Yes. Yes, I would.
“I’m not sure abs are the thing to go with,” Will said. “I mean, yours or not, those are real nice, but you’re trying to golden goose this guy. You’ve got to make him think he’s got someone rarin’ to go on the line—someone into something new and kinky. What does he like?”
Cole’s lips pursed. “Campeau’s willing to try anything twice, from what I understand. He’s not much of a fan of pain, giving or receiving, and he’s the worst, brattiest little sub imaginable when he’s in the mood. I watched him in a club one evening, and whatever he was paying his Dom, it wasn’t enough to put up with his bullshit.”
“Hmm.” That was actually good information. They needed something Campeau might not have tried before, from someone who gave off Dom vibes but wasn’t outright asking to bring pain into things… “What about foot fucking?”
Cole finally looked up from his phone. “Excuse me?”
“Foot fucking. Podophilia—just one syllable away from disaster, I know, but it’s one of the most common paraphilias outthere. I’m sure he’s thought about it before if he hasn’t already done it, but I bet we could get him with that.”
Cole stared at Will, who smiled and wiggled his toes in what he hoped was an alluring fashion. “Just a thought,” he said. “We can go with whatever you want. You’re the one who knows has experience catfishing people on Grindr, darlin’.”
“Like you’ve never catfished anyone,” Cole said, but when he broke eye contact, he didn’t go back to his phone. No, he was staring at Will’s feet instead.
“I catfish people all the time, but that’s for work. Not for personal matters,” Will replied. “If I’m gonna have sex with someone, I’d prefer they have sex withme.”
“Nobody knows anything about you.”
“Everybody knows lots about me.”
Cole chuckled under his breath. “All anyone knows for sure is your name really is Will, because you respond to it when drunk, drugged, and otherwise incapacitated, and you’ve got a brother on a farm or a ranch or a compound somewhere in the United States. I’ve heard Maine, California, Nevada, and Wisconsin all floated around in the past year.”
Will grinned. “Aww, are y’all talking about me? I’m flattered!”
“You only come up in conversation when we’re talking about someone who survived something that should have killed him. Like the flight from Oyo to Lome.”
For fuck’s sake.
“That flight was a total success,” he said snippily.
“The plane crashed.”
“It ran out offuel. It didn’tcrash. I made it to a runway first.”
“Where you were arrested for smuggling live pangolins, if I heard right.”
“I wasrescuingthose pangolins! They’re critically endangered and the plane was headed for a processing plant onthe eastern side of the continent, so I took ‘em the other way.” It gave him time to get the proper wildlife authorities enough advance notice to intercept the plane on the tarmac instead of letting the police in Lome confiscate and sell the pangolins all over again.
Sue him, they were Ellie’s favorite animal. He wasn’t going to let a bunch of animals that looked like his niece’s stuffy get processed into bush meat and bullshit medicine if he didn’t have to.
“And then you were thrown in jail. Again.”
Will waved a hand. “Eh. Jails have a hard time holding me. We’re getting off the subject—we’re talking about Campeau right now. So. Foot fucking.” He rubbed his feet together suggestively. “You think he’d be in?”
He wasn’t expecting Cole to snap a picture of his feet. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Will lunged forward. “Hey, no?—”
But Cole was already standing, dodging around the couch with a smile on his face as he narrated his typing. “Looking for a big dick to fill the hole of my choosing. Must like lotion and lube; no allergies allowed. Bonus points if you paint my nails with your cum, then lick it off like a good boy.”
“Ew, gross, nobody’s going to want to do that!”
Cole shrugged. “Campeau might. We’ll see in a minute—I just uploaded the profile.”
Will gaped at him. “Usingmyfeet as a lure.”
“Hey, they’re nice feet.”
