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He shakes his head only a second before his arms collapse. He goes from holding himself up on hands and knees to dropping onto his elbows, leaving his ass high in the air, which is one of my favorite ways to see him.

“No,” he finally says. “Just fuck me.”

There’s a hint of pride in his voice. He can definitely handle it. I know how many clients he sees each week. Still, I’m thick, and I take some getting used to.

Besides, there’s this need I can’t shake to make this something…more. Even as I keep reminding myself to keep it impersonal. I want to give myself the thing I’ve always craved with Dean. Something that feels real, even inside the framework of performing for a paying customer.

After I roll a condom on, I take a moment to slick us both up. For me, it’s a matter of a few strokes with a coated hand.

But fuck it, I’m taking my time with Dean. We both know he wants it hard and fast, but if I get to savor my first time touching him this way, and torture him a little at the same time? Yes, please.

I only give him one finger at first. Sliding in slowly, seeking to brush his prostate.

“Oh God. Again. Please.”

I pull my finger out. “Greedy whores don’t get what they ask for.”

Which is a shameless lie, because I’m about to put my dick inside the one man I said I’d never fuck. All because I didn’t want Prince to look at Dean with hearts in his eyes.

“Beg.”

There. That’s better.

“Please, Michael. Please fuck me.”

Michael. Not Mike.

As I line myself up with his hole, I pretend there isn’t a tremor in my hands. After years of convincing myself I’d rather fuck a wood chipper because admitting I still wanted Dean felt too raw, here I am doing everything I swore I wouldn’t.

Shoving my conflicted emotions away, I push into him. I keep the pressure steady—no taking it slow and no inching in one bit at a time. I’m rewarded with the tight squeeze of him around me and an agonized groan. Every muscle in his body seems to tremble.

“Michael. Fuck.”

Mmm. The heat of him is a thousand times better than I ever thought it could be. And believe me, I thought about it a lot.

I push myself in farther and then push a little more. Enough that it rocks him forward, moaning as I drag over his prostate. “Oh. God.”

“You look so good like this, baby.” My fingers curl and flex as I grip his hips and then release repeatedly, still resisting the urge to leave marks. I may be trying to take this slow, but the urge to chase that sensation of sliding into him overwhelms my good sense.

“Please. Fuck me, Michael.”

The way he keeps calling me that, maybe I’m not the only one trying to keep perspective here.

“Patience, baby.” Clearly, I’m not as distant as I’d like to be.

“What?” For a second Dean forgets himself, looking over his shoulder with an unfocused gaze.

“Eyes on the client.”

“Come on,” he spits in a harsh whisper before turning his head back around.

“You go ahead and fuck me, baby,” I tell him. “You want this dick so much? Show me. Fuck yourself back on me.”

The most delicious agony I’ve ever experienced is Dean slowly dragging himself off my dick. He stops with only the head inside him before rocking back again.

Holy mother of all that is good.

I can’t hold back my groan when his heat envelopes me again. I distract myself by mapping his back with my fingers, trailing them down each bump in his spine and over those two sexy fucking divots on either side of his tailbone. Try to keep my eyes on the straining muscles in his shoulders and arms.