Chapter 4
LOCKE
I didn’t know what I was doing, exactly. All I knew was that in the weeks since seeing this kid in the club, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.
More accurately, thinking about his effect on my dick. Because in the end, I’d gotten hard for him.
Even more accurately, I’d gotten hard thinking about fucking his ass. I’d gone out and found a woman to have anal sex with—which had been fine. Good, even. But it hadn’t put an end to my thoughts of this particular ass.
So when I’d run into him at Rutherford’s, I hadn’t been surprised at my dick’s continued interest. He was even more attractive than I remembered. Still moved with liquid heat despite being at an uptight restaurant, dressed in ten times more clothes than before.
But when he’d mentioned being there with some presumably old-ass sugar daddy, I had been surprised at my visceral reaction. At how wrong it had felt.
Jett Whatever-his-name-was seemed like the kind of guy who could get modeling jobs paying way more than whatever he could make as an escort.
Or get a corporate job, depending on his education—hell, even without an education.
All he’d need to do was drop a few comments about “preferring hard work over useless degrees,” and my grandfather would hire him at Maris.
Not that it was worry over the man’s financial future that made the wrongness of his plans for the evening sit heavy in my gut.
No, it was the sudden, unshakable conviction that Jett should be coming home with me.
I wanted him to suck my cock and help me kick this fucking headache. And maybe kick whatever the hell spell he’d put on me at the Candy Bar while he was at it.
When we arrived at my house, I thanked Demarius and let him know my guest would most likely be ready to go home in the next couple of hours.
Demarius nodded, unsurprised. He was used to waiting around to return women home after I fucked them—not that he’d ever assume that was what this was. Everyone, including my driver, knew I wasn’t gay.
“I didn’t take you for a Greenwich Village guy,” Jett said as I let him into the town house.
“What guy did you take me for?” I tossed my keys aside and led the way up the stairs to the kitchen.
“Meh. I’ve only been in the city a year and a bit, but I’d guess Upper West Side. Isn’t that where all the uptight banker types live?”
I snorted. “Do I look like an uptight banker type? You know what, don’t answer that. What would you like to drink?”
“I’m guessing you’re out of Natty Light and Boone’s Farm, so I’ll go with whatever you’re having.”
I was surprised to hear a slight Southern softness to his voice as he said the names of the beer and cheap wine. “Where are you from?”
He hesitated for a beat before giving me a megawatt smile. “Is this the getting-to-know-you portion of our date?”
I pulled out the bottle of Macallan and two lowball glasses. “Definitely not a date.”
“So more like a date?” Jett batted his lashes coyly while copying the tone I’d used back at the restaurant.
To my shock, I felt myself blushing slightly, though I couldn’t say why. I busied myself pouring scotch, glad he couldn’t see my cheeks.
“Charleston, South Carolina,” he said when I put the scotch down on the counter and handed him one of the glasses.
I couldn’t determine whether or not he was telling the truth. Maybe it was close enough. More likely a shitty small town nearby—one he might have had to leave when they discovered he was into men.
“What brought you to the city?” I asked, handing him one of the glasses of scotch.
He shrugged. “Always wanted to come here. Try my hand at having a big life.” Then he winked at me. “Maybe fuck all the pretty boys while I’m at it.”
I tossed back the scotch in one swallow. “I’ll give you a thousand dollars to suck my cock.”
Jett’s cheeks flushed, and his eyes brightened. Possibly from the drink. More probably from the knowledge he’d still get a payday tonight, even though I’d noticed back at the restaurant his sugar daddy had run off.
“I’d suck your cock for free,” he said. “Gladly. But I thought you were straight.”
I could tell he was teasing, but I answered anyway. “I am. But I want my dick sucked, I have zero patience for small talk with a woman right now, and you’re easy. Yes or no?”
Jett moved in front of me and immediately lowered to the floor on his knees. The quick obedience made me suck in a breath. Jesus, if only it were this easy with a woman.
I hadn’t imagined we’d do it here. In my mind, we’d have a drink to help take the edge off and then go up to my bedroom. The more I thought about it, though, the better this was. It would be over quickly, and I could send him on his way.
He placed his hands on my thighs gently, as if being careful not to scare me off. “You gonna tell me your name, big guy?”
It was strange to not be recognized. Rare, but it certainly happened.
It felt like I’d been featured in a thousand articles, social media posts, and magazines as one of the world’s richest and most eligible bachelors, and was generally recognized on the street from having been photographed for many of them.
“Locke,” I said.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Locke. I’m Jethro, in case you forgot.” His grin was so genuine and engaging, it was hard not to smile back.
“Locke’s my first name.” I watched him as he moved his hands slowly up my thighs toward my belt. “And if your name’s Jethro, I’ll suck your cock.”
His easy laughter filled the kitchen. “Fine, Jett, then.”
I yanked my belt open, frustrated that this was moving so slowly. “Stop acting like I’m a delicate flower. I assure you, I’m not.”
“A mouth’s a mouth?” His smirk drew my attention to his lips.
“Some are better than others,” I said. “But they probably all feel warm and wet around a cock.”
“Oh, honey. Spoken like someone who’s never been blown by a man who loves sucking cock and knows exactly how to do the job.”
I didn’t want to think of all the other men he’d blown. He was here now, with me, and that was all that mattered.
That, and getting this over with, of course.
“Can we get on with it?” I grumbled. “I have a splitting headache and would really like to have an orgasm and go to bed.”
His smile faltered just enough to make me feel like an ass, but then I noticed the fire in his eyes.
He wasn’t hurt—he was pissed.
Fine. I didn’t care.
“Sure. Hey, you seem like the kind of guy who likes a little teeth in his beej, yes? Great.”
His hands took over unbuttoning my pants, which he did with a little too much vigor. As soon as he got them open, he stopped and made a little sound in his throat that went straight to my balls.
“Oh,” he breathed. “Now, that’s promising.”
He leaned in and rubbed his cheek against the front of my boxer briefs, pressing against my cock and humming in pleasure. Then he sucked in a deep breath through his nose as if sniffing me.
“So good,” he said under his breath. “So fucking good.”
I moved my fingers into his hair, pushing it back so I could see his expression better. His eyes were closed, and his eyelashes fluttered against the tops of his cheeks. He wet his lips with his tongue, leaving them shiny…
As if he couldn’t wait to taste me. Jesus fuck.
My breath came in shallow pulls as he continued to rub his face over my cock, nosing my balls and the crease between them and my thigh.
What the fuck even was this? Some kind of cock worship through cotton?
Whatever it was, it seemed to be working. My dick began to fill, shifting against the fabric.
He pulled my suit pants down more until they finally gave up and hit the floor. Then he nudged my feet farther apart and moved his hands up to my groin, pulling his face back and meeting my eyes again. “You sure, Locke?”
The question was serious, but hearing my name in his voice made it even more real.
Fuck yes I’m sure. I’m sure I want a mouth on me, regardless of whose it is.
“Suck my cock, Jett,” I growled.
He pulled down the front of my underwear to discover I was already half-hard, which was impressive considering the nearly blinding headache I had. But maybe the loss of blood in my head was helping because I already felt a little bit better. Hell, maybe it was simply the distraction.
Because Jett was distraction incarnate.
His fingers wrapped around my cock and tugged gently before he opened his bow-shaped lips and engulfed the head in his mouth. As soon as his hot, wet tongue hit my skin, I grunted in surprise.
Fuck. Fuckkk.
The sensation of his tongue moving along my shaft was indescribable. Maybe it truly didn’t matter whether it was a man or a woman doing the sucking because this was fucking incredible.
Or maybe you’re just desperate.
My cynical brain was hard to hear over the sound of blood thundering in my ears. Jett’s hand cupped my balls, his fingers brushing against my taint.
“Fuck!” I grunted again, unable to keep my reaction private.
“You like that?” he hummed. Then he grinned without taking his eyes off my hard, wet cock. “Good boy.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I said, trying not to laugh. “Less talking, more working.”
When a woman was on her knees for me, I was careful not to say or do anything that could be interpreted as degrading. But Jett didn’t seem to give a shit. It was a relief not to have to worry about that.
And this was a transaction, pure and simple. Not a date. Not romance. Just one man doing another man a service for cash.
It was freeing in a way.
He sucked along the length of me, making my toes curl in my shoes. I threaded my fingers in his hair and held on. “Just like that. Fuck, that’s good.”
Jett’s talented mouth made me feel things I hadn’t felt before. Sensual pleasure, yes, but it was more than that.
Freedom from social norms.
Curiosity.
Was this why so many men hired sex workers? So they could take their pleasure as they wanted it without any concern for reciprocation?
But even as I thought that, I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to reciprocate with Jett. What would that look like? What made him feel good?
As soon as the tip of his tongue hit just the right spot under the tip of my cock, I stopped thinking about anyone’s pleasure but my own.
My balls were full and tight, brushing against Jett’s pointed chin when he slid the flat of his tongue down my cock at a certain angle before taking it in his mouth again and dropping over it until the tip was in his throat.
The sound of him happily gagging on my cock was what pushed me over the edge, releasing my orgasm like flicking open a pressure switch. I cried out and cursed as the feeling overtook my entire body, my cum spilling into the man’s throat.
The man.
The man.
In that moment, I didn’t give a single shit. Only that I felt incredible, my headache was nearly gone, and I had a warm, wet tongue bathing me gently as I came down from the momentary high.
Impossible blue eyes peered up at me. And that’s when I noticed several things at once.
Jett’s cheeks were flushed pink, his eyes glassy with need, and his hand was in his open pants, jacking himself rhythmically.
I stared at the opening of his pants, at the faint peek of the tip of his erection as it poked out from his closed fist. His groan filled the kitchen as he sank lower and rested his head against one of my thighs.
His free hand still held on to one side of my ass, something I hadn’t noticed earlier. Now I noticed every millimeter of the connection, his strong fingertips dangerously close to the cleft between my cheeks.
The moment became uncomfortable quickly. Reality crashed down as I realized not only did I have a sexual encounter with a man, which wasn’t something I was into, but also that I had a sex worker in my house.
What the fuck had gotten into me? If I wanted a blow job, I could have picked up any woman at any bar between Rutherford’s and here.
But when the softest whimper escaped Jett and his glassy eyes sought mine, something in my gut anchored me there to watch. To bear witness to his pleasure and take a little bit of pride in the fact his orgasm was mine. He was coming because of me. Because he’d found satisfaction in pleasing me.
When his orgasm hit, he didn’t cry out or grunt. His whimper turned to a soft keening noise, as if he was trying to stay quiet and keep his reaction to himself.
“Give it to me,” I growled, glaring down at him. “That orgasm’s mine. I want it now.”
The noise turned into a cry as his hand tightened on my ass, and another spurt of cum spilled from his cock onto his fist. His entire body shuddered as he laid his head on my thigh again.
I ran my hand through his hair and murmured. “Now who’s the good boy?”
What the fuck am I saying?
Another soft sound escaped him as his breathing slowed. I cleared my throat and leaned over the counter to grab a dish towel, handing it down to him before tucking myself away and yanking up my pants.
“I’ll call Demarius to meet you outside. He’ll take you home.”
He stood and wiped his hands quickly, tossed the used towel in the nearby sink, before straightening his clothes and zipping his pants.
“Appreciate it, man. Take care.” He turned toward the stairs, seemingly unbothered by my dismissiveness.
“Wait,” I said, reaching for my wallet. I pulled out ten hundred-dollar bills and handed them over. “Thank you.”
He stared at the money for a beat before looking up at me. The pink of his cheeks darkened. “Yeah, er… thanks. See ya.” He took the money and hurried down the stairs.
After watching him go, I slunk up to my bedroom, feeling a strange sensation in my chest and stomach that didn’t have anything to do with the fact that I’d just let a man suck me off… and everything to do with the fact I already wanted him to do it again.
“Too bad,” I muttered to myself as I yanked off my clothes and tossed them in the laundry bin. It was a onetime thing, and now it was done. The next time I needed a quick fuck, there were any number of women I could call without losing a thousand dollars in the process.
Just like after the encounter at the Candy Bar, I vowed not to think of Jett again.
And just like after the night at the Candy Bar, I failed. Epically.
I kept reminding myself it was the skill, not the man. Anyone with a mouth that talented would’ve gotten me off. The stubble scratching my thighs, the masculine strength in the hands gripping my ass—those were just… details. Irrelevant details.
No matter how many times I repeated it to myself, I couldn’t get the kid out of my mind.
Three months later, I finally broke down and went to 47 Market Street. But the woman who answered the door said no one matching Jett’s description had ever lived there.
He was a ghost.