14. A Wanker Banker
14
A WANKER BANKER
Hunter
I love learning new things.
As a kid, school was my playground and all my classes were a blast.
As an adult, sex class is my favorite one of all.
I’ve discovered I love blow jobs—giving and getting. I love hand jobs in any form, and I fucking adore double handy Js. That was the bee’s knees, the cat’s whiskers, the top drawer of top-notch sex tricks.
Eventually, when I can see again, hear again, I grab Nate’s gorgeous face and kiss him.
I’m afraid I’ll babble nonstop about how much this means to me, how much more I want, how ridiculously curious I am. I don’t want to ruin a spectacularly sexy night with too much conversation.
Instead, I kiss him more, hoping my kiss conveys all the things I’m feeling— you’re a delicious mix of bossy and vulnerable, and that makes me even more excited for later.
Maybe we’re talking through touch, through tender murmurs, roaming hands.
When he breaks the kiss, he looks woozy but determined. “Turn around,” he orders, then he reaches for the shampoo and spins me.
When he washes my hair, I feel even more decadent, and I don’t want us to stop. I wish I could ask him to be my sex guide next week. To come over at night in London and take me through all the things I’ve never done.
But our schedules won’t permit, and we’re only meant to be a one-time thing.
“Lean your head back,” he says, and I comply, letting the water sluice down my body.
I focus purely on the physical.
Next, he grabs the bodywash, pours some in his hands, and slides those big palms along my arms. “How was it?” he asks.
How was it ?
Does he seriously have to ask? But I need to be careful or I’ll be thinking about…relationship-y things.
“Stupendous,” I say, focusing on the temporary and physical.
He chuckles. “Stupendous,” he repeats. “That’s a good one.”
“Well, stupendous is better than amazing, and amazing is overused.”
He squeezes my ass. “Good. I’m gonna make it stupendous for you later too. Take our time. Make you moan and pant and beg. Then, tomorrow, you won’t be able to walk straight.”
I’m almost ready to go again right now.
“Can we skip the concert and start straightaway?” I ask, but then I catch my mistake. Nate’s ex didn’t like him hanging with his friends. I don’t want Nate to think I’m putting up roadblocks, especially since he has VIP tickets for the show from the rock star himself. Before Nate can answer, I backpedal with a laugh. “Just kidding. I’m dying to see Lettuce Pray. Did you know the band got its start in a little coffee shop in London? In Bloomsbury, where I live. It’s this kind of artsy, hip neighborhood. Not too fancy.” Then I spin around. “And of course I’m excited to meet your mates.”
The corner of his lips curves into a grin that’s a little skeptical but a lot happy. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely,” I say, then I drop a kiss onto his nose. “Let’s get out of here. Stop distracting me with all this talk of hot sex.”
I want to make him feel as spectacular out of bed as he made me feel in the shower. When we go our separate ways, I want him to remember me as the guy who was good to him for one fine night in Las Vegas.
I stare at the pile of disappointment in my suitcase.
I don’t have anything casual yet cool enough for a concert. I have work clothes for, well, work. And workout clothes. Nothing that screams I’m worthy of a date with a hot athlete.
I dismiss a navy blue, short-sleeve button-up.
Why the fuck did I bring navy blue? I should have brought a tight tank, or a snug T-shirt that shows off the fact that, while I’m not a pro athlete, I have met a few pieces of exercise equipment before.
“Bugger,” I mutter.
From the other side of the room, Nate chuckles. “You okay, handsome?”
“I should have grabbed a shirt at Union Square this morning,” I grumble, annoyed with myself.
“What? You wish you went shopping?”
I gesture wildly to my clothes. “You look fit in that maroon polo that hugs your chest and your arms. But I have nothing for going out. I’ll look like a wanker. Or worse. A banker.”
Nate snort-laughs. “One, you won’t. Two, who cares?”
Has he gone mad? I care . “I was in such a rush to make it to the airport that it didn’t occur to me that I’d only packed for Webflix meetings and dinners.”
I hear Nate chuckle behind me, and then the sound of his footsteps across the plush carpet before his hand travels up my back. Hmm. That’s nice but I still feel foolish. “Hate to break it to you,” he says, “but your TV producer clothes got my attention at the pie toss way back when.”
The day I met Nate at the carnival, I’d come from a work meeting. I was dressed in trousers and a button-up. But still.
I turn around and level with him. “Nate,” I say carefully, “someone is going to see us tonight. You’re a ten. You’re a sports star. I don’t want to look like…well, like a six to your ten. Or a wanker banker,” I say, trying to keep the mood light.
But he doesn’t laugh. Tilting his head, Nate studies my face, like he’s suddenly not sure what to make of me. “You’re acting like you’re not good enough, Hunter.”
I look away, my jaw ticking. I wish he weren’t so fucking on the nose. “All I meant was I wish I had a clubbing shirt rather than a work shirt,” I say, covering up, trying to sound breezy and adorably self-deprecating.
Don’t want to flash the I have issues sign.
He just shrugs, then squeezes my shoulder. “You’re a ten. And it’s all coming off later, anyway, so wear what you want.”
Fair point.
I go back to the suitcase, and two minutes later, I’m dressed in the navy button-up and jeans. I look like I’m heading off to a business lunch, but it makes Nate happy.
Tonight, that’s my only plan.
No wonder Nate missed hanging out with his mates. They are seriously fucking fun.
And so is this game of poker. Nate’s friend Tanner nabbed a private VIP room at The Extravagant for our pre-concert cards.
Besides having fun, I am killing it so far.
When the dealer asks who’s in, I up the ante, then slide another chip across the table. “I’m all in,” I say.
I’m feeling pretty good about this hand. The bourbon I’ve been drinking thinks I have a great hand too. Smart, this liquor. But hey, that’s Woodford Reserve for you.
“Ooh big spender,” Luke says from across the table, whistling as he sees my bet.
Nate rubs a hand down my back, and I feel even warmer. “Hunter’s a card shark, I tell you. But I’m out,” he says, folding. Then he smacks a kiss to my cheek.
Damn, his PDA is nice…
Everything is just so nice.
Tanner hums, studying his cards with stormy blue eyes. Then he matches my bet. The baseball player leans back in his chair, crosses his arms, all bravado. “Go ahead. Try to beat me.”
Luke snorts, shaking his head of blond waves. “I’m out,” he says, folding his cards.
Nate’s longtime friend Bryan smiles, the kind of smile that says he’s got all the aces up his sleeve. He slides in a few more chips. “I’m in,” he says.
“That’s what you said last night, isn’t it?” Luke tosses him a gotcha look. “’Cause the guy couldn’t tell, right?”
Bryan rolls his eyes, then takes off his glasses—reading glasses, I think. “Luke, when you have to explain your punchline, maybe go back to clown college.”
Nate cracks up, then fist bumps Bryan.
Tanner clears his throat. “All right, men. What have you got?”
We lay down our cards, and the bourbon and I are sure my pair of aces will win the round but Bryan slaughters all of us with three threes.
“Payback,” Bryan says to Luke.
“I deserved it,” Luke says, then pats Bryan on the back.
Nate nuzzles my neck. He really does like hanging out with his buddies. Having fun must make him even hornier. Works for me.
The dealer asks if we want another round. Nate checks his watch. “The show doesn’t start for another hour. Where the hell is Halifax?”
As if on cue, the door to the swank private room swings open. A familiar front man strides in, all leather jacket and tattoos. The man next to him I recognize from Hollywood billboards. I’d gawk if Nate hadn’t told me that William Halifax, the lead singer for Lettuce Pray and his A-lister boyfriend, Christian Laird, were stopping by.
“Finally! The rock star and the movie star grace us with their presence!” Nate calls out, arms wide, welcoming the pair.
The rocker sports a wicked grin as he lifts his hand. “Finally indeed.” He waggles his left hand. A band of metal shines on it.
He reaches for Christian’s hand, lifts it high too. A matching platinum band glints under the fluorescent lights.
I gawk.
The guys go silent.
Nate’s jaw falls open.
The others mutter wow and holy shit .
William breaks the awestruck moment with an exuberant, “Have you met my husband?”
Then he drags the movie star against him and drops a possessive kiss onto Christian’s cheek.