“No, you’re coming with me. You need to broaden your horizons.”
“Broaden my horizons? I was in Asia most of last year and in Europe most of this one. I bet I’ve been to more countries than you by a factor of ten. I don’t need anything San Antonio has to offer.”
“You know what I mean, Hendrix. You need to get out more.”
“But—”
“The Seguin Bean doesn’t count. Come on, get in the shower.”
“No. Stop telling me what to do.”
He drifted into the kitchen and started a kettle for my tea. Even when I was needling him, he found ways to take care of me. God, what a masochist.
As the water bubbled, he opened the cabinet, retrieved a mug, and ripped open the tea bag, all as aggressively as possible. “I’d stop telling you what to do if you would do the things you need to.”
“Sawyer, this is temporary. There’s going to be a day when you’re not up my ass,” I muttered while he poured the boiling water into the mug.
I meant that as a good thing, but saying it out loud kind of made me feel… I don’t know. Sad? No, that couldn’t be it. Whatever.
Not wanting to go down that path, I picked up where I’d left off. “And that will be a glorious day. I’ll go back to doing whatever the fuck I wanna do, and I’ll be sending you selfies the whole time. So you might as well get used to that now.”
He took a deep breath, set the steeping tea on the side table next to me with a loudclunk, then swept past me down the hall and into the bathroom. Seconds later, the shower snapped on, and I imagined him taking off his clothes and folding them neatly before placing them in the hamper. I’d bet he gave himself exactly two pumps of soap for his entire body and only a pea-sized amount of shampoo for his hair. He probably had his shower times averaged on a spreadsheet somewhere, no doubt taking into account time to jerk off. Lord knew he wouldn’t jerk off anywhere else, or the cleanup and sanitization process would fuck with his stats.
The variable in that scene, I supposed, was what he thought about when he was jerking off. No matter what he said, Isuspected he liked to imagine that twink at his feet, nursing him while he showered. He’d then flip him against the cold tiles to fuck him while whispering “Good boy”—only once—before coming into his condom, which he would tie off and wrap in layers of toilet paper before disposing of it in the trash.
Thinking through the details set my dick at half-staff.
“What are you excited about?” I asked my unruly member. “He’s never gonna touch you.”
The truth was, I’d been too exhausted to get aroused at all these last few months, so this was a good sign. So what if the thing that turned my crank was imagining Sawyer with someone who, frankly, was probably around my size and build?
I imagined he liked waifish blond men who remained quiet until spoken to. Bratty, raven-haired guys who wore eyeliner and black nail polish probably didn’t even register on his sexuality meter.
Still, I was happy my dick had decided to come out to play. While the shower kept running, I abandoned the tea, made my way into my room, shed my clothes, and flopped backward onto my bed. I grabbed a pump of lotion and smoothed it over my cock until I was fully hard.
God, that felt good. Sure, having multiple people sucking on your johnson was nice, but it got overwhelming after a while. A simple hand job was kind of refreshing.
I went back to the visual in my head, mostly as a middle finger to good old Agnes. I wasn’t about to let him tell me what I could and couldn’t jerk off to. Turned out, Sawyer face-fucking a pretty blond twink was an image that had legs. I was more than happy to use it to my advantage.
I stroked my cock, stretching the foreskin over my glans, squeezing it, twisting and dragging it down and then up and over again. I normally needed some kind of visual stimulation, but today my imagination was doing a fine job.
Of course, for a guy like Sawyer—so stiff and unbending—I’d want to be the one to unravel all of his persnickety rules. I imagined he liked giving commands. I’d have bet my next royalty check he could say just about anything to his little app twink and the guy would do it without question.
Suck my balls.
Tongue the webbing of my toes.
Sit on my face.
Spread your cheeks.
It was a good thing he had that subby twink on call. I’d fight him every second of the way. I for damn sure wouldn’t suck on his balls. I’d tug on them and maybe even twist them a little. Pleasurable with just a hint of pain.
And he couldn’t pay me to lick between his toes. No, I’d drag my tongue along the bottom of his foot until he was shaking with need, begging for me to put my mouth somewhere useful.
I was man enough to admit that Iwouldsit on his face. If he wanted me to stay still up there, though, he’d have another thing coming. Double for any cheek spread. If he wanted my cheeks saying goodbye to each other, he was gonna have to spread them his damn self.
That led me to wonder if he enjoyed rimming. He might have a stiff persona, but I doubted he was one of those stiff-tongued pokers. Nah, Sawyer wasn’t the kind of guy who did thingshalfway. He’d be generous and skilled with his tongue. He might start with a couple of delicate licks around the entrance, but that would never do for him. He’d work his lover over slowly, finessing the tight bud until he could push his way inside, impaling him on his tongue.
