Chapter 73

His jeans were almost fully open now, the zipper pulled apart by his hands in the pockets. That line of hair on his belly led down to a promise, still hidden from view, but I could see the first dark curls through the gap in the material. “For fifty dollars, you blow me,” he said. I watched, fascinated, as the zipper slipped a notch, then another. “A hundred, I blow you. Two hundred, a quick fuck. That’s me fucking you.”

“What do you charge for the other way around?” I asked, curious.

Tommy gave a short laugh and shook his head. “That’s not for sale. A boy’s got to hold onto something for true love, doesn’t he?”

“Fair enough,” I conceded. I liked being on the receiving end of things, anyway. “What will four hundred get me?” When he didn’t answer immediately, I looked up and saw that nowI had caught his interest. “Tommy?”

“Show me the cash first,” he said, “so I know you ain’t trying to dick me over.”

I fumbled out my wallet and extracted four crisp one-hundred dollar bills. Tiffany’s check was good at the bank, and I’d figured Tommy wouldn’t be cheap. As I tossed the bills onto the desk, Tommy whispered, “Shit. Four hundred? What do you wantme to do?”

“Fuck me,” I told him. The words sounded dirty in my own voice and sent a thrill racing through me that electrified my dick.

Tommy frowned, skeptic. “That’s it?” he asked. “No golden showers, no teabagging, nothing kinky like that?” I shook my head—I wasn’t into fetishes. “How about me calling you Daddy when we’re doing it? Would that turn you on?”

“Just fuck me,” I said again. “As hard as you want to, Tommy.” Then, thinking of something, I asked, “What’s it cost for you to enjoy it, too?”

That laugh again, and Tommy closed the distance between us. “For four hundred? Hell, I’ll even come.” He snatched up the money, stuck it in his back pocket, then shoved the jeans off in one fluid motion. His cock swung towards me, already half-erect. I tucked my thumb under the head, ran my nail down along the tender skin, delighted at the way it raised to greet me. But when I leaned down, eager to take it into my mouth, Tommy pushed me back. “You’re paying for so much more than that,” he murmured.

With one hand on my chest, he pinned me to the desk as he unbuckled my belt and yanked down my zipper. Then he rubbed at the erection straining the front of my briefs, kneading my cock and balls through the thin fabric. I leaned back against my desk calendar and moaned as he stroked me harder. “You like that?” he asked, pushing down along my thick shaft. He ran his fingers around it, outlining it through my briefs, and I arched into his hand, rubbed against him, wanting more. My underwear began to chafe against me, too tight now, confining. I wanted to beg him to undress me, unleash me, set me free, but my mind blurred at his touch and I couldn’t find the words to tell him what I wanted.

It didn’t matter—Tommy knew. DJ had said the boy was good. I felt my pants stripped down to my ankles, my briefs following suit, and then Tommy tugged them off over my shoes to pool on the floor. Raising my legs into the air, he set my ankles on his shoulders and shuffled me down to the edge of the desk. But just as I felt the wet tip of his dick poke into my ass, he stopped. “Please,” I sobbed—I would beg if he asked me. Without reply, he hunkered down between my legs and I reached for him, grabbing fists full of those coarse curls. Then his hot mouth closed over the tip of my aching dick.

Surprised, I bucked into the damp softness, rising off the desk to push deep inside, his tongue swirling down my shaft to lick around the top of my balls. He sucked his way to the tip, fingers massaging my hardness as if he wanted to squeeze me to orgasm. I thrust at him, pulled his head down into my crotch, and when he eased two slick fingers into my tremulous ass, I cried out his name in a hoarse voice I barely recognized as my own. He took me on a wild ride, all tongue and hands, rubbing and kissing and licking every tender patch of flesh, bringing me to the brink of abandon. Then he stood between my legs and shoved his thick cock into me, sending me over the edge into a world of blinding lust.

He drove into me with such force that the desk moved beneath us, pushed back an inch or two with each rough thrust. He held my legs up out of his way as he fucked me, a look of total concentration on his face. I pushed back at him, pulling him deeper within. Every time he smacked into me, my dick spurted a thin line of jism onto my lower belly—with one hand I rubbed the hot juice into my skin, up my stomach, my chest, my neck, to smell the musk on my fingers and lick it clean, while I jerked and tugged on my dick with the other hand, close to release. Tommy kept at me, shoving deeper, harder, faster, fucking me raw. Just like DJ promised. Yes

After I came in a heated rush, he thrust as far into me as he could go, then stuck one hand behind himself to finger his own tight hole. A few finger-fucks later, he came deep inside of me, a burst that I felt like a small sun exploding in the center of my being. I fell back to the desk, spent, naked, covered in my own spunk and leaking his once he pulled out. “God,” I sighed, well aware that He had nothing to do with it.

Tommy stepped around the desk and collapsed into my chair. As I watched upside-down from my vantage point spread-eagle on the desk, he scooted over until he sat directly behind my head. With gentle hands that smelled of sex, he smoothed the hair back from my temples and, leaning closer, touched his mouth to mine, a tender kiss with just a hint of the powerful tongue behind those soft lips. Against my cheek, he breathed, “I don’t give many of these away, but I have a feeling you’re going to become one of my best customers.”

His lips met mine again and I savored the kiss, the hands cradling my face. Then he sat back, one hand playing absently in my hair. “You had some questions for me?” he asked with a grin.

* * * *

When Tiffany stopped by my office a few days later, I gave her Tommy’s answers. “He rents a room above the coffee shop on Grove,” I said. “Doesn’t have a pimp, isn’t hustling because anyone makes him do it—he swears he likes it.” I didn’t add that Iliked it, too. “He’s glad to know you still worry about him, but this is what he wants to do. He likes the money, the sex, the control. It’s his life.”

“Did you get with him?” she asked, tearing a second check free from the checkbook. She threw it at me, but I just let it flutter to the desk between us. “Well? Did you?”

“Tiffany, please.” I tried my best to look offended. “I’m a professional.”

She turned on one high-dollar heel and stomped out of my office, slamming the door behind her. Everything on my desk shuddered in her wake. I picked up the phone and from memory dialed the number now written on the back of Tommy’s photograph. As I waited for him to answer, I looked at the check and wondered what he’d do for the whole wad.