My reservations peaked at the sight of the club bathrooms, which sparked a litany of objections along the lines of I’m too old for this shit. Then Zephyr grabbed my dick and used it like a joystick to steer me right where he wanted me. Moments later, he was right where I wantedhim—on his knees on the tile floor, unbuckling my belt.
I knew why he chose this place: lack of cameras. Maslow had eyes all over the building, but even he had the decency not to put surveillance in the shitter. The restroom had the wraith’s fingerprints on it in other ways, though.
Black marble counters, backlit mirrors, gilded sconces—the whole setup looked like a vampire’s wet dream. The sinks were modern, rectangular things with touchless faucets that never worked right. Half the time they ignored you, and the other half they blasted out ice water like punishment.
A row of stalls made of diamond-cut steel were butted up against the far wall. All empty. A small blessing.
But why was I looking at any of that when there was a hungry incubus kneeling before me, working the button on my slacks?
He was tugging the zipper down when I gained the presence of mind to protest.
“Hell, no.” I stumbled back. “I’m not sticking my cock in that bear trap.”
Zephyr’s eyes pinched with pain, and breath lodged in my chest.
He was a vision beneath me with his scarlet hair swept back, lips parted, and pale skin flushed. Fuck, I was so far gone for this man. Almost desperate enough to risk bodily harm just to feel the wet heat of his mouth on my dick.
But he had other holes.
I bit back a groan at the thought of his ass lubed with slick and impossibly tight. Adequate felt like an understatement now, and I marveled at how dramatically my memory of the event had shifted in a matter of days. Objectivity had gone out the window, leaving nothing behind but wanton desire.
If I didn’t know better, I would have thought I’d been enthralled.
Zephyr waited with his mouth open and hands ready to free my erection until I urged him to his feet.
“Get in the stall.” I nodded toward the one nearest the wall, then let him lead the way.
Inside, everything became a flurry of hands moving and clothes shifting. Within seconds, Zephyr’s pants and underwear were piled around his ankles, exposing his cock to the air. He made a fumbling grab for it but barely managed towrap his fingers around the shaft before I spun him around and shoved him against the wall.
He let out a cry of surprise, but his body was pliant beneath my hands.Catching his wrists, I pinned them high over his head, drawing him onto his tiptoes. Then I leaned back to admire the view.
After watching him on the silks, then nearly taking him from behind in his bedroom, the half-moon arch of his back was a shape branded into my mind. I wanted to bend him like that now. Stretch that limber body until we both snapped.
I dragged my free hand down his spine to the crack of his ass. He shifted into my touch and craned his neck to watch as my fingers roamed lower, trailing through the slick leaking from his hole.
“Goddamn, this ass,” I murmured. Fluid coated my fingers as I slid them past the tight ring of his entrance.
Zephyr moaned, pressing his chest and one cheek against the wall.
Slowly, I stabbed and swirled my fingers inside him, prodding the bundle of nerves that made his breaths come in gasps.
My cock strained inside my pants, demanding access, but I was enjoying this. The subtle bumps of his ribs, the curve of his waist, the dimples in his lower back, and every sinewy muscle that strung him together… He was like art, something that should be cast in bronze and admired for the ages, and that beauty juxtaposed with this sterile bathroom stall was staggering.
He said he’d been thinking about me.
It was a line.
This gorgeous creature had seen dozens of men every night before our tryst and every night since. I was surehe’d told them all the same, but I wanted to believe it. It spoke to some lonely part of me that I should have quashed before I heard myself ask, “Did you miss me, Beauty?”
“Ngh… yeah.”
I worked a third finger into him, and he whined, then repeated, “Yeah. Yes.”
“Zephyr,” I began with no idea of what came next. Like I was trying out the sound of his name—his only name, and that felt like a pity.
He strained again, looking back with dilated eyes and waiting for me to do more than stroke his prostate while thinking about his name.
I pulled my hand out, then gazed down at the milky white film on my digits. Zephyr saw it too, and when he did, his tongue snaked across his lips, leaving them wet and glistening.
