“Yes.” I hunched forward to slide a hand halfway down the curve of his spine, the other on his elbow to urge him up onto his haunches. “Let me see you.”
He sucked in a deep breath, then angled his hips, hand moving quick and efficient, a clever twist at the end of each stroke. His eyes held mine, dark and open, and fuck, this was… I’d done hookups and dated, even tried the whole friends-with-benefits thing. And yetthis—a bar encounter with a stranger, cash in my wallet—felt more intimate than everything I’d had before. Hormones. Just hormones.
I watched his muscles tighten, breath coming out in little stops and stutters. He leaned against my thigh, and I reached for him, carding gentle fingers through his hair. “That’s it. Come on. Come for me.”
He did—his body drawing taut as he spilled over his fingers, face opening up into something beautiful and raw. A moment later, he sagged against my knee, eyes shut and laughing on a soft breath. “Jesus.”
Agreed.
I gave his sweat-damp hair a gentle tug that damn near counted as a caress. “Still with me?”
“Give me a second. Just…” He tilted his head for a dizzy grin, and yeah, same. “Blood gone south, you know?”
I chuckled. “You a doctor or something?”
One corner of his mouth ticked up, wry. “Nailed it.”
We let the silence breathe, the AC gently wheezing in a corner of the room. I let my gaze skim over the rest of the space—a tiny desk and a chair, a wooden wardrobe, far from glamorous. Did he usually go home with clients rather than bring them here? A lone suitcase sat in a far corner. Supplies? Maybe, no, probably. Reality pressed in around the cracks of my mind.
Right.
I squeezed his shoulder, didn’t allow myself to linger. “Okay if I shower?”
“Okay if I join you?” he asked, and, oh. Not over yet. Well, my hour wasn’t up.
“It’s your room,” I said, and he laughed, then rose on slightly wobbly legs. I shucked my clothes and followed him into the bathroom, squashed the ridiculous notion that right now, I’d follow him just about anywhere.
Jesus, I wasn’t usually the type to trip over pretty boys, both literally and figuratively. Growing up surrounded by cornfields and conservative sermons had taught me not to linger, to want quietly and move on fast. And he wasn’t even pretty, not exactly—nose a hint too proud, mouth a shade too wide. Mid-twenties maybe, tall and lean, blue eyes striking. Not pretty, no. But beautiful. I’d noticed him as soon as he’d walked into the bar, and so had everyone else. I hadn’t even been looking tonight.
Best-laid plans, huh?
Steam curled as I joined him under the shower, light filtering in through frosted glass. He tipped his head back under the spray, eyes closed, lashes stuck into wet clumps. Throat exposed like an offer, and God, yes.My hour isn’t up.It isn’t.Felt strange and unusually desperate even as I thought it and still reached for the curve of his hip to drag him close. He came like it wasn’t even a question.
Taste of water between us, warm skin and the bumps of his spine. Lower. I nudged my thumb against the tight ring of muscle, and he pulled back for a lazy grin. “Round two?”
“If that’s okay.”
“Very okay. Let me just—” He jerked his chin toward the sink and then stepped back, dripping water across the tiles as he went to grab a condom and lube. Smart. Most on PrEP skipped latex now, but HIV wasn’t the only thing out there, and in his line of work, condoms might double as liability insurance. He returned with a smile that left me oddly breathless and unsure why. Because the clock was ticking, minutes slipping through my fingers? Only he didn’t act like it. Well, yeah, he’d said he took cards.
It didn’t quite fit.
The thought dissolved when he slotted back into my space. I kissed him like we had time, water in my eyes and pulse thudding in my ears as I mapped the lines of his back. When heturned for me, palms flat against the tiled wall, water painted rivulets down ridges of muscle. Gorgeous. I sucked in a breath, stepped close, and tasted spun sugar at the back of my throat.
“You were right.”
He slid me a glance over his shoulder. “Probably.” His tone held the same teasing note as in the bar, when he’d roped me in like a captured ship. Voice a shade rougher now. “About what, though?”
“Don’t think I remember my name. Or the year.”
The bathroom light, filtered through frosted glass, cast his profile in softer hues. “Jesse,” he said—a murmur or a promise.
“Right.” I inhaled, water flowing through my mind, and uncapped the lube. One finger, gentle press. Tight, even as he took it with a pleased sigh, shoulders relaxing by degrees. Another, his body now seeming to welcome the stretch. By the third, he was pushing back, my free hand curved around his hip to feel the shift of his muscles.
“Ready?” I sounded shaken, not sure why.
“God, yes.” A sharp breath when I crooked my fingers. “Please.”
I withdrew my fingers, rolled the condom on, and added more lube. Kissed his shoulder and felt ridiculous a second later, but all he did was look back to slide me a smile. I lined up, slow, resistance melting into heat.
