“Wish you could stay like this forever,” he murmured. “Feels nice.”
I chuckled. “You like warming cock, Beauty?”
Zephyr purred a happy sound. “I like… being full.”
I smoothed my thumb along his jaw while bringing my other hand to rest on his hip. If we’d been lying down instead of standing inches from a toilet, this might have been intimate.
Zephyr leaned back, trusting me to support his weight. “And I like it when you call me Beauty.”
“Well, you needed another name. That one seems to suit.” Glancing down, I saw the stain of blush on his face, and that was enough. Maybe too much.
My withdrawal from the damp warmth of his hole left us both dripping. Cum and slick speckled the floor and the pants pooled around his ankles. He seemed to regain awareness once we were apart, and the color on his cheeks darkened until it almost matched his hair.
I fastened my slacks and buckled my belt while Zephyr stooped to grab his underwear.
“I’ll give you a minute,” I told him as I exited the stall.
Going to the sinks, I washed my hands, using the task as an excuse to think about my exit strategy.
What came next? Did I shout a parting thanks while the guy I’d just fucked mopped cum out of his ass? Leave some cash on the bathroom counter? Or keep standing there watching water run down the drain?
When Zephyr emerged, I watched him in the wall-mounted mirror. He was still flushed, and his eyes cut aside as he smoothed flyaways into his ponytail.
He’d told me not to pay him last time, but I hardly expected that charity to continue. He got something out of it, though: the feast of my lust. Maybe that was compensation enough.
It was awkward to ask but worse to assume.
I turned from the sink, forgetting to dry my hands in the haste of my snap decision. My fingers left wet stamps on my suit coat as I fumbled inside just as a voice resounded in the hall.
“Beck?”
Colette. Damn her. I told her to wait in the car.
“Lucas!” she shouted.
Zephyr turned toward the bathroom door, and the color drained from his face.
“My associate,” I explained.
There was no need to wonder how she got inside. The bouncers were also hellhounds, and theirs was a tight-knit community. Not to mention Colette was equally as effective at negotiating with her French charm as she was with her .38 Special. Few people could resist her wiles, myself included.
“We’ll settle up later,” I told Zephyr.
His head tilted quizzically. “Settle what?”
But I was already leaving, hurrying out to catch thehellhound roaming the building and raising a ruckus with my name attached. I bolted into the hall and spotted Colette at the other end, accompanied by the Dollhouse’s one-man welcoming committee, Luxe.
Apparently, Colette’s invasion of the club had garnered a tour guide. And Luxe seemed all too happy to spend his off hours helping a lost hellhound search for her owner.
They approached in stride. In her Louboutin pumps, Colette towered over the petite man, and had to bend down to whisper something that made them both laugh. They looked awfully chummy, and I wondered what gossip they’d been spreading in my absence.
“Hiya, Becky.” Luxe flicked his tail. “I was just getting acquainted with your friend here. While you were getting reacquainted with mine.”
After his involvement in my first meeting with Zephyr and now this, feigning ignorance wasn’t likely to work, but my pride demanded that I try.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.
Sure enough, Luxe deadpanned, “Zephyr missed breakfast.”
