
Erik and I make our way in through the staff entrance—because, of course, there’s a staff entrance. I’m wearing slacks, a shirt with puffy, too-long sleeves, and a vest, like some kind of antebellum valet. Meanwhile, Erik’s wearing a chef’s coat and pants that look hand-tailored for his body.
Not fair.
After verifying no one is in the kitchen, he pulls out the prepackaged meal he got from the fancy Creole café down the street, plating it as if he’s been sweating over a hot stove. I grab the carafe from the cabinet and carefully fill it with coffee from the same café and enough colorless, tasteless, traceless poison to kill everyone in the Garden District.
