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I shuddered when the fingers suddenly returned to my nipples, delivering more sweet torture to the already throbbing area. About the only place he hadn’t touched was my cock. It lay fully erect against my abdomen, almost begging to be touched. In all his travels over my body, he’d carefully avoided going anywhere near it. Frustration burned through me.

I froze as fingers suddenly touched my face, grazing over one cheekbone. “Shhh, relax. Not going to hurt you.” It was a shock to hear him speak again. I’d been so lost in a world of silence and touching. He’d let his hands do all the talking and my body had been loving what they had to say. I forced myself not to squirm as his fingertips continued to explore my face, tracing my nose, smoothing over my eyebrows. It somehow felt more intimate than anything that had gone before. A voice inside my head mocked that idea: more intimate than fucking, Dean. Really? More intimate than him spending ages with his fingers up your ass, driving you crazy?

He dragged the pad of his thumb over my lower lip. I couldn’t help myself, my tongue rose to meet it. The movement elicited a sharp intake of breath at the contact. Shit! Did that count as touching? When the thumb didn’t move away, I sucked it into my mouth, closing my lips around it and sucking it like it was a cock. When my teeth grazed the soft underside, it elicited another moan. I knew I should stop. This wasn’t just lying there and doing my job. Only problem with that idea was, I didn’t want to. I put all my skill into sucking that thumb, using lips, tongue, and teeth. When it was finally withdrawn, I felt strangely bereft. The next logical step would be for the guy to give me his cock, so I could give it the same treatment. I licked my lips in anticipation, glad that the darkness hid the action from sight.

There was the familiar noise of a drawer opening. No blow job, then. Unless, he didn’t do them without a condom. I hoped not. I hated the taste of latex. There was a clicking noise I couldn’t identify. I strained my ears, trying to work out what was coming next. When a lubed hand enclosed my cock, my hips bucked off the bed. “Oh shit! That feels good.” The hand began an immediate slow slide from base to tip. I trembled under the perfect rhythm and speed, an orgasm already creeping far too close. When lubed fingers slid down between my ass cheeks, searching for my hole, I shifted, bringing the intended target into close contact. One finger probed, before sinking in up to the knuckle. The hand abandoned my cock momentarily. It pushed my thighs wider apart, freeing up more room for the finger to move deeper. Then it traveled to my chest, tweaking a nipple before returning once again to the expert hand job. At the same time as the hand sped up, he introduced another finger. “Oh God! Oh God! Don’t stop.”

I squirmed under the exquisite dual torture. This man—whoever it was—could play my body like a violin. When both hands disappeared at the same time, I was past the stage of rational thought. “Please. Please, just…” I wasn’t even sure what I was asking for.

At the rustle of the condom, I could have cried with relief.

“Hands and knees.”

I obliged quickly, ass in the air, head on the pillow, breathing in the same cologne as last time. Knowing he couldn’t see, I spread my thighs wide. Hands came down to grasp my hips, pulling me backward. At the same time, I felt the blunt intrusion pushing against my rim. I groaned as the head pushed in, my breath coming in desperate pants. I made a concerted effort to regain a small measure of brainpower, and attempted to catalogue anything which might clue me into knowing more about the mystery man. But apart from the grip of his hands on my hips, there was nothing: no sound, no contact anywhere else. Well, apart from the above average-sized cock pushing inexorably up my ass. His fingers tightened as he paused, fully embedded. I attempted to breathe deeply, struggling to adjust. “Tell me when I can move.”

“I will, just wait…one…” I took a few deep breaths before trying an experimental wiggle. Sparks of pleasure shot up my spine. “Okay.”

He didn’t hold back. I’d never fully understand the saying of being fucked into the mattress before. I understood it now, as I was mercilessly pounded. I’d like to say it was too rough. I’d like to say it finally woke me up from the strange hypnotic sexual trance he’d put me into. Instead, I soaked it up like a sex-starved slut, pushing back against him. When his hands left my hips to slide around to my nipples, I hovered on the edge of orgasm. His hand slid lower. As soon as it brushed my cock, I came; waves of pleasure washing through my body. His fingers returned to my hips, digging in, as his orgasm closely followed mine. Just like last time, within seconds he’d withdrawn and jumped off the bed. I wondered what exactly he thought I was going to do post-orgasm which warranted the need for such a quick escape.

Still gasping, still on my hands and knees, I attempted to scrape my brain back into some semblance of order. Maybe if I talked to him, he’d feel more comfortable. Maybe he’d reveal more than just his name. Something to put my mind at rest, that I wasn’t dissolving into a puddle of desire under the hands of a geriatric. “Hey, Jay.” I was used to the silence by now. I carried on regardless, directing it toward the usual spot in the room. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but that was…” I attempted to pick a casual word carefully. “—you know, good. Thanks.” It wasn’t like he couldn’t be aware that both times, I’d come noisily. Hell, the evidence was all over the sheet under me. I moved myself to sit on the edge of the bed, staring into the darkness, facing the place where I assumed he’d returned to. “I could stay for a while. We could talk. Get to know each other a bit better.”

The voice, although still a whisper, was a lot sharper than I’d ever heard it before. “I don’t need that.”

I cringed. I was an idiot. He’d paid me for sex, and I was what, trying to befriend him? If he wanted to talk to me, he would. After all, he paid for my time, and it was up to him how we spent it. “Sorry. I just thought—”

“Did you pick up both envelopes?”

“No. It didn’t seem right. Not until I’d…” The words “earned it” stuck in my throat, suddenly seeming impossibly sordid and tawdry. “No.”

“Make sure you get it on the way out.”

The dismissal was clear. Again. I stood up and felt my way blindly over toward the door, bending over to collect my clothes. “Bye then.”

“Will you come back next Tuesday?”

I paused. I could have sworn there was an edge of vulnerability in the words. I didn’t need to think about my answer. “Yes.” I knew I’d be back.

I was halfway out of the door when the whispered response of “good” followed me.

Chapter Five

I was in the kitchen, feeling sorry for myself, a rapidly cooling cup of coffee cradled in my hands, when Georgia finally crawled out of bed and found me. In her defense, her bartending job meant she hadn’t gotten home till gone two in the morning.

She poured herself a cup of coffee before sliding into the seat opposite with a loud yawn. “Who died?”

“What?”

“Your face. That is not the face of a happy man. So, who died?”

“My self-control. My pride. My restraint. Pick one. Any will do.”

Georgia sat back, a look of pure shock on her face. “Whoa there, Mr. Dramatic. What the hell! What’s going on with you?”

I gave her time to join the dots herself, her mind rapidly cycling through various possibilities before it dawned on her. “Oh my God! It was Tuesday yesterday. You had your…erm…your—”

I raised an eyebrow, steadfastly refusing to help her find an appropriately non-offensive word.

“—assignation.”