15. Mirror Games
15
MIRROR GAMES
Maddox
On paper, this is a bad idea. In practice, this is the only idea.
Especially when Zane whispers darkly in my ear, “Look at you. Just fucking look at you.”
I stare wantonly at the sight of us. My cock tents my shorts, a hard ridge announcing my desires. He’s got me pinned, but I want to feel more .
“Want your cock against me,” I say, shameless in my wishes, giving in to the utter wrongness of this moment—to the dangerous thrill of whatever my client wants to do to me.
“Yeah? You sure about that?” he taunts.
I angle my ass, asking with my body. “Let me feel how hard you are.”
Zane pushes his hard-on against my ass. I haul in a breath. His cock is a fucking flagpole, and I want him to plant it there .
“Not gonna fuck you now. Got other plans for you,” he grits out, brushing his lips along the side of my neck.
“Will I like your plans?” I ask, teasing.
“Well, let’s find the fuck out,” he says, then rubs his dick against me a few more times. “God, your ass. Your perfect fucking ass. It’s driving me insane.”
He drops his mouth to my jaw, kissing me hard, then meets my gaze in the mirror again. We look…lost in lust. “Show me your dick. But just the head,” he whispers. “Fucking tease me with it.”
I shake, lust speeding through my veins.
Gently, he lets go of my right arm. I shove my hand into my compression shorts, freeing my dick, tugging up, letting the tip poke above the waistband. “Like that?” I ask into the mirror.
Like a good lawyer, I only ask a question when I know the answer.
Zane roars, grinding his cock against my ass as his wild eyes stare at my dick. A drop of arousal pearls over the head. “You’re fucking leaking. Gimme a taste,” he urges.
I swipe the pre-come off the tip then lift my thumb. He sucks off my arousal, his eyes squeezing shut. “Mmm. Want to taste you everywhere. Every inch of your body. Your ass, your balls, your cock, your chest,” he mutters in my ear.
Lust seizes me, and I rock back against him more. “Have me. Anywhere. Everywhere.”
We won’t do all these things today. We probably won’t ever. This has to be a one-time thing. But at least for now, because I can’t resist him, I want him to know my body is his for the asking.
“Show me more of that dick. Tease me.” It’s a command, but I hear the need too.
I grip my shaft, drawing it halfway above the band of my shorts.
“Fuuuuuck, Mad. Holy fuck.” His lips come down hard on my neck, and he jerks my face closer, kissing me savagely for a few delirious seconds, then letting go. “Your dick’s so fucking big. So fucking beautiful,” he says against my lips.
Pleasure rushes over my skin, the praise lighting me up. “What do you want me to do with it?”
“Stroke that beautiful cock. Like you do every night, thinking of me,” he says. His body is painted against mine. There’s no space between us—I don’t want any. I free my cock all the way, then grip myself hard, sliding my hand up and over the head, squeezing another drop of arousal.
“Gimme,” he mutters.
I let the mirror guide me as I rub my thumb across his lips. His face is blissed out, and then sharp and in control again as he lets go of my other arm. “Hands against the mirror,” he commands.
I comply, pressing my palms to the glass, my cock pointing at his reflection. “What else do you want?” I ask.
“ You ,” he rasps out, moves back a few inches, pushes his shorts down, takes out his dick. His cock is nice and wide, and hungry for me.
“Fucking love that your dick’s bigger than mine,” he says as he gives his a few tugs.
“Yeah? Why?”
“Love that you’ve got the monster cock, and you want me to fuck you,” he says.
My brain sizzles. Circuits fry and overload. “Want that so badly,” I say, lifting my ass higher.
Zane lets go of his dick so he can pull down my shorts halfway. His voice goes hoarse as his hands dart out to squeeze my cheeks. “This ass…”
I work hard for this ass. It doesn’t come in a bottle. It comes from the gym, and I’m proud of the shape of it, the feel of it, and most of all, what it does to this man.
Zane pulls my shorts a little lower, then he lines up behind me, sliding his hard dick along my crack. I drop my head down, moaning at the tantalizing feel of his shaft gliding up and down. I can feel him squeeze the head of his cock and use some of his arousal to ease the path along my flesh.
Then, he finds a rhythm. When he hits the perfect pace, he spits in his palm, ropes his arm around my waist, and grabs my aching dick.
As he pumps, I shudder, my world spiraling quickly.
This won’t take me long at all.
His hand corkscrews up and down my shaft. “Watch us,” he says.
“I am,” I mumble.
Like I could look anywhere but at our reflection. My palms splayed against the glass. His big body aligned with mine. His cock rocking against my ass. His fist stroking me.
As he works me over, lust coils in my stomach, tightens in my legs. “I’m close,” I grit out.
“Me too,” he grunts.
Any second, I’ll shoot all over the mirror, and I don’t care. But Zane lets go, spins me around, pushes my back to the glass.
“Hands up,” he says.
Quickly, I lift them high. After he spits again, he jerks us together in his big fist. The feel of our cocks together, rubbing and sliding, unleashes all my pleasure.
I come hard, the world blurring as I shoot all over his cock and his hand.
“Yesss,” he grunts, milking out his orgasm all over mine, easing the pace, slowing down, and finally letting go.
We’re a hot, sticky, sweaty mess.
And I don’t care. Especially when he leans in and kisses me. He’s soft and slow, a little tender. But it’s the sounds he makes that cause my heart to stutter. The gentle sigh, the tender murmur. This might be the best part of this whole white-hot encounter—how he kisses me like this is going to happen tomorrow, the next day, and the next.
Even though it can’t.
After we’ve cleaned up, a clock ticks impatiently in my mind. A harsh reminder that I need to say something awful like we can’t do that again.
I practice those words in my mind but they’re too terrible to voice, even in the silence. We cross the gym, leaving the scene of the crime. But at the door, we stop. Zane looks at me with resignation in his eyes. I bet it matches mine.
I have to go first. “This can’t happen again,” I say, as resolute as I can be.
He nods like he knew that was coming. “I know. It won’t. We just needed to get that out of our systems, right?”
That’s it. That has to be it. I swallow bitterly. “Exactly. A one-time thing. It’ll be easier now to work together.”
His eyes widen, fear flickering in them. “You’re not going to drop me?”
My heart squeezes. This sweet man. This sweet, worried man. “Where did that come from?” I ask, surprised he went there. “No. Of course I won’t drop you.”
“Good. I like working with you. I just worry because I need this deal so badly,” he says. There’s that young side of him again. The twenty-five-year-old rising star.
I tap my chest. “I’m the one who’s not supposed to sleep with a client. It could put undue pressure on you.”
He frowns. “I don’t feel pressure from you at all.”
“I’m glad,” I say, mildly relieved. “But still, it’s wrong.”
“It’s not wrong to me. I know you’re looking out for me. I trust you completely, and I’d tell anyone as much,” he says.
His faith in me is a balm, but it’ll only work on me. No one else would believe I didn’t pressure him to work with me, take a deal, sign a contract. I wince, but then serve up the bare truth. “The rule exists,” I say, feeling a little sleazy—or maybe a lot, “to protect the client.”
He drags a hand down his face, then sighs. “You’re not pressuring me. We’ve worked well together so far,” he says, so vulnerable, so concerned.
I reach for his arm, squeeze it. “I like working with you too. This is all on me. I’m the one breaking the rules.”
He mimes zipping his lips, then says, “I won’t say a word about what happened. You know that, right? I’d protect you to the end.”
My heart thumps painfully harder. “Thank you.” Then I lean in, brush my lips over his, and take a kiss for the road. It lasts several delicious seconds as we murmur against each other’s lips.
Then, I let go.
I doubt Zane Archer will ever be out of my system, but for now, I have to go. I have a plane to catch, other clients to tend to.
I smile at him, then hold on to that smile as best I can as I leave.
At least the gym session was more effective than a gardening podcast.