19. Ryan #2
But it’s also based on a product I have a built-in affection for. I want it to do well, and I want the long term gains, with or without sex.
He must settle on his order because he puts aside his menu and looks at me without the smile. “I assume you brought me here and put a table between us so we could talk.”
I glance around again at the couples engaged in low conversations that all appear to be amusing based on everyone’s grins.
It’s been such a pretty day for this town, and everyone should be in a good mood on a day like this.
Mal’s right, though. There’s a reason I wasn’t leaping at the chance to go straight back to my place.
Instead of wanting to dive deep into my issues or his, though, there’s an opportunity here to not do that .
There are other things I want to know, too.
What was it like going to Stanford, why Marks & Baker?
When did he decide on finance, because the last I heard, he wanted to be a Marine for whatever reason.
I always assumed he wanted to blow shit up or do something more mechanical.
He was always taking things apart, wanting to put them together “better.” I would have picked him as a doctor over financial advisor if someone had given me a multiple choice question on what Malcolm Walsh would be when he grew up.
So I start there. With Stanford, with why he decided on his major. He, in turn, asks me similar things about when I decided I wanted to be rich, what it was like to live in Portland, and did I have a lot of friends still in the area, to which I just laughed.
The conversation moves easily to the internship and the other interns.
I tell him about Piper’s TikToks and our encounter in the elevator.
He asks where I went to lunch with Miguel.
I don’t tell him much about that because I’d found Miguel crying in the men’s room, and I doubt he’d appreciate my talking about it with Malcolm, so I circle back to Calyx’s ideas for Bailey’s TikTok’s to counter Piper’s.
The other thing I avoid mentioning is the fact that I want to ask Miguel to join our team. I’ll save that for when Mal and I are back on steadier footing. He’s never been the best about adapting to change.
He talks to me about what it’s like working with Isla, most of which I’d gathered from watching them together those first couple of weeks, and he asks why Charlie is in a wheelchair.
It’s multiple sclerosis, and I tell him both what Charlie’s told me about his experience with it and what I’ve looked up.
My plate is clean, and I’m now talking about how Deacon and I ended up being roommates. He’s surprised how little I know about the guy I live with, and I tell him I’m terrible with people .
“Why would you say that?” he asks before draining the dregs of his second beer.
“Personal experience?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s like you said. Maybe I’m intimidating.”
“But you don’t think so,” he says.
I shake my head. “No. I think I’m shy. But I also think I’m smarter than most people.” I say this second part with a laugh.
“I think you’re shy, too. We were living together for a month before you could say a whole sentence to me with eye contact.”
“I mean… I was eight.”
“Did you feel different at school because you didn’t have a dad like the other kids did?”
I shrug, wincing slightly at how personal the question is. I don’t mind him asking, but it’s something I would have preferred to hear in a whisper. Up close. Or maybe I’ve now been properly seduced and want to get him home. Alone.
“I guess I did,” I answer him.
“I only asked because when my mom died, I felt like a freak. Like I’d grown a second nose and everyone noticed, but no one wanted to say anything about it—or look at me. I was glad to change schools. To have someone my age like you with something in common like that.”
I swallow on a lump of emotion. “Me too.”
He leans in, putting his face nearly over the candle. “I have more I want to talk to you about, but here doesn’t feel like the place to do it.”
“Are you ready to go?”
“To your place?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
His gaze slips to my mouth, and then he blinks, backing up. Another turn-on my dick definitely notices. “I’ll try to behave myself,” he says.
“Don’t try too hard,” I hear myself say.
“He’s gonna mess with me now,” Mal mumbles. “Awesome.”
“Not messing with you,” I assure him. Tonight was everything I needed. For the first time in a long time, I know where I stand with him. I feel like more than an experiment. I feel important.
The waiter stops by, and I hand him my debit card. “This was a good date.”
“You think?” Mal asks.
“Yes. Thank you for humoring me.”
“This isn’t me humoring you, Ryan. This is me fucking missing you after not talking to you for four days.”
That’s fair. I hope I’ve made up for it over the last hour and a half because this dinner, as mundane as it was, covered a lot of ground and made a big difference for me.
It’s a much less confusing fresh start than jumping straight into a blow job.
It’s also got me incredibly horny. “That won’t happen again, okay? No matter how this turns out.”
“Meaning you’ll return all my texts from now on even if you’re pissed off at me?”
“Yeah, sure, even if it’s just to tell you to fuck off.”
He grins. “Good.”
We’re quiet, engaged in a heated staring game until the waiter drops off the check. I calculate the tip, sign the bill and stand up, offering him my hand.
He takes it, and as soon as he’s on my side of the table, I slide my arm around his waist. His drops around my shoulders. A few steps down the street, I turn to him, back him up against a brick building, and kiss him. He grips my waist, pulls me close, and kisses me back.
He gets hard fast. His cock springs rapidly from his thigh to his hip, and while that’s what I’d really like to suck, I decide to leave a mark on his neck instead. “You like to be watched, don’t you?” I ask.
“How’d you ever guess?” he says in a breathy, dazed voice.
“Do you like to show off for me?”
“Everyone likes showing off for their big brother.”
I freeze, my hands still gripping his side.
“Sorry,” he says quickly. “Don’t let me make this weird. I’m sorry.”
I’m hard as a fucking rock, so maybe his weird works for me.
My mouth comes back to his, landing hard and hot.
I grind against him on the street for anyone passing to see.
He groans into my throat, and I have to make myself care that there are public decency laws, even in San Francisco.
“Let’s get home. I’ll let you be as weird as you want. ”
“Yeah?” he asks with the starry eyed hope of a child who’s never had anything nice.
“Yeah, let’s go be freaks together.”
It’s a stumbling, heated, forty-five minute walk home that should have taken twenty. It’s Saturday night, so Deacon should be out, and I’m thrilled to see his note on the counter saying he is and to let him know if I need anything.
Not tonight, Deac. Everything I need is right here.
Malcolm’s feeling me up from behind as I read the note, as if I need to get more turned on. “How’s your ass?” I ask as I turn to back him into my bedroom.
“Ready for your big dick.” He’s already panting and flushed. “But I need a shower.”
“I’ll get you clean for me,” I tell him .
“In the shower,” he says, while I lick a line up his neck. “I’m serious.”
I like the way he tastes, though. Salty with a faint trace of alcohol. His natural scent reminds me of spring. Petrichor. I honestly don’t want to cover it up, but I get it. His ass was meticulously clean the night I ate it out, so I gather he cares about that kind of thing. He’s serious .
“Okay, dirty boy. Let’s get you all washed up.”
He relaxes as soon as the hot water hits his naked body, signaling to me that he was wound up tight about not being clean enough.
I lather up his chest before moving my hands around his thighs, washing his groin, his balls, and his cock thoroughly while he braces an arm on the wall and responds sensually to every touch with thrusts of his hips and low groans.
“Turn around.”
“I can?—”
“Turn around.”
He stops arguing and turns, his hands on the tile and his head directly beneath the spray of water. It cascades down his back and his ass. I use conditioner instead of soap, wanting the extra softness, the extra slide.
“Oh, God,” he sighs when I slip two fingers into his hole.
I kiss his shoulder as I massage in and out, letting the water wash away the suds and whatever else he’s afraid is in there.
The way it feels to touch him like this has me dying to be inside him again.
I stroke my cock as I slowly clean him up.
He passes me the spray nozzle and I almost laugh. “You’re clean, I promise.”
“Humor me.”
“Do it yourself,” I say, moving to accommodate his makeshift bidet. I jerk his cock the same way I’m jerking my own while he shudders and moans loudly.
“How’s it looking back there?” he asks.
“Like I could eat off it, now come to bed and feed me. ”
“Fuck,” he says as I pull him into my arms again and kiss him hungrily as the water sprays us both, washing away what’s left of the soap.
“I just wanna be pretty for you,” he says.
“You’re fucking perfect for me.” Jesus. Was that necessary?
He doesn’t shy away from the praise, though.
He kisses me again. I shut off the water, give his ass a squeeze and then a light slap to get him moving.
I follow him out of the shower, making a half-hearted effort to dry off while he’s more meticulous about it.
Once he’s done rubbing the excess water from his hair, he drops the towel, and I nod for him to meet me on the bed.
He takes my hand and pulls me into the bedroom with him.